Names live then die
on the tip of a tongue
random access memory are
slow firing brain neurons
a thought vanishes into ether
a second thought is the reason
multitasking is past tense
and is now a single task
loud sound is a Trump card
disrupting all brain activity
You’re in bloom
opening like a flower
bathed in summers glory
I see the hidden parts of you
The moments we thought we’d forget
All the parts we swore you’d outgrew
You’ve been dormant for so long
Closed and gaurded
naturally defensive
No longer are you trying to defend yourself
you’ve been planted in solid ground
Now you can bloom the way you were always meant too
but I did walk with my nephew
visiting from Colorado
who explained the mycorrhizal –
fungal web to me like a scientist
not a third grader
as he pedaled Pop’s bike
up Victory
to show me his pit stops
the spinning thing
(a double glass pinwheel),
the one pretty flower bed,
the rain wire “like we have”
and the Black Lives Matter sign
“Because black lives DO MATTER!!!”
I grinned as he turned there
to coast down the hill
just as his cousin joined us
to say, “time to go home”
and I thought to myself
he’s gonna be alright
Along the lines of
beauty, easy to follow down your face,
could we find similarities like
darts on a round board?
Every shared freckle a three,
faces dotted and dissimilar, a lost
game we can still play together.
Here we are alike, here we are
indifferent, here we are different.
Just like the type of twins that aren’t,
kaleidoscoped in what we share. I
loved your brown eyes.
My green never seemed so
never ending.
Over the slope of your nose, the scrunch of your
pursed lips, so
quick to a smile.
Remember then? Was it really
so easy to forget what you loved,
to find something worth staying for in me?
Under that roof, this roof, it should never have been
vacant as it is.
We were never so similar to be recognized as a whole, yet
X marked the spot they could find us. Look in
your brown mirror eyes, for the sparkles of a
zenith we once shared.
Kali was a child of chained mother and father
sold to a master at market
she
given away for free
to a childless couple
too full to notice her beauty
too numb to protect a child
this child taken in
to use & abuse
to serve
to clean
to cook
keep the fires ablaze
Kali knew her place
was ‘no’ place
she cast naught a shadow
even when entering a room
yet late at night
by attic light
swath by swath
shade by shade
her patched soul’s quilt emerged
Maybe I should write about the bioluminesence:
tiny glittering pins, pure daylight blue as you swish
your arms through the water. About my friends
far into the bay, splashing & tossing rings of light
at a purple horizon. About rubbing salt stains
out of our bathing suits in the bathroom sink &
patching blisters on her heels. About my anxiety
I tugged too hard & became wrong.
The ocean was warm & we stared back at it
arms & legs all gooseflesh then walked in silence.
We sat in the hotel room eating bread & pasta &
watching 3 am cable. We left the door open.
It was there & then it was gone.
It’s the cutest game ever,
how my dog suckers me
into rubbing her belly.
Laying on the floor,
blocking my path,
baring her pink tummy,
mischief in her eyes,
daring me to even think
about passing by
without petting her.
I turn the corner from the kitchen
and she rolls over in the green chair,
demanding affection.
One sunny day, she would not come in
from the backyard.
I walked all the way over
to check on her
just for her to grin
and go belly up
as if to say,
“Gotcha!
I’m not going anywhere
‘til I get some pet pets.”
Even when she is in my girlfriend’s lap,
already being showered with attention,
she flashes me her tummy
expectantly.
A good tummy rub trap can happen
any time
anywhere
without warning
when least expected,
and it’s always impossible to resist.
Such is the peril of loving something.
I kiss her forehead every chance I get.
I put the phone down when we play.
I rub her tummy each and every instance
that it is offered.
For time is its own trap.
Someday the house will be empty
of everything except memory.
