Hush

Hush.

Hold that thought.

Or better yet,

Let it go.

Dying Atoms

I read his open letter to strangers; his father is dying. He does not want to cry and let his father see.

He has been visiting his dying father and tomorrow he must fly home; he knows it will be the last visit.
Strangers reply to his open letter.
Some say, “I am so sorry your father is dying.” Others say, “I am praying your father is better soon.”
Some say, “You will see him again.” One says, “This is the end we all must face.”
Even the son, afraid for the father.
And then I remember: Me, too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



I am going to die.
I don’t mean today,
(although I cannot say for sure).
I mean, it does not matter if I ate too much today.
(Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes…please don’t make me go on. It was all very good,
but still. I ate a lot.)
And it does not really matter when talking about death.
Sorry: Death.
It does not matter if I am beautiful, loved, in love, rejected, embraced, sick, healthy. It does not matter.
Because
I am going to die.

I could put on my finest gown and I could drape myself in all my (real) gold.
I could put on my highest heels and I could start the music and dance.
But one day, a wind may blow and the dust that was me may swirl upward into the sky.
The atoms that were me will find a new home to vibrate in, a new structure to help build.
Where will I be then?
Will I watch my dust swirl from another vantage point?
(Am I merely atomic mass huddled into me?)
Will I smile an indulgent smile at these mortal questions then?
Or, am I in the wind and am I gone forever?
When my final breath was final, did I cease to be?
Will I cease to be?
Hush now.

I will exist in memory of those still here,
I know.
That much I know of eternity and how it works.
My eternity will be those I’ve left behind who knew me.
This is the Certain Eternity.
(Famous few whose reach grants an eternity much longer than my own.)
But do they sit invisible at holiday gatherings and watch?
Do they gaze over shoulders, invisible hands on the page, rereading words they had written
when atomic structure meant skin, hands, a voice, a person?

I do not know.
I am humbled to realize.
I am dying every day,
And yet, look, typing fingers, thoughtful eyes.
All this travail, all this uncovering, all this archeology of the self, (she always says).
Only to fold the hands once in final rest in this form of who I am when here.
When archeologists cannot find me except in bones and buried trinkets,
And I no longer know if there is even such a thing as me.

“Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward.”
Saying it does not make the trouble go away.
“Man is born to die, as the day comes after the night.”
Admitting it does not vanquish death.
Night to day, day to night, death is still following life.
(Did I say following? Did I mean pursuing?)
Waiting, arms folded.
Waiting, arms open?
Hush now.

One day.
Watch my sparks fly upwards.
That was me that flashed fire and faded into ash.

Looking Out the Window at the Moon

Looking Out the Window at the Moon


She said it had been while you slept that the moon and she were talking
But I know that she had been thinking what to say long before your eyes closed in sleep
In her heart you existed as prayer itself, there was nothing to separate you from the glow of the moon
There was nothing to ask for but everything
Offered to you on platters of platinum carried by hands gloved with the finest spun gold
Worthy to receive simply by virtue of existence.

I know that even though her song came later
The melody was already building itself in her heart and wrapping its tendrils around her soul
So tenderly that she never felt the tug of the roots pulling the vines deeper still
Nor did she feel—she barely noticed—the prick of the thorns that drew beads of red blood
Asking for protection for you the beloved
While sacrificing her own heart to be crucified on love’s behalf.

This is what love is
I thought to myself
This longing for the eternal perpetuity of the beloved
Ever captured as a rose in crystal lead
Never change
Never fade
Never go.

Peace Pipe

I smoked a peace pipe today, for you.

I squatted and inserted myself in the circle of those praying for peace.
I saw Native American young men waiting for the pipe
Saw Chinese women turning from the fields when the pipe was passed to them
I conjured a little girl looking for her delft hidden in the hillside, from a former life
Heard an old man laugh when he had exhaled and coughed
The tobacco was strong and he was not used to its burn as he inhaled.
I smoked a peace pipe
And thought of you.

I stood and hips creaking waited for the pain to subside
Thought of how many others had stood from squatting
To feel the same reminder of their age
Thought of how easily little children squat and rise
Bend and reach
Run and jump
Their bodies at ease in whatever state they are in.
Mine was that way once, I remember.
Yours must have been that way, too.

I thought of the trees moving with the wind
I heard the rustling corn in the field behind me
Yellow and dry, waiting to be mowed over and left
To return to the soil that had produced it
I thought of people travelling in airplanes the world over
Thought of people even now climbing into bed
On the other side of this world where night has fallen and it is time to end the day
Thought of others just now rising, day about to begin,
And I thought again of you.

I thought of atoms and molecules and time and space
Thought of how the air now moving
The wind now blowing
Mysterious effect of this world
Must have been, only moments before,
Elsewhere.
Thought of how the air I breathed
Had been air breathed by others
Long ago,
Not just my children, squatting down themselves,
Rising up themselves,
But generations from history
Breathing that special combination of chemicals that
Feel so good and so right
In our lungs.
Air that is blowing even now
Toward you, and you will breathe it, too.

