Having conversations with the gods
watching the moon and sun dance in the sky
tell me have you ever heard every bird sing in jubilee
and desperately wanted to join
throat dry from all the words you never said
aching to be filled with sound?
Tell me what has colonialism
ever afforded you except a life
where there is no time for sunrises?
today I celebrate
a destination reached
my own, mid life graduation
my circle theory is correct
I always come back around
relief is found in the evidence
researcher and fact checker that I am
can confirm
I have made the correct choice
As I walked out of my job yesterday,
for the final time – carrying all my personal
items in my arms, I felt many things
Sadness, because I will miss the people
Relieved, because it was a hard environment
Prayerful, because I will continue to pray for
those that I built a relationship with
Inspired, because there was a lot of inspiration
for me in the staff, patients, and overall environment
and Blessed, because I had the opportunity to work
there and I left a little part of myself behind when I left
The only light
is from my laptop
and the first streams
of daylight filtered
through the curtains.
Then, for no reason,
I think of Wiesel’s
thin novel—just 81
pages—of a Shoah
survivor in British
Mandate Palestine.
He is a freecdom
fighter, a terrorist
some would say,
who will soon
descend the steps
of his safe house
to a cellar where
he will execute
a captured British
officer. One shot,
and it will be over.
What I recall
most? Tbe offcer
is telling a story
as his executioner
squeezes the trigger.
We never hear
the tale, the teller
dies too soon.
This is my dawn,
not Wiesel’s
So why I think
of his dark book
eludes me.
I only know my
room slowly gets
brighter, my dog
sleeps on the couch
and I am alive.
When the sun goes down on the neighborhood
and all the trash cans have been wheeled back from the curb,
the dog dozes in her crate, wife in bed with her book,
I’ll stand in front of the fridge, door open,
looking for something that appeals,
perhaps a yogurt, or handful of granola,
oh, leftover turkey tetrazzini, heated
in the microwave, the crusty parts coming
out harder still, and consider a parallel life
where I am snorting illicit substances
off the stomachs of wanton women,
driving with the top down to some rager of a house party,
the cops called because of the noise,
me getting too aggressive in telling them to buzz off,
spending a long night and day in the pokey,
Lulu bailing me out and giving me the business
for being so hard-headed stupid
and when am I gonna grow up and get a real job
and a mortgage and health insurance
and, you know, live a normal life like a normal person
and then she stops talking to see if any of what
she said is sinking in, but my head is throbbing
and my foot is twitching that twitch
of wanting to up and run, I tell her to
pull into Tiny’s for a whiskey and she shakes her head,
makes a sigh of disgust, but I know she loves me,
my angel, my Lulu, always coming to my rescue,
and then I think maybe, considering my cholesterol and all,
I best stick to a bowl of good old Cheerios.
I tried to give DJ the glass perfume bottle. It is expuisite and I can’t believe he chose it for me during his teen age years. He said—
You keep it Mom, I’ll get it after you’re gone.
When I expressed concedrn about my art, writing and mementos going on the curb, Johnny said —
Mom, that’s not what will happen. I’ll go through it first.
“Goonies never say die!”
how lucky we are to time travel
together,
