Posts Tagged ‘change’

Waiting for Reality

What had ended as a game
had began as a puzzle
with grand trappings
of sharp angles
soft fabrics
and applause.

The difference was the patience
involved in gift giving.
One can wait so very long for their gift
unless others have it.
Snow fell on every one of my birthdays.

My mother ran out of things to teach me
while the oven baked our secret recipe.
500 million grains of sand having
filled my body at that point
and so much silence left
on the beach we shared.

I made short friends.
Of number height and magnitude.
Things you can’t say
because your mouth
is stuck in a smile. I long for the cool
numbness of the corners
when I can relax.

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after being cleaned.
Stacks of rising color
then kneel at the
babbling brook of fabric.

Add one there
in the morning
near the eye,
a crease to mark
her –
to remind her.

Emerge as the product
of teaching children art
their crumpled ancestors
hiding finished products
curved, arced, and tucked
in at night.

A pocket.
The paper in the pocket.
The hand around the paper.
The man growing from the hand.
Everything bent to meet
their own end.
Waiting to be opened
to show us inside.

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The antiquated machine
seemed to choke
on the burden of change
caught in gravity.
The familiar sound
of the coin return
converting the aborted
long distance call
into profit.
I have been conditioned to salivate
at the ancient art
of turning lead into gold.

I grip the coin tightly
because the magicians
are trying to make it disappear.
They grin slightly
as they instruct me on all the ways
to keep my fearful fingers
around them.
I never let them go
and run home never allowing
the coins to leave my eyes.

But upon returning,
with my coins in hand,
everything else is gone.
My beer stained couch,
the empty fridge,
and every book or passage
I’ve written or read.
Everything is gone, from
every room, and everything
from inside my head.

The coins roll across the empty
floors of a slightly tilted apartment
and lodge themselves under the heater.

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That summer my beliefs
so consumed me
I created reality
rather than experience it.

Fury. Nothing significant.
A beating fist pounding
between heart and God.
Iambic confessions
first inward, then skyward.

My foot alternated the breaks
until warning lights
and break pads wore to nothing.
I drove that leprous scrap yard
into every summer night.

The shadow always chased
the car. My car couldn’t grasp
its impending death and so
worked harder the more it failed.
The rosary swayed with every hard start.

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It’s a Pain

It’s a pain.
a pain.
Forced upon me
by my eyes,
No. What they see.
Yes. No still.
Pain isn’t in sight;
it isn’t hiding
in the light that folds
into darkness.
It is in the stomach,
that irritable sack.
as it is hungry.
Except now it is pained.
The in is trying to come out
and that is the pain.
No, yet again.
Confusing causes
will not solve this pain.
Solve? It is not that kind of pain.
A kind pain.
A desired pain. Yes.
Indubitable. Like a tickle
that you shirk from
but then want in its
How you shirk when
I call it a pain,
yet no denial
follows, just insult.
Muscles grow in pain.
Head’s ache from
too much learning.
Yet the soul must grow.
The soul must learn.
Such is pain.
No. Yes?

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Stop lights on downtown main street,
over-turned farm equipment,
a gun, a tear in her eyes;
who hasn’t written about these?
The epitomes of everyday life
have bereft us of the mystery
of the meaning in naturally occurring
objects. Even when upsidedown.

So solid that I hold onto them
when the earth quakes.

What about the butterfly coaster
to protect her desk from spills,
the overturned sea shell to hold change
and remind her of the beach at work,
what of the hand sanitizer she applies
after shaking hands with folks? These symbols
are unused, and too particular to be meaningful.

So elusive is their power that I can do naught
but mention them in passing.

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Talk over dinner
over and over
like the river
or an ocean sound.

Missed out,
Nobody is around
under, under
the skin

We begin
to speak in spaces
sounding places
silent faces
beside and besides

is a collection
stolen. We find ways
to steal each other’s time
in the speaking space
within me, within

only to be empty.
Something is lost
between us. Between us
Age clings like frost.
On and on
goes infinity.

the agent of change
puts me above you
and now the spaces
without you
can’t speak.
They can’t speak
without you.

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