Darkness
Daylight
Don’t you think they cause each other

You said you want someone to talk deeply to,
to lay on the mattress with your skull opened
like a letterbox, begging someone to untangle
the crumpled memoirs, the lock, a cut soothed over
with the balm of gentle words, a quiet let me in.

But when I came with my crowbar to the birdcage
to fracture the bars and save the dying song smothered 
in your chest, you cried in pain as I gently let you free,
opening the keyhole again for the light to creep inside;
it becomes just a wound in your fortress to bleed from.

Theresa wears tee shirts
that say: “Life Is Good.”
They have outdoor scenes
on the fronts of them.

Some times they sport
stick people riding bicycles
or paddling canoes
or hiking up mountains.
Some times
they are resting in hammocks
or roasting marshmallows.

The tee shirt stick people
look so happy.
You know,
because Life Is Good.

When the words-crafted blade stops,

suddenly,

inexplicably,

before its scheduled destination,

your heart is not sundered,

no matter how encompassing the pain.

It is broken, to be sure,

opened,

fissured,

but still of one piece, recognizable

as a vessel that once held Love,

and now has room to hold a new seed.

It can, might, and may take time,

seeming-ages,

incarnations,

or the time to walk around the corner.

Remember this while wiping tears aside:

Improbable is not kin to impossible.

1.
An invitational text 
pulls me from passed out
to greyed out apartment.
Friends are gathering tonight for trivia
if I am able to join.
They know I have work in a few hours
but still they make this radiant attempt at kindness;
they really want me to be part of the fun.
So do I
even as I turn the phone over
without typing a reply.

2.
Numbers don’t lie.

For months now
I have consistently been
one of the top performing forklifts.

Nobody else has put in the effort
to learn the system like I have
to make it work to their advantage like I do.

I go into the hardest areas
and tame the monsters within.
Disastrous days ensue
those rare times I call off.

I follow every standard procedure:
pallets stacked by color,
no product on the floor,
and I remove every shred of plastic
holding the boxes together
so that selectors can pull orders
without a fight.

And most days I just wish
we would try to develop the other drivers
to help alleviate the stress
instead of giving me another task because
you’re the only one we trust to do this.

3. 
My karaoke skills have rusted out.

On a particularly adventurous Friday
I try taking the stage again
and what flowed from these rigid vocal cords
might have blown some eardrums.

Maybe it was the poor excuse of a catnap
I tried to squeeze in before turning up.

Maybe it was that jager bomb
exploding every reason for its existence
directly into my bloodstream.

Or maybe it was the simple fact
that I just don’t sing karaoke anymore.

4.
Dating while working night shift
is particularly challenging.

My night-style used to be robust,
most days being out beyond twelve.

Now I just have Saturdays and occasional Fridays
if I get lucky enough with the sleep.

Rarely getting out means
it’s rarer to meet people.

Rarely meeting people
leaves you with only the people around

and the people you’re always around
are the people tgat you work with.

Of those people
one begins to stand out.

You know workplace relationships are awkward
but you can’t help yourself from falling.

She is pretty, she is kind,
her smile is my sunrise.

Except you still work night shift
while she comes in for the day.

You’re allowed one, maybe two chances
to try and have a conversation

because you both are too diligent to chat,
even if those moments feel like butterflies.

So one day you make your move,
an exchange of numbers to keep conversation going

then when she doesn’t text, it becomes clear
you won’t be anything more that workplace friends.

But you still see her every day.
Nothing shines in quite the same way.

5.
There comes a point
when an initially unidentifiable something
invades the body or the mind,
spirit or the heart
and you undeniably know,
like a canary in the coalmines,
a fundamental change needs to be made
for your own wellbeing.

Sometimes that change
involves something you love.

6.
I awake to an intrusive incandescencence
flooding my apartment on a Saturday morning.
The light stabs my eyes and vice grips my head.
I’m not ready to face
what I fear I’m starting to know
with crystal clarity
so I pull the covers over my head,
then on my phone
put in an order for blackout curtains.

You speak when I do not

The thunder aroused me from my sleep

But so quickly and easily put me back to sleep

How fascinating such a treacherous sound

Can put one in such comfort and ease

To lower them back to a state of rest

I was never yours to use
Only when convenient.

You can cut me down 
try to break me.

I’ll still work too hard,
people pleaser.

You can’t forget
I’m on my own terms.

No matter how many times I play the innocent
I still hold on to that sliver of control.

Angel, demon
call me what you want to.

Just know I do this for you
but this is not a favor.

The asparagus is left to sprout fern.

Cicadae sing at my window with that “Beanher erh eent errrrh err er.”

When I lower the mower blade to level three.

The creeper hugs our home, reminding us that this is the year to cut back.

Tuxedo-coated animals will roll in dirt just to get a break.

When riding backseat to the dog with its drooling head out the window doesn’t bother me.

The creek cracks red, whilst steeping streams prepare muddy tea.

Bolting lemon balm, carrots, and leafy greens go to seed.

When it’s just too much effort to put on socks or anything at all.

The night blinks of clear skies, lightning bugs, and moonlight.

Milkweed pride spreads its wings for those colorful butterflies.

When the berries have all bloomed out and hide their fruits from pecking birds.

Last night, a pinprick picked 
at my mind, behind my eyelids, 
a woodpecker finding bark.

I began to think as I often do —
in silence and starlight — 
talons clinging to how your gifts 
were bought a week before the date, 
with you by my side, rifling 

through protein powders, probiotics
desired over game DLCs. Smiles, 
not surprise, encircled your presents 
because instead of smart remarks, I 
said, “You can buy more, if you want.”

The talons dug in further at how
you worked yesterday, on your birthday,
though you didn’t mind (you never do,
anymore). My brain was bleeding
from the insomnia and tiredness,

as the talons unrooted their insect,
unearthed what was winding us up
to the 18th. Time is linear like straight
lines creating parabolic curves:
weaving in whims, straying to stymie

in the larger picture, but magnified,
having logic in every trail, a simple path,
in hindsight, musing, recognizing, Oh,
we’ve come a long way
from catching tiny fireflies

and tripping each other in grass,
haven’t we, big brother?
Haven’t we?