Archive | October, 2012

witness of a fall

29 Oct

The days blend in, and they wonder which are worth remembering tomorrow. Life seems like an endless and simmering sea. Their muscles have a richer memory than their heart, and so they float.

Then, there’s a torrent and they tumble. Your skin prickles and your vision gets sharp, for Mortality, that which we know but never accept, hugs your shoulder and tells you that someone you love will soon die. That sea was actually the edge of their waterfall.


la viejita

23 Oct

A brash and beautiful woman made the viejita feel like the only person on that train. The viejita grew in front of all of us, like a back porch flower being caressed with care. This woman did this to a stranger, and I ached.

At home I found my wife in her usual spot, limp in front of the television as she hollered, “Dinner’s on the counter.” I stared outside wondering if this was my back porch.

maybe he’s done

12 Oct

Maybe he’s tired: of arguing both sides at once; of everyone else’s frantic expectations and pace. Maybe he’s depressed: with how little his long nights have changed his world; with the blood on his hands–or that he gets a kick from that power. Maybe he’s actually done and like Cincinnatus just wants to go home. He’s only a man in a tough as nails job. But he should’ve let his employer know. Now we are stuck with that or that guy.

meet you up there

9 Oct

We gotta look up. Up there, that’s the best view: harrowingly empty and crystalline, the perfect place to find Truth. Down here we’re all bumping into each other wondering what it’s like to be a valuable human being. We get stuck in muck, drowned in shit, or deep in fog. All that friction, all that meandering. It’s exhausting. So we bind together through song, and murmur to the sky and believe It knows Truth because It must know…right?

stretching the small stuff

5 Oct

He made himself as comfortable as possible inside that squat warehouse, a can with its lid pulled back and surrounded by echoes and dins. He opened and closed boxes, addressed their content, and finished small tasks no one goes to college for. But my dad was at work, and working for himself. No one would give him a paycheck, but we still needed our food tomorrow, and he never forgot this key so-what. That’s why that warehouse meant more.

eventually learned

1 Oct

“I wish we met later in life,” she said as she hugged my torso in her college sweats. Was that a flag of surrender or a rallying cry? It took me a long time to figure that out.

She’s someone’s woman, and I’m someone’s man now. We all have laughter wrinkles and tight smiles. It’s ‘later.’ And when I look at her I remember how much time has passed and how the embers still kindle, faintly, but still.