holds animated discussions
in the muggy Roman air.
Stalled in the marine layer,
their flights delayed,
they consider a swoop
for espresso,
or the fat fallen oranges
in our wet courtyard.
Their honk-chatter
wakes me from a dream
of home, far-off
memories, strange anger
leaking from bird-quarrel
into stories of sibling
struggles, mom’s
phobias, self-parts
dredged up
and flung
into the Roman
dawn.
he works nights arriving with a rumble as the fairy lights strung in my paned sanctuary click on
I’ve taken the time to get to know him beyond this windowed scrim
it’s a medianed street traffic
cartpushers strollers rough sleepers crossing is often not sought
then that one day
a whim a light spirit a boldness be damned
I stepped
to the middle then more then the final bit stood
upon his driveway offering my hello of tart berries
he didn’t say much I’ve learned this is character not disregard
he too feels the weight of rubber on road
sometimes disturbingly discordant to the history he like me has spent
that distance to curbs seems often insurmountable
I’ve found though we share the holding of space for what can come
it’s a recipe
just enough hope
a smidge of care
two parts generosity
a large scoop of humanity
and a whole heap of courage
watch the atmosphere
evaporate and turn
into
dust.
no warm milk to pour on forget
no going back to fix it
i rock
Dad’s in the shadows
still cheering us on
the rest have gone with theirs
gone
forgotten
the porch
the backyard fig trees
so far away
the hammock
swings
as i rock
curled into now
into fetal
piqued
to listen
i look
within
and
rock
your thoughtful quiet locked within
six matryoshka dolls,
your curiosity creeps sweetly out
with a speech unable of
your surface like stone blown smooth
against Siberian shores,
your warm hunger kept by waiting
for table to be set.
my son drew eyeballs in every corner
and wall of his bedroom
at the age of three,
and we laughed asking why?
my beautiful son said he was scared
at night and they helped him
fall asleep so was it
all right? sure it was all right.
one august ninth I was asked to leave,
thinking it would be all right.
all right, and we didn’t hug and kiss
until next winter, the first shell
had fallen tight, I saw it in his painted eyes—
Shutter cocked, hidden in Forest depths
Welcome to middle age!
We have some amazing prizes for you, just for playing!
Let’s take a look at what the next 10 years have in store……
Behind door number one is an invisibility cloak.
It’s so effective you won’t even know you’re wearing it, but you’ll know it’s working because you won’t be seen by your teenagers or anyone of the opposite sex!
And what’s behind door number two?
Door number two is an amazing two-fer!
20 lbs you won’t be able to get rid of, AND an existential crisis about who will be there to help take care of you when you’re 90!
Is that all? NO WAY!
We can’t PAUSE here because showcased behind door number three is the hormone spiral!.
This package comes complete with night sweats, unlimited tears that appear out of no where, and A NEW BEARD!!!!
But I have to tell you, door number four has THE BEST PRIZE EVER.
This package is worth waiting for and you will cherish it.
Behind door number four is
a
box of……….
UNLIMITED FLYING FUCKS that you don’t have to give to anyone. EVER. Take them, leave them, it’s up to you! You’ve earned them.
ENJOY
