Landslide
Stones will weigh you down,
break your bones.
Leave them by the roadside
for the next sucker
to try on for size,
send condolences
when they’re buried in the rubble
*****
7 a.m.
We stayed up until
7 a.m. that morning
to finish the job
but nothing felt different,
your eyes were discolored
as if the color blue
had ceased to exist,
your body was cold in touch
and manner,
business-like, handshake salutations,
stiff arms, shifty hands,
no recognition of sacrifice,
no piece of the puzzle
had been altered.
All pieces, borders and middles,
still lay strewn on the floor,
getting kicked under the furniture,
edges fraying,
the image broken,
misaligned, incomplete,
even after I helped assemble
the frame.
I was exhausted,
staring at you
with hooded eyes
in the middle of your daydream
where somehow
you did it all yourself.
*****
Money and Courage
The globe showed him
the Seychelles
and he decided
that’s where he would go,
the Indian ocean
would be his new home.
He hesitated,
then gave the globe
another spin;
Lima, Peru.
South America,
a different America
than the one
he was currently
floundering in,
there must be
new life there.
One more time,
he reasoned,
and the Seychelles
entreat him again.
The final decision was made.
All he needed
was money
and courage.
He pulled
out
his empty pockets,
searched a pale heart,
stared at the blue water
of the globe,
swimming in halting,
awkward strokes
until the ocean
consumed him.
Two fingers reached
for his new home
then fell listlessly
to his bedroom carpet.
*****
My Words
These words I write
are for me.
You can read them
but they remain mine.
You took so much
in the past
I won’t let you have
my words.
They don’t sound right
on your tongue
and your eyes
don’t see the meaning.
When I write them down
the universe takes notice,
a bond is formed
that only links me
to my words.
You don’t get an invitation
to this party for one,
the words I write
are for me
even when they’re about you.
*****
Fairweather Street
Houses dot the landscape,
family dwellings
holding the American dream of
mom, dad and 2.5 children.
“Don’t forget me,” says Maxi
the golden retriever
and we all laugh.
Infrastructure delineates one side of the street
from the other,
roads, bridges and right-of-ways,
the lines separating chaos.
A new house has just been built
waiting for a new family,
an addition to the neighborhood,
a mystery.
Will they be friend or foe?
The birds and squirrels don’t care,
but the couple across the street does.
It’s quiet now
but after they move in
the kids might scream,
the TV may blare,
maybe the husband and wife will fight,
life on Fairweather Street hangs in the balance.
Houses fill the landscape,
family dwellings
lost inside the American dream.
*****
The Churn
The bridge is closed,
I can’t get to you.
There’s wreckage
in the water,
someone went over the side
thrashing in the churn.
He looks like me,
but no one is helping,
they’re turning around
to go another way.
This is the only route
you gave me.
I said your name
and a line of cold water spilled from my mouth.
My ears have closed,
all I can hear
is the rush of waves.
I want out of the car
but the door won’t open.
The bridge is closed,
I can’t get to you.
END
