couldn’t tear herself away from the table
she was more than just full at the end of the feast
was loathe to return
where she had to face an empty room
only echoes and boxes and new paint
assailed her senses
not quite blocking
memories
of embraces and laughter and hope
snippets of better times intruded
pity and heartwarming notes uninvited
deepened the crack in her sore heart
she was able to save her tears
for the ride home
listening to Dean Martin sing
maudlin Christmas tunes
his keystone
he wanted to spit
the bad taste that lingered
buried beneath sweetness
always stymied
expectations endured
self worth buried
would he surface or fall
too many distractions
queue always full
had it just been a few years
since all had been in place
and which stone had come loose
causing the structure to fall
learning depths unimagined
heavy steps moving sideways
never forward
how would he ever find
a new keystone
would he forever be searching
for cracks
easier to see afar than from within
perhaps spitting out
his damaged breath
would leave room for fresh air
he could climb
from his carefully dug trench
rebuild
it’s a process
not particularly interested in truth
don’t need schooling from you
aware of the rules
yes, there’s history to be measured
but fuck all that
the biggest turn off
someone claims to know all
wants to correct at every turn
finds only fault in genuine expression
yes, fuck all that
give me a chance
find ways to speak with this new voice
explore and travel cliches if need be
of I’m lucky, I’ll never stop growing
aerialist love
they spun together
tangled
high above the fray
winking at clouds
swimming with stars
trailing behind
movers and shakers
they were content
to linger
alone together
rising to thinner air
pushing until no breath was left
let go the day
stretch, curl, reach
pull the moon in for an embrace
let fall troubles of the day
let cool light creep in and stay
trip through gardens, go home
with the sky full of stars, never alone
The Word Rummager 