My world shattered when I found out
about you. The image of regularity
I clung to was ripped from my hands
and torn before my eyes. I can never
go back to how I was before. But,
sometimes glass is meant to break,
and maybe I was meant to find you.
“I don’t know how to explain to you why you should care about other people.” I read that online and it stuck out to me because all my life I have cared about other people as a default setting. It’s never made sense to me when I see others speak such hatred and vitriol in forums on the Internet or on the news or protesting at our local Pride event. When I see that someone gunned their neighbor down in front of their house for being who they are and loving who they love. Or when I see people denied opportunities because of an unjust system. And as much as I curse and shout at my brain for the rigid thinking and the need to know more and the ruminating thoughts I also know that my brain in partnership with my heart gives me great empathy and love. It’s hard to see others not feel that way. I’m not trying to say that I’m some saint. And I don’t pretend to be perfect because I know that we’re all growing. But canonize me if that means that I will always be known as someone who speaks kindness into this world. “I don’t know how to explain to you why you should care about other people.” But I can sure do my best to show you.
seventeen years, i have waited for this.
lying in wait for one perfect summer.
i’ll charge into the daylight with a scream
after a lifetime of silence.
and you never even knew i was here
until the second you wished i was gone.
but i was designed unafraid.
i know what i came here to do.
and i will fly in the face of danger
so long as it serves my purpose.
i don’t ask for mercy;
i just ask for this moment.
from dirt i came, to dirt i will return.
and you’ll forget me, in time.
but i am omnipresent; i am life-giving.
and i’ll ask for nothing in return,
just for one perfect summer.
cicada song
firefly song
The aria that calls up June
in the mind. Was the memory
hazy or was it just
the weather?
dry wind song
grill sizzle song
The sun tries to kill us
from millions of miles away
only to be stopped by a layer
dozens miles above our heads.
bonfire song
green growth song
lawnmower song
And the hum of x-rays,
gamma rays underlying it all.
Sometimes, I pray while making toast.
When I kneel to pick weeds
and find a nickel buried
deep
beneath rocks and dead leaves, I pray, too.
And sometimes,
if my throat clings dryly to a scream,
I’ll pray again.
Right now,
sitting on this broken-down front porch in my grandmother’s chair,
I’m praying that
I never forget the way her mother-arms wrapped around me
or that summer( miles away now)
that Laura Ingalls Wilder taught me all about sucker slugs and chiggers.
You know, in my 20s,
I never knew what it could be like,
what it could mean to feel delicate
with velvet skin,
so I’m praying
that I keep summering
in this self-love
for a few more days
or weeks
… maybe forever.
Also, my stubbornness is quiet after I pray.
A girl named Charlie
A boy named Shelly
A dog named Pepper
A cat with no claws
A park with wooden benches
A birdbath tipped on its side
A lawn grown over the pedestal
A robin red breast in the rain
A murder of crows ascend
A black wing blocks the sky
When your retirement strategy includes overdose
before 70, making enemies
of your next-of-kin, and general chaos slinging
the party beach really is the best place for you,
a high tide of excess
leaving behind remnants of a life remembered
and foregone
How many times I watched
you cast your spell, weaving
a web shimmering with desire.
Intriguing, inticing, seducing
until there was a step on the
silken thread of the net you cast.
Suddenly, you would pounce,
surrounding, overwhelming,
sucking your victim dry.
I protected myself by walling
off my heart, surrounded by a
deep moat of smoldering hate.
Avoiding your snare by hiding
in front of you under a sheath
of armor too thick to pierce
I saw you raise an axe to
shatter me but you never
brought down the blade.
When I saw your shrunken body
body helpless in the hospital bed
I couldn’t believe it was you.
Only after you were gone,
when I was safe from you,
did I see your loneliness,
your sorrow, your anguish
staining the walls that were
still moist with your tears.
Yes. I will proudly say I’m that guy.
The one you curse
from behind your tinted glass fortress,
pounding your horn
like it’ll bend time.
Entitled, to say the least.
I drive the speed limit.
Maybe five over if I’m feeling adventurous.
And to you, that makes me the villain.
An inconvenience to your self-centered day.
But let’s talk about villains.
Burning rubber, you fly past me.
20 over, at least.
Who needs radar to read reckless?
Following so close behind me,
I can count your nose hairs in my rearview.
As if breathing down my neck
is going to make me risk my life,
for a head start
to your joyless destination.
Why is the world in such a rush?
To shave three minutes off a grocery run?
To get to…
Never mind.
I’ll finish my thought
when I meet you at the red light
you raced to first.
Considering yourself a safe driver
in total control over your vehicle.
Your attempt to justify says,
“I’ve never been in a car accident before.”
That doesn’t make you safe.
That makes you lucky.
Though, luck runs out.
Two million gone every year.
A soul erased every 30 seconds.
By someone who thought
just like you.
Hot pavement doesn’t bargain.
You’re not just “in a hurry.”
You’re the reason someone’s
child never came home.
You’re the vacant seat in the dining room,
the scream inside sirens,
the ghost behind statistics.
I won’t pretend I’m perfect.
I have been in accidents.
I have been lucky.
Blessed, if you will.
I’ve learned, adjusted.
That’s why I sit on high alert.
Hands steady, posture relaxed.
I don’t drive like a maniac
I’m not escaping my own impatience.
Better to be at peace than on edge.
No degree in rocket science required.
Just common sense.
Don’t drive like the road
owes you something.
It doesn’t.
It never has.
Privileges abused and safety at risk,
The speed limit is a life limit,
and your foot’s on the cord.
