I’m stuck.
it hurts.
am I going to
die? worn down to the bone,
bleeding out.
I carry it with me—drag it behind me.
I can’t feel my leg
how do I know it hurts?
I’m dying
aren’t I?
a cool place, shaded
if it’s bigger
will it protect me?
am I dying? I can’t move
any further
I can’t feel anything but the pain—familiar.
I drag it with me, along
with me.
I’m dying
here, alone. I will die
here, alone. 
it’s heavy this toothy jaw—a bite
at my thigh
I can’t escape so I drag it with me.
if I carry it far enough
will that help? it hurts
but it won’t
am I dying
here, alone? 
you can pick me up move me—
it’s easy for you
you carry me—the weight of 
my little world.
this jaw with no tongue, mouth of teeth
barely caught but I can’t get out
I drag it with me. until I can’t
you carry me, tearful
you cry but it doesn’t hurt anymore
you carry it, for me.
my leg, worn down to the bone
the teeth, sharp
you open that lifeless jaw, alone
you set me down.
the grass is cool. it doesn’t hurt
I am dying, 
here, together.
I don’t—I can’t—feel anything
I walk because there is nothing to drag
and nowhere to go
worn down, to the bone,
I bled, alone
you cry, alone.
you will carry me with you, alone
I can’t go any further
you cry, alone, down to, the bone.

I need to say something meaningful about
the passage of time. The grey hairs that haunt
me even in this youth. My mother says this
is normal; she had them at my age. The photo
book back in Ponce shows her 30 years ago
and she looks the same. At her side, my brother,
halved from me, now in his middle age. He tells
me he has always wondered who I am. Our
father sits in the basement, wheezing, like
an old fan that stays on for convenience.
His footsteps are still heavy on the stairs.
He was always broad, a soldier in every life,
running through the desert, weaving through
fallen walls and children in helmets, posing
on the backs of camels or in the city streets
of Rome. I want to say something but the words
are stuck in my throat. I go a week ignoring
my brother, little green icon of curiosity,
because when he asks, what will I tell him
about those lost years, my adolescence,
where his name never left our father’s lips,
silent, like a curse? Or will I tell him of my
mother’s photographs, a small boy clinging
to the fabric of a skirt, packs of bubblegum
in the backseat, before I was a thought

or a promise?

To lead: to be a monument, a pillar, a symbol to others; or a defined concept that places pressure rather than inspires, causing withering rather than bolstering the idea general audiences see when they watch the play where the hero triumphs over evil.
So lost in the stories, both true and fictitious, are we that the simple definition of leading
has been removed from our mindscapes.
We see heroes leading the people against the armies of darkness,
Washington leading his troops against the British,
but not the hardworking mother taking a double to feed her children
or the gay teacher who inspires their LGBTQ+ students just by existing.
We forget that the plain initiative to give someone a lollipop on their worst day
can inspire them to seize it instead; no unfathomable event needed
to lead.

Inspired by Drew Dudley’s TED Talk “Leading with Lollipops”

today.
Said some things
never thought I’d say.
Reminded of a little boy
collapsing under the strain
of heavy accusations in my name.
I didn’t want to take the blame
or the shame
crushing me like a ten-ton weight.
I never wanted to feel like that
again.
So I crafted my walls
built my armor of chain.
I throw it up, whenever fingers point my way
that little boy shivers inside
clutching his torch of sputtering flame
he no longer remembers
any other way.
But the light is shining in
the walls are crumbling and thin
he feels water on his face
the cool touch of rain
things are beginning to change.

My wife opened a new jigsaw puzzle
only to find there was 
a Ziploc bag holding the pieces.

She will decide whether
to be mad about it later,
depending on if all the pieces are there.

The blueberries that we picked from the garden last night
Were gorgeous, plump, juicy
And utterly flavorless.

The same constant deluge that caused their size and abundance
Washing away all the sugar and substance

The dawn today broke bright, humid
And completely colorless
From the smoke drifting down from our northern neighbors

Another disappointment on what was supposed to be a laid back start to vacation
And quickly morphed into a constant stream of emergencies I will have to tackle when I finally make it to work

But for now, we’re walking, the dog and I
My (usually compliant) asthmatic lungs burning in the haze
And this afternoon’s forecast calls for more thunderstorms

I should be in pain—

My eyes should be glazed,

Sunken down to the bone.

My words should be short,

And my yawn should be a roar.

I should be miserable,

And I definitely shouldn’t

Look at the raindrop on my arm

And see a sunflower bloom.

But what can I say?

How are your feet

Supposed to hurt

If they’re swept off the ground?

Her shoes
Sit quietly on the floor 
Next to the door
Ready to go

The stories they could tell
of the journey they have seen

Someday they will remain perfectly still
For now ……

In the morning bouncing out the door
by evening weariness sets in 

So many lives they have touched 
along the way
sharing love and compassion

Sometimes bright and new 
others worn and tattered
Bravely they go

Her shoes
Her journey 
Her story
A gift to the this world

slb

She’ll end up doing
the right thing.

I just know it will take her a little
longer
than both of us planned.

Tell her
it is okay.

Tomorrow will come.
We will both find chances to grow up.

We will both find our own
kinds of peace.

She will grow out of her skin
and into me.

I will take over.
Until I too fade.

Whoever I become
will eventually write the same
about me.

Tell her I love her too.

Not a Dodoitsu

I’m not a logodaedalus
nor prone to sesquipedalianism
so, I doubt I’ll ever indulge
in a logomachy match.
But if there were such a tournament
it would be hilarious.