How did we
Get to where
Our hearts now
Reside in you?
I remember
Waking, worrying
About making you late
For work, for life
Outside our 2-bedroom,
4-wall sleeping chamber;
I remember
The bus rides,
Waiting, walking
About to find time to waste
For sanity, for clarity
Of what we needed when
Nothing was attainable;
I remember
You driving in the evening,
Picking me up
Before you could fall asleep
And we could
Repeat the reality
Of being together
For the rest.
Found you stuck on a median,
Standing in the dark drizzle with those
Sad eyes and cold cheeks, huddled
Within yourself, and hoping I
Wouldn’t mind having to rescue you,
But that’s what love is, that’s what
Life leads us to be: heroes in the
Minor moments, when we could be
Assholes, but only see the work
That needs done and the warmth
Of knowing the ones we must protect
Are safe and sound and warm at night
Walk me through
Your day; just
Give me a glimpse
And send me
On your way;
Let me see
How you perceive
The inter-
Actions
We take for granted,
But you seem
To hold on to and
Turn into torture.
Take me through
Your nights; just
Give me a list
Of the repetitions,
so I can tell you
The shad-
Ows
Behind you
Are what move you, not
Your limbs or
Your forced grins or
Recollections of better times.
Failed again,
For the umpteenth time.
Pretty sure
I shouldn’t be trying, but
Punishment suits me.
Give me
All you are
So I can
Give you
All I am
I broke down
Listening to those
Reminders
In my head
Of your voice,
Of your warmth,
Of your love,
And I’ve yet
To rebuild,
I’ve yet to rebuild.
Show me your opened eyes,
That great big smile,
The warmth of your [finger]tips
Finding their way along my scalp.
“At least
At least they’re even,”
She says, looking
At eyes closing for
Lack of will to be open.
“Maybe
Maybe he’s just tired,”
She says, looking
For a reason to
Keep from being worried.
“He’s
He’s not crying,”
She says, looking
To convince her
To ignore intuition,
To bury the canary,
To give up concern
And replace it
With ignorance.
Memory,
My old friend,
Hiding on the shelves
Of my mind, burning without
Smoke or flame the pages of
This life we’ve written.
Edited by omission,
My volumes are slimmer
Than their binding, bound to
Give me reason to wonder;
What’s been missing, what
Haven’t I read, which way
Should my lips curl, should my eyes
Stay still or float away?
Memory,
My old friend,
You’ve kept me
Sane all these years,
Plucking out the rotten,
But giving me just enough
To make me feel full.
Only after, years after,
I realized chunks
Were missing and I bother you
To give them back, but
You’ve thrown them away,
Giving me just enough
Space to know they might have ripened once,
But not to know they decayed.
I read a class assignment I had worked on when I was ~9. The ask was to have the class write their favorite Christmas memory. I wrote that I wanted a bike at my Dad’s, like I had at my Mom’s, and that I heard a noise on Christmas Eve, only to awake to find a bike under the tree. I do not remember any of that assignment, that night, or that morning. I don’t remember a lot of my time at my Dad’s. I used my memory as a means to erase the anger and frustration I felt toward him, toward being stretched between two households. I don’t remember much, and find it easier to not retain than to try and recall it all. I’m hoping having a child will kick-start my memory, and give Candi and I a reason to slow down enough to enjoy the ride of life.
Memory,
You old devil,
Opening only when
I pull you so.
History is what makes us
Who we are, allows us
To be who we want to be by
Giving breadcrumbs, giving something
To search for ourselves by;
We’ve got
Over half our lives to live
I’m really glad
You’re who I get to spend mine with