I threw out my squishy heart
and sucked in all the toxic developments,
exhaling into a blood-red sky.
.
I don’t see much beyond my toes,
but I know there’s more out there
than common genes and mislaid dreams.
.
The wise woman in the muumuu at Wal Mart
was right: days are long, years are short,
and we pass down suffering like fine china.
Heel-toe, boots in motion
stiff branches gently wave
flying scarves smack of treason
lashing faces upward gaze
–
Slowly shifting
silent planes
crossing visions
songless days
Monday’s heaving footballs
force the path to deepen as it narrows,
the air a heavy burden,
carrying yesterday’s disappointments
as though they were more precious
than the fool’s gold of sentiment
we use to barter with the gods.
We are legion in our confusion,
voicing theories and forming prayers
into mournful shapes on the tongue,
rolled between hands otherwise useless
but decorative as they flick the light
around us up and away.
Embracing a wrinkle in
the fabric of time, stretched
loosely and carelessly
as if we could hold onto
invincible youth forever.
I remember laughing
at winter’s chill before
it took the shape of me
and you in a still life of blue.
Maybe it was yesterday or
maybe it has yet to be,
but relief is in your hands.
May we be wise enough
to loosen our grip.