I prayed for peace
For you
I prayed for love
For you
I prayed for protection
For you
To be kept safe while the storm
Rages all around.
I thought of prayer and how it is
A mystery like the wind.
I do not know from whence it comes
I do not know where I send it.
I know this:
I thought of you.

I smoked a peace pipe
For you today.

Getting Through The Pain

The sadness was so deep
The grief and loss
So tremendous
That I did not know
If I would survive.

I was walking through a room; I see myself
Even now, suddenly aware
Shockingly realizing
That I longed to bring you back
To fill the empty places.

In my dream I had patted
Ronald Reagan on the back, said, “How’re you doing?” as I passed behind him where he sat at a dinner,
Dove down deep to fasten the shiny metal plug of a swimming pool filled with hot water,
Piled leftover candy in boxes and helped clean up after a well-attended women’s event,
Got my (younger/different than actual) daughter’s ipod and switched if off for good, so that she would sleep.

And then I suddenly remembered I had
Forgotten to apply for schools and the deadline was about to pass,
And I needed to do it right away but was not at all sure if
I had the necessary requirements anymore.
I felt lost, alone, afraid.

And finally, I was walking through a room not knowing
How I would survive the loss of what I had known.
I did not know any way to
End the interminable grief,
The emptiness of having no one.

What I remember thinking is that
I had done it once before,
Had found a way to go on,
But this time, the pain was
Life-threatening, unbearably raw.

As I walked, I was also my observer
(I see that now);
The pain was so intense that I probably should have been
Crawling through the room, pulling myself by grasping fingers,
My body a word picture of the interior me.

Perhaps I woke myself as
A saving measure.
Perhaps your phone call
Came at just the right time,
And I woke to see, it was only a dream after all.

Your phone call that I answered,
Remembered it had been over
For quite some time already, you had been gone for ages,
And I was no longer in raw pain
Trying to figure out how to survive.

How to Make a Closed Room Disappear

I am watching
Me
To see if I might
Be able to
Discover
The secret
Of how to open new
Doors
(good doors,
doors that lead to
freedom and light)
And close off
Others so that
The rooms behind them
Finally fall off cliffs
And vanish
Forever
In the abyss
I would not
Resurrect them
I would not see them
Ever again or
Remember them
I would rather have them
Gone like that
Than sticking around
Ridiculing my efforts
Mocking me
Tempting me
Calling me
Pulling me as a magnet
Draws iron filings
Hand outstretched
Reaching for the knob
In a tractor beam
From space
Toward that one
Hated end
Sworn enemy of
My future
This
Forbidden by myself
Now watching myself
Bid me open the
Doors I had barred
Boarded
Locked
Walked away from
Painted shut
Covered with drywall
Hung tapestries over
Pushed furniture up against
Pretended were not there
Said I am through
And I need not open you
Again
Only to pry off boards
Search for old keys
Turned back to like Lot’s wife
Scraped off paint
Punched holes with fists
Yanked down pastorals
Shoved armoires aside
Could not stop myself
From entering once again
Walking inside
Finding historical misery
And the vortex that
Went down
Down
Down
And
down

kiana at the door

sunlight streams
across pretend grain
as if someone
once planed
that wood by hand
pink of her shirt
now colors
sunlight
rosy red

I Found Myself

When I said that
I had found myself
You thought I meant
I discovered who I was
Finally
And happily
After all this time
What you didn’t understand
Was that
When I said that
I had found myself
I meant that
I stumbled upon myself
(almost tripped over myself actually)
Lying on the floor
Undone
Once again
With not knowing
Anything
Anymore
I sometimes fool myself
Into thinking that
This is all a lesson and
If I learn what I am
Supposed to
It will all unfold just
Right
But the more I
Thought about that
Today the more I
Realized that the only lesson
That seems to
Really
Be there is this:
Welcome to your life

Claude Rains Appeared Briefly

Although I have not traveled as much as I would have liked
and although I do hope to change that
for as long as I have left here on Planet Earth
I will confess, nonetheless, that I have been
to hell and back.


It was not a lovely trip;
I did not put stickers on my suitcase.
I traveled lightly, in fact,
wearing the sheerest of souls
and good shoes.


Lucky for me, there had been no inkling
of the years I would languish in
such a desolate and miserable place.
Lucky me to have not been forewarned
or I may never have gone at all.


A trip to hell and back is a great
conversation topic at cocktail parties.
People will flock to you, drinks in hand,
while you offer them a vicarious voyage
punctuated by hors d’oeuvres and laughter.

Asshole

To tell the truth
he said
I’m really not that into you.

I wondered what the hell he’d
been telling
when he had said that he was.

Listening to my voice

I did this to myself:
I put my finger up to my talking mouth
and I said
Shh
Quiet
Listen
Hush.
My eyes implored my own,
a questioning shake of the head
(What am I supposed to hear?)
Hear yourself
The you that has been
talking in your sleep
That one you keep
ignoring when awake.
(closed my eyes, drew back the hushing finger from my lips, quieted myself and listened)
A tender rendering
but adamant still,
A final answer uttered
with compassion:
NO.

