most of the time, in my dreams, i am resigned to all the horror and sadness. i’ve seen loved ones die. i’ve had teeth explode out of my mouth. i’ve seen you and them all leave me over and over, angry with me, overjoyed, not thinking of me at all. and each time, i am unaffected, an odd observer to my own life. it is what it is. it was always meant to be this way. null and void to the core.
today, this morning, in the midst of such a dream, of our mortality, i couldn’t stop weeping, sobbing, i was inconsolable, i couldn’t be held, balled up into myself, heaving, overwhelmed.
and i woke up.
not a tear, just an immense emptiness. the memory of the dream so vivid but not one tear on my face. i felt nothing, passionless, weightless, i was nothing. where did it come from?
it’s been all amuck. i’ve been all amuck. we’ve built a foundation that has begun to take root. i see a path out of the woods, i see the shore. i see the waves breaking against the jetty, i hear the promise of an end in the tide. i see the seagulls coasting the sky like kites waiting for me to take hold.
and as we approach, the soil turns sandy and our feet slip, footfalls momentarily stuck and slide. and this is where we are at, so close but it feels infinitely harder. this is the shortest stretch but the most arduous.
and of all the things i promised you in this love-life of ours, this is the one dream i have my sights on, the one thing that all this effort has been geared towards. and it’s crystalizing before us, it’s as clear as the horizon in the distance and the sea that kisses it with the sun.
will you join me my love? will you dance with me through this hurdle of dunes and petrified wood? will you sit with me in the sand and let the breeze play with your hair? will you laugh with me as we remember when our children were scouting for seashells? will you hold my hand as we watch the sunset before the moon enshrouds us all?
it’s just a little bit further. it’s right there, past the muck.
the machine moves, it has momentum. the only friction, could i have done more? it is never enough, it never ends. yes, it becomes background noise, the taunts of incompleteness, of being broken, a hobble of a man, no, not a man. there is nothing gendered about this, strictly shuffling, before the designation, before the naming, it happened all before you were even named: a still birth that crawls about and pushes on, scarred and scarring, unforgiving in your pursuit, unforgiven for what you have done
I saw the snow and I was filled with wonder. I saw the snow and it was falling, thick, puffy pieces finding their way gently to the ground. Finding lost brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins. Look they’re getting together, they’re getting ready to party. I saw the snow blanket the street, the car at the curb, the lawn, the driveway, the car in the driveway, the steps to the porch, a blanket across the porch. I saw the snow falling and how it covered everything and it was pure and white and lovely and a quiet understanding that this was just for me, maybe, if we were good, it would last a little longer for all of us. I saw the snow and remembered you in it, I remember you bursting with laughter, missing front teeth, so many years missing those two front teeth. And between then and now the teeth have come in, the smile just as charming, even more so. Making snow angels, a joyous glee, a sense of utter reckless joy. Which I saw from the window, wishing you were next to me, watching it fall.
ioanna,
The year ends, the year wraps up, we look over our shoulders and wonder where did it all go. What did we do, who did we dance with, where were the edges, what have we seen? The year ends, it wraps itself around us, gentle collage, vivid bright hues, warm sunlight, moonlit shade, the trace of a song whose hook is on the edge of our tongues. A deep yearning, a resolution, an accounting of promises. The year ends, we look over our shoulders, we gage its momentum, what will carry us forward, what got us here, what have we left behind? New habits, bad habits, new routines, new footsteps. We remember, this is how you walk, one foot in front of another. The year ends, wraps around our shoulders, comforts us, pours us hot coco and asks us if we want marshmallows. Who says no to marshmallows, no one says no to marshmallows. The comfort of the past, warm mug cupped in our hands, cuddled together, we look ahead. We look under the tree, just right there, to see what the present will bring us.
my love,
My love my love my love my love me love my love my love my love who I cannot complete my love I that I could not imagine my love I dreamt and wept and suddenly found by happenstance my love where we cuddled in the cold where we lazily bared with the heat my love we’ve walked miles and miles together through concrete through mountains through snow banks through bitter winds through sudden rainstorms that we laughed at my love there can never be enough christmases there can never be enough presents there can never be enough lights or ornaments or wreaths or mistletoe my love there can be never be enough of my love there can never be enough of the little ones tearing through gift wrapping papers and the utter joyous destruction of passionate children born of my love my love my love my love my love my love my love my love my love
I walk through the streets. My city. My people: the lost, the annoyed, the angry, the oblivious. We’re all going somewhere and everyone else is in the way.
I weave, I thread my way through to get underground: entranced sightseers, daring teenagers, nurses off double shifts, exquisitely tailored bros. All in my way. They stand between my city and our home.
Because the city belongs only to me, it is mine. The city is a proud, lonely place. it’s for cutting teeth and harsh wind tunnels and sweaty piles of garbage. It’s for drunken wild moon nights and sober blistering days in the park. It is not for friends or for lovers. It is not for families. It is for your soul only. It is for your very own sense of brutality and kindness.
But, our home, our home belongs to all of us. It’s where I can breathe and be held. Where I can find rest. It’s where I can be touched with warmth, by his mischievous smile when he tells a lie, her pout when I refuse to play the guitar with her, and of course you: where there is no me, there is only us and ours.
And between my city and our home they all crowd in my way: miserable waiting on the corner, miserable crossing the street, miserable in the stairways, the tunnels, miserable on the train, miserable between seats. Misery sitting next to me.
