{ pewter }

Time, the punisher of spirits,
  has left me these reminders that
  just a year ago, you sat at this table.

Scenes I relive
  over and over,
  smearing them
  like these dingy pewter utensils,
  for what is real is always imperfect.

What is important in life is simple,
  in the end:
  and at the end,
  you knew that I loved you, and
  I knew that you loved me,
  in the midst of your pain and my heartache.

Time, the enforcer of mortality,
  has left me these reminders:
  and I will one day leave them

  as well

Alsatian Dreams

Another restless night, up and down, up and down. When sleep finally came, images and stories poured in like floodwater.

There’s a girl with a bicycle in a field in France; it is August – August, 1939.  The war is just about to start, but she can’t know that yet. I know her in my dream, but in real life, she is someone I know now, a young someone who lives far away. But here she is France on the eve of World War 2.

It’s beautiful, but it feels ominous.

When I wake up, I’m trying to make sense of it. I spent almost nine months last year reading every WW2 book and watching every WW2 documentary and movie that I could find. And I had talked to my friend via text on Instagram earlier that day. So she ended up in Alsace on a vintage bicycle, wearing a vintage dress and hat as the clouds of war and genocide gather over Europe.

I am disturbed by all of this along several dimensions: the fear of impending doom, as well as thinking of all the people who were about to die horrible deaths 70 years ago this month. I’m also at least mildly disturbed any time a woman who is not my wife shows up in my dreams.

I look over to my right in the dark and my wife is there, lying on her side, breathing slowly.  Well, just because I’m having a bad night’s sleep doesn’t mean she should: so I get out of bed as gingerly as I can, get my glasses and iPad off the night stand and head to the other side of the house.

I know that dreams, for me, are often my brain trying to work out various issues that I’ve shoved aside. I do worry about some of my friends; the one in my dream, for instance, is someone I worry about a lot. Because life has been hard on her, and there are days I’m not sure she’s going to make it.

She also likes to be kind of stylish and vintage, if her Instagram is any indication, so maybe that’s where that came from.

I try hard not to worry about people whose lives I cannot really impact, but I seem incapable of doing so; when I manage it, consciously, my subconscious takes over and does it for me.


Later, after getting back from the gym, there is a message from my friend. Her health situation is deteriorating. We text back and forth for about 10 minutes. Then she’s off to get some sleep, and I’m off to get ready for work.

In the shower, the shampoo is running over my eyes, so I shut them. With my eyes closed, I see her again, in a French grain field, under sunshine and tall clouds, wearing a red dress and pushing a red bicycle. She doesn’t know what’s coming, but then again, no one did, really.

And none of us do now.

That Love

The sea seems infinite; at least
As large as any thought, or sky,
And I’m so happy you are here,
Although I cannot fathom why —

I can be glad, though. And I am.
For every chapter in this book
Of disappointment, choices poor,
Was controverted. All it took

Was just a glance, a touch, a hand
To brush aside some tousled hair,
To see the light within your eyes,
To know while I am here, you’re there,

For this is wonder – love, and joy –
The magnum opus mystery —
That love can be as large, and clear
As any sky

Or any

 
Sea

Mannequin Depressive

she stands in a long slow line at the grocery store
looking at magazine covers
where fabulous actresses and fitness models
in all their airbrushed glory
gaze out at her vacuously

and she looks sadly at her cart
which is both kale- and tofu-deficient
and thinks she could stand to lose a couple of pounds

meanwhile
an aging actress
currently to be seen on one of those magazine covers
who has been dating a 24-year-old airheaded man-bimbo
is waiting in an equally long line
to get lip injections

while her man-bimbo
is having sex with her personal assistant


(Originally published July, 2014)

Snapshot – Woman at Convenience Store

I saw her
Dressed in a hooded sweatshirt
At 4:45AM on a summer morning,
And I knew where she’d been

But she wasn’t sad,
Or angry,
Or overwhelmed,
She was just
Continuing to keep moving

So often
When we feel nothing
It is because
We shut down from feeling

Everything

But we just

 
Keep

 
 
Moving

Giveaway

Giveaway

The light esteem we give to what we have
The heavy worth attached to what we don’t
The miracles we look past on our day
In search of those that we have not yet known

To disesteem what we should value most
To give away what we should never sell
To chase after some other lucky strike –
The gambler’s fallacy
And seeker’s
Hell