Posts for June 29, 2017

driving to work today I became trapped
behind the slow moving
road crew painting fresh stripes
of white lines to box me in
from the edges

so fresh and pure the spray
covered the grey remnants of previous
boundaries
that had once been as crisp
as they are becoming
again
and I had the not overwhelming urge
to track through, to touch
the wet paint and trace my journey forward
but admiration for their clarity
of purpose kept me
in the lines

perhaps that is why tonight
I feel free to impose myself on the stark
page
and make my own lines
with the darkness

On what used to be
my parents’ anniversary,
I wrote of my father
bringing my mother flowers. 
Later, I visited my mother. 
She had one beautiful 
cabbage rose in full bloom. 
It’s petals fell to the ground 
when I touched them. 
I suppose,  at some point, 
everything must fall apart.

The Kentucky sun
Turned my moustache blonde
While the Tennessee air
Cut through my  brown hair

Since I turned twenty-one
I thought just for fun
I have been doing twenty pushups
Each morning and night

craving adventure
I dream of salt in the air
but I hate the heat

I book a condo
one with air conditioning
a balcony too

I know too well that
direct sun may be harmful
for my condition

but drinking color
from the morning sunrises
and the sunsets too

even from a porch
real adventure can be had
watching the dreamscapes

soaking up the sun
warming my romantic heart
no sunscreen needed

I like being able to see you animated
standing in a house on a map
a mile two miles a hundred miles.
It’s so important to know exactly where your heart is
so you can hold onto it.

I know a plethora of words.
In English mostly,
but some in Spanish,
some in German, some
that mean words but are 
signs language instead. 
Today, every 
single
one
of those words I know,
that vast ocean of them,
is failing me.
I gawp in incomprehension.
I’m groping for them in the dark, but
they’re sliding away slickly 
like a hockey puck on ice.
They come in but they won’t
go back out, won’t
march in the lines
I try to herd them into.
All my words have escaped
save for the ones I needed
to write this poem. 

How close do you think you are to losing your self?
Would you like a seat in the front row
Be in the know
Watch me fall apart slowly
Grab a souvenir
An ankle, an ear, a fuzzy ball
Put it in a crystal case
Keep the kids away if you are that type
Gripe at the sound quality, the curtains
Whatever.

You could take heart in tearing mine apart.
I am still standing up on the dias
Roll yours; you may never know what’ll happen
I don’t
I am waiting on you.
I am trying to find you.
(I am trying to find me.)

(Please listen to this. For his sake.)

distance what is 
time what is
love what is 
cold what is
discover what is 
hot what is
old what is 
dream what is 
hope what is 
gift what is
broken what is
relationship what is
hold what is
vow what is
together what is
one what is
home what is
forever what is 
safe what is
yearn what is 
peace what is
sorry what is
pain what is
life what is 
sorrow what is
yesterday what is
forward what is
touch what is
backward what is
breath what is
descent what is
body what is 
rise what is
goal what is
said

The machines beep.
Your chest moves up
and down,
forced by the air
flowing through the tube
taped to your face.  

Your dark hair is damp
with sweat,
and pushed
to one side
of your forehead.  

The tube pulls at
your mouth.
In dreams of frustration
your jaws clench
making the alarm chime.  

You are asleep
and it’s easier to be here
when you don’t know
that I’m in the room.

-Maggie Brewer