I wish I could tell them, lean over and whisper into their ear, I know, I know why you are the way you are: my city doesn’t love you and you don’t have a home.
I cannot. I cannot you. I cannot believe you exist. I wake up every morning and you’re gone and I say to myself, that’s right, this was all a sham, a fever dream. I don’t recognize this place without you. I don’t recognize this life. You’ve become so ingrained in it any deviation from it is unreal, a nightmare.
I cannot. I cannot you. I cannot believe you are here with me, years after years and it works, you make it work, no, that’s not right. You it easy. You make it effortless. And I know there is toil. And I know there is exhaustion. I know not every day is a basket of fruit or flowers or chocolates. But for you, you make it wonderful. You make it joyful. All the little things, all the gestures, all the faces, the nuances, the gait, the walk, the stumble, the sudden change in pitch, the tears of your laughter. I cannot imagine it. What stone were you cut from?
when i was young, i longed for the night, a desperate desire to be free and roam the streets, to walk through the shadows, a ghost fleeting through headlights
now i am older and i dread the night, i long for the day, to be embraced by the heartless sun, to feel its grace, its heat, to be seen before i disappear
There is a point where, well, everything is just crazy. Things are happening fast but everything seems so slow. We want to get there, but have no idea where there is and maybe there’s no real rush to arrive. It’s warm here, why leave? And this singular moment is stretched thin under such tension that something’s gotta snap. And it does, from time to time. All the frustration and fear lashes out like a whip on a drill, striking the people we love the most, innocent bystanders too close for their own good, and even ourselves. No matter how firmly we place our feet on the ground, how deeply we dig in our heels, we’re pulled forward kicking and screaming, our hands burned from the rope tied around our waists, and it starts all over again.
Maybe it’s different for you. I spend a lot of time imagining you, what you would say, how you see and hear the world. What does it all mean through your eyes? Maybe this time is all bells and whistles and an eagerness to blow this one horse town. Maybe the future is an invitation to a life you’ve been longing to get to and we’ve been the anchor desperately holding you in place. Maybe our hopes and fears are burdens that you just wish you could pivot, shrug and be free of. We mean you no harm. And what do we mean to you? I think, he would think that’s a stupid question, can’t you guys see? There is a certain kind of blindness that I’ve tried over the years to see past, to account for. The parent that sees no wrong in their child. The father that sees too much of something they disapprove of. Sometimes I think I see you truly, as you are, and I am overjoyed. Sometimes you remind me I don’t have the slightest clue and I have to redo all my calculations and stipulations.
I have to say, the last couple of years have been heartbreaking for me. Not for the reasons that you think. We talk about having shared long days together when you were younger, before you started going to school. Quiet, timeless moments. And while I long for those days that’s not what saddens me. It is not the intervening years that were tumultuous (somewhat, gotta give you some credit here: you were a far better teenager than I ever was). What hurts is we are continuing to build the thing we started all those years ago. That it was always being built but we took it for granted. We entering into new territory and I fear I didn’t bring enough material to make sure it’s steady. I’m mixing up metaphors here, but that’s what I do. I pivot and dodge, I shuffle and escape. If my number one fear back then was never being privy to your three year old mind, imagine what it’s like now when you’re a fully rational being.
You must be thinking, old man, what the heck are you talking about? Let me make it clear, I love you Michael. I am proud of you and find you wonderful. There are times I cannot take my eyes off of you. I miss you. And not because you are not right in front of me, it’s hard to explain. I don’t want to interfere. I don’t want to correct you or give direction. I simply want to keep watching this show of your life. After all, each season keeps getting better and better.
i’ve been surfing lately i cant help it, i cant look at it i can’t stop, there’s this and this and that someone i pass by laughs, ‘you aint got time to lie’ and i surf and surf, mantra in my head, i aint got time i aint got time to look under the surface, i know it’s an angry mass of grief and gnarled fingers weaving and knuckles pressing into each other desperate for purchase, and it’s hundreds of hands, right there, look, right there under the surface but i aint got time, i’m surfing, i’m outta here
I was such an idiot. Standing at the altar, refusing to turn around. I must’ve looked so smug, but I wasn’t. I was excited, I didn’t want anything to go wrong, I didn’t want to jinx it. Wasn’t I not supposed to see you until the ceremony. But today was the ceremony, how dumb. But I was happy. This was really happening, the thing that I thought would never happen. The dream that woke me up in tears when I was thirteen: I couldn’t see her face, I couldn’t see her but she was in my arms and I was loved and in love, she was right there but I couldn’t see her. And here she was, walking up the aisle and I wouldn’t turn around. I was proud. Proud that I made it this far, that we made this real.
Isn’t this life insane? So many things we’ve been through. The faxes, the emails, the IRC chat rooms, scrambling around airports, walking through Paris, unimpressed with London, tight hotels, lazy motels, playing house in Albany, being bohemian, our little apartment which was bigger than we needed because spent all our time in the bedroom. Moving back to New York, trying to be adults, looking for a home to start a family, we had started a family, ioanna, then michael, the first flood, then the second, the parade of cars, the anger, the fights over money, the fear of something precious being lost, and yet, we go on, one off to the college, the next in the wings, but still you. Still the joy of you. The woman of my dreams who I couldn’t bear to see her face, who I couldn’t bear to see on our wedding day, who I cannot wait to return to.
There is nothing in this world that means to me more than you.
