untitled
On either side a promised threat,
a genocide. I choose regret.
the grief hasn’t hit yet
it lingers in the emptiness
like taffy stuck between my teeth
fading into recent—yet distant memory
laughter that flooded the halls i called
home for an instant, a lifetime
diminished to fun facts
and cheugy gold keychains
My green thumb is borrowed—
Spray ’em down every day, in the
morning, before it gets too hot.
Don’t wanna shock ’em to death—
First casualty? Well, maybe.
Over-watered, under-watered,
what’s the difference?
Hard soil, yellow leaves, dripping
dripping, wilting. Wilted, passed out
in the hanging air. Christ, it feels like
a convection oven out there.
Breathe in, breathe out,
pant, pant, pant.
Dead, waxy leaves. Dead?
How long ’til I have to call it?
Hanger, in the sun,
pink flowers and waxy red leaves.
Dead, for all I know.
when do I call it in? Check for a pulse
tomorrow?
rain spills like a heavy hand of spices,
drenching darkened buildings in sheets
of soupy relief. down here the leaves
and the ground and the trees have no
choice but to drink it all up, swallow it
whole like a fly caught in a carnivorous trap.
there’s no such thing as overwatering
in summer, for even the well-watered tomato
sapling i inherited still looks peaked—
crooked leaves dangle as he arches
his herbaceous back towards eventide’s sun.
doesn’t he know acting needy won’t
bring him any more rain than the rest of us?
I think any progress is a wonderful thing,
but we should sometimes practice more caution.
Progress exposes new questions
we didn’t have the knowledge to ask before.
I think sometimes we forget
the speed at which the Internet
and then smartphones changed the world.
We’re still updating the guidebooks
even as new players are learning the game.
I think we fail the youth by not remembering
how severe a difficulty spike puberty can be.
Tutorials of T-ball and imaginary friends
suddenly thrust a kid into Level 100
with all these hormones and urges and
new sensations now aligning with
access to endless facts, nonfacts, and opinions;
all the things of the world
and sites they can visit.
I think we can do better at recognizing
that gender wars we know have gone on forever
are just beginning in the minds of the youth;
how nowadays, young men in particular–
having been a young man once myself–
are right-out-the-gate put on the defensive
without the promise of a good role model.
So it’s no wonder to me why they gravitate
to the most empowering of voices.
I think all of this is hard enough
even before you get to the households
where myriads of traumas
forever alter lives;
how a child’s capacity to take damage far outweighs
their capacity for comprehensive coping abilities.
And I think a much greater emphasis
could be put on an individual’s story,
that anecdotes shouldn’t be treated
as the same logical fallacy they always were
because if it can happen to one,
it can happen to another
or even a million.
I’m spinning plates
on trembling fingers,
balancing deadlines,
dreams, and disasters—
each one whispering
don’t drop me.
There’s no rhythm to this chaos,
only the panic of keeping pace.
I’ve become
a calendar in human form,
every square filled
with someone else’s need.
My mind splits—
fragments fighting
for top priority.
I blink and forget
where I am,
what I was doing,
who I’m supposed to be next.
I’m stretched so thin
you can see the panic
bleeding through.
Still…I smile,
because there’s no time
to fall apart.
Not when everything
would crash with me.
