this echo within me, of something else, somewhere else, someone else. the ebb and flow of it, haunting, so close and yet so far. who was i, who am i, can i stand to be what i will become?
for years i’ve shed off one thing after another, stripped myself off in pieces dangled by skeletal fingertips, bare and cracked.
somewhere along the way i died and was reborn. and this new skin is hard to come by, treacherous to wear, but i have no other.
Category Archives: words
baby boy
the passion of you, this bright smile, this wonder, you embody joy and innocence in a way that they write about in books.
you’ve turned two and it’s as if i have seen you for the first time. the last couple of years have been difficult for us as a family and i hope, with all my heart, that in the same way you forget your pacifier when we’ve secretly taken it away from you, these dark years eventually are forgotten as well.
We move
We move. In and out of each other’s lives. In and out of our own life. Lose focus, stumble. Here again and the pressure. To stay still. To keep moving. I am always moving in and out spaces impossible to keep still impossible to slip through. Always too much to say in too little a time and a part of me screams to never say anything at all.
the first question, again
where to begin, is always the first question. but the second?
where have you been. no, where have i been.
living, the little boy in the dark says to me, you’ve been living.
unhappy with yourself, racked with guilt, but living nonetheless.
he then adds, it’s not where to begin anymore.
it’s, where do you go now?
We dream
Of this, we dream, over and over. Some
Imagination, the wounding of scars, lilies pried open and sand
For nectar
Over and over, mechanical loop
Of soft tissue and gears
Bloody wire and the aching of teeth, as if
Swelling the tongue brings a measure easily
Defined and succinct
As is praying, over and over
Makes it true
And licks it all clean
Her first tooth
Anxious and excited, she told us her tooth was loose. Over and over to the hallway mirror, checking on it. I’m sure she kept pressing her tongue against it, absentmindedly and often, the way we all do with the gaps.
And then the next day, popped right out of her mouth at the arcade.
We left her a coin from the other side of the world under her pillow.
My little girl, I can’t stop you while you forge on ahead. Can I at least hold your hand?
I have no poetry
I have no poetry, ach my love how can I explain. I have only chattering and faceless voices that tune in and out from somewhere very far until they rush upon me and all the world is made of glass and skittering I try to capture it or them. Or I used to.
instead
we found it all quite remarkable, the brokenness of him, the spittle and the remorse, the mockery of all that he was, the stain of his children, the wounds of his wife. he sits on the porch and writes and abuses himself. he is all abuse. little kindness left, selfish mongrel. and the air he breathes, cool and dry in the midst of a full blown summer, reminds him of a time where he was alive and she was alive and their days were long and they had their future ahead of them and he was pure and uneventful.
but instead, instead, instead.
unyielding
a certain kind of weakness, of despair. an undefinable ache that resists medication. and the urge to remain immobile, to engorge yourself, to keep your self filthy.
at any given point, the mirror stares back. and somehow, somehow, you move through the day. untouchable, unreachable, inconsolable.
Down on the highway
Down on the highway, out in the open plains, fields of restless tress in the dark, you drive. So long since you’ve been behind the wheel. And he not there. He somewhere behind you, dreaming, cold, naked and alone. The road curves, lazy and slow, and the moon on the horizon, clear and laughing.