Ending What I Thought I Wanted

Do not think that I shall turn
in sadness and chagrin
when I have said goodbye to you.
Do not think that I take
lightly
bidding you adieu.
Do not think that I will hide
my laughter
after knowing you.
Do not think that I leave
knowing
less about the truth.

early

in the grey morning I rose
and tiptoed out the room
and down the stairs
unlocked the heavy door
quietly pulled it open
and stepped lightly
over the threshold
and out into the dawn.

this is when
the world is born
and all I ever long for
is found under my
naked feet
toes on damp grass
remnant of the nighttime
dreams encased in dew.

out of the depths

from out of the depths came crawling
my caterpillar self
sounds awful,
I know
an unattractive something
no one likes to look at
but children like to catch.
I climbed out of the soil
like a seventeen year cicada
whose bell had finally rung
the servants in the kitchen
watching the wall of strings
jangling summons:
come up.

September 24, 2008

Entropy of the Self

I told becky that I had been thinking of
Entropy of the self
(what is going on in that mind of mine)
And she stopped
And looked
At me
Quickly quizzically laughingly
(and pulled her chair up next to mine and said one word
STRATTERA)
Because I am sure
She wonders from time to time
If I have
Lost it
And I said no listen
(serious)
And then I explained what I meant
(I said entropy is not turning into nothing really;
In the universe entropy is when all matter breaks down
From specific entities to a cosmos of homogeneous content
To where it is only the subatomic particles separated out so
That everything is all the same as each other and
When I say entropy of the self I mean
That all the specifics that make me who I am
End up breaking down so that I become
Less specific and more like the universe
after entropy has had its way)
and she said
You are talking about balance
And I said I don’t know if it is balance
As much as it is a losing of the things that define us
And a blending into all there is.

I shall no prisoner take

I shall no prisoner take but love
and having taken
I am taken in return.

I thought I was an island

I thought I was an island
And you were the ocean around
Lapping at my shores
Pulling me to sea.

I did not understand that
I was the magnet
Holding your waters
From falling off the earth.

I thought you were dancing
Around me when
What you were doing was
Looking for escape.

I will have to let my heart fail if that be fate

If I could tell you everything
I would have to tie you up
And keep you there until
The syndrome had its way

I would have to wait
Until you believed with me
That everything I told you
Was everything you knew

Michael's Smile

It was late at night and
I was talking to Michael.
We were looking at one another but
We were an ocean apart.
He was looking into his camera,
And I
Was looking into him.
It started as a little grin
Merry eyes
And laughing cheeks
And climbed out his chimney
And danced across the river
Lightly stepping over cobblestone streets
On its way to the edge of land
And flew across miles of waves
Skipping across billowing stretches of sea
Leaping across whitecaps higher than
An iceberg’s peak
Jumping onto land
Rushing across fields and meadows
Scurrying under overpasses
Traversing through vineyards and orchards
Passed through winding cables and
Bounced off satellite signals and
Settled into my heart.

Any Day Now

Any day now, I will awake.

I will open my eyes and not think of you.
The weight inside my heart will not be there.
I will not turn over and wonder how it was that
You used to lie next to me and I could rest my head
In the crook of your arm near your shoulder and you would kiss the top of my head and I would sigh.
Breathing out and praying for this to be the day that you would be finally glad to love me.

Busy bearing children, busy singing songs.
Busy moving boxes, changing houses,
following where you needed to go.
Busy reading stories, busy giving baths.
Busy encouraging you to follow your heart no matter what the cost.

And at night, when I lie down and
I know you are with another,
I sigh and remember when I was young and
No thought would have entered my mind.
We were so much in love and
We were two halves to
One whole.

Any day now, I will awaken and my
Heart will no longer hurt for you,
or because of you.
You will be a ghost, a memory,
a vapor from my past.
Perhaps I may have a fleeting glimpse of you in our children, but your place will ever be empty,
just as you wanted.
I will wonder who you have become and how it happened that you became a stranger to us all.
I will watch summer change to autumn's falling leaves, and winter's snowfall change to
newly green spring.
And I will not think of how you would hold my hand
and call the season beautiful.
I will not recall your letters.
I will not recall your touch.
I will not recall how we were going to grow old together.

Any day now, I will awake and
I will not think of your lies and
the blame and
your excuses.
Any day now, I will not be tormented by regret.
Any day now, I will not retrace my steps.
I will not relive the years.
I will not lay the future once more in its grave and sprinkle earth on top, vowing to never dig again.
Any day now, I will awaken and
I will be free.

Confessions

I am thinking about this one moment
You held me in your arms
We were in the kitchen of someone else’s apartment
The day after
a stolen all-nighter for two kids in love
so we thought
And I was pretending to be an adult.
(In fact, I think I was pretending to be my mother
although I did not know it at the time)
I watched the words come out of my mouth like typewritten directions
written for how to have an exciting life
Only my life with you was only exciting in
the worst imaginable ways
I said something about how we should make sure
to have sex every day
Only even then it was more trying to talk myself into it
than wanting it already
(With you, I mean, with you.)