Posts for June 3, 2023 (page 9)

There’s no way to negotiate
your membership.

The alcoholics ashes lay,

In an urn above the floor,

Stored away closed and still,

A symbol of what was before.

A life once filled with turmoil,

And pain that could not be ignored,

But now in death, a chance for peace,

And calm to be restored.

I sit in adjacent room at night,

And reflect upon your ways,

The good, the bad, the joy, the pain,

And how we struggled through those days.

Though you’re gone, the dogs sense you here,

A chill rush through the air,

And every time I pass that Urn,

I know you can’t get out of there.

So, with the closet kept shut tight

Your memory sealed within

For in that urn where there is no light

After 23 fucking years, the drying out finally begins.

There is something within these deep woods and hollers; these sacred mountain places
It is ancient, it has always existed will always exist long after we have all returned to the earth
Watching us from within the deep confines of the woods; the thing that calls our names
As darkness falls across the land and casts long shadows as the sun disappears
We were raised not to answer, to ignore it, as it beckons us into the trees
Constantly watching; it’s as though when you stare into forest, the forest stares back
Appalachia has many secrets; this is but one of them, child, believe me
So many things that can never be explained, only passed down to each
New generation of Appalachian; from the wilds of Maine to the coal fields of Eastern Kentucky, we all know and most of us believe in whatever is out there, though we can
Not put it to a name because no name for it exists; it is ours and does not need a moniker
If you hear it calling you in early evening, as the purple and pinks of twilight takeover
The blue sky, look away because you did not hear a thing, child, not a word
You can look, watch for it against a backdrop of leaves and bramble and oaks but
Do not follow it in, because these woods run deep and finding your way out again
Is a near impossible task; more folks have been lost to it than you could ever imagine
Give it space and respect, revere it, but from a distance like a pretty piece of China
Set upon a shelf in your mamaw’s house; some things are not for us, you see
Some things are best left well enough alone

SAM ARTHURS, “SOMETHING ANCIENT DWELLS HERE,” 2 JUNE 2023 LexPoMo

Sometimes tedium
Begets insightful moments
Found useful later

time:
I measure it in 

morning glories 
marigolds

migrations
fallin leaves

Orion leaping
over ancient oaks 

jade green rocks 
found at

 Big Sur after
eons in the sea

Yesterday I lost a hunk of tooth
eating cake and ice cream. 
The weird part is, it didn’t hurt. 
It didn’t bleed. 
I didn’t panic. 
I shook my head and held my jaw. 
I spat and moved on 
to the next sweet spoonful. 
Probably would’ve swallowed the thing
if I hadn’t bit down all wrong. 
I’m losing my luxury bones
one piece at a time
But it’s the shame
that gets stuck in my throat. 
Maybe one day I’ll learn
to choke it down, spit out the rot 
and keep smiling. 

The melancholy finds me even in my sleep.
Distance gaps. An invisible wire connects us
from ragged point to wary point. We struggle
to connect in the untethered Age of Connectivity. 

It’s strange.

All the birds chirping together sound like telephone static. 
All the pain I overhear from strangers at the supermarket 
sounds like my own, when I’m really listening. 

On the drive back to my apartment, crackers for breakfast 
and the sun peaks its way past suburban sprawl–
the birds don’t know how we feel. They rise and fall
in groups, land where they please. Who’s to say
exactly what they know?

I pay $150 every two weeks
To tell my therapist the things I can’t say to you.
To help me process the anger
And the disappointment
Because after 3 decades of breathing the same air
You never really knew me.

row after row
white-crested waves race to catch     
the morning’s sunrise