I had never cried during a movie
until I saw The Notebook,
now shows where animals struggle
just to survive,
make my throat grow tight,
my arms reaching out to push a chick into a nest,
breath silently screaming at whales to turn around.
I’ve never been a patriot,
but the sight of wounded soldiers returning home
fills me with pride for the sacrifices they made,
and shame that there was ever a cost owed,
as if a symbol was ever worth a life;
a death, legal tender.
Days blur over time, week bleeding into week,
months punctuated by miniscule changes in a date,
changes in muscle memory as
fingers tap on a keyboard;
hair length marking our travel around the sun,
while nights grow longer and some days offer brief warmth.
I don’t know all the answers
but I know that I have to get drunk
to step foot on an airplane,
that drunks don’t get served alcohol,
and the TSA doesn’t take kindly to leather whips or bottles of hair gel
in your carry-on.
“If we could just hang a mirror on the bedroom wall,
stare into the past, and forget it all.”
He only lets his bird out at night, when everyone sleeps,
it’s quiet song is just for him,
and he smiles as the cage door shuts,
little bird fluttering in the air;
she rests hers on her thigh,
its beak nestled in the supple crease of flesh there,
heart beat felt, vibrating through feather shafts,
soft down rhythmically moving, seaweed in ocean waves,
the sigh of parting
as fingertips release.
I wonder what the inner voice of the deaf sounds like,
is it an echo of god, resonant and singular.
I wonder if frogs can speak to tadpoles,
does physical change break the bonds of our past.
I wonder if a giraffe knows what it is to be a human,
or are people curiosities, like we treat them.
It was a bottle of wine
and a park bench;
it was mimosas
and a phone call;
it was plastic cups of tequila
with some orange juice;
grape soju
with Sprite.
Mt. Saint Helena erupted 3.4 million years ago
burying the area under a thousand feet of ash,
water turned wood to stone, like a mythic Medusa of geology;
stares of eons measured in drips through layers,
writhing snakes becoming chaotic patterns of fluid through sediment.
We marvel at stones that were trees.
We give looks that were glances.
We say words that were thoughts.
We share touches that were dreams.
The sign says the cost of admission is $12 for an adult,
I wonder if we qualify
and if a higher cost hasn’t already been paid.
Music plays on the radio as she crosses the state line,
she thinks of what she’s left,
she thinks of where she’s going.
Headlights silently play across the asphalt as he waits…
In a story once imagined;
a young girl met a prince.
a young girl met a queen,
she never saw the world the same again.
The young girl became a woman;
her daughter, a queen.
She holds her bird close to her body,
feathers brushed into flesh like tears across lips.
A simple man once missed his chance to hear it sing,
to see her in its beauty.
His father’s eyes never shut when he slept,
always slightly open, orbs languidly shifting beneath lids as he dreamt.
She doesn’t know that story yet; watches her partner fall asleep, eyes lazily closing,
her hand reaches out
a finger caressing his cheek,
then two,
and she wants her hand on his face,
her hand pulling him closer to her,
mouths meeting for the first time;
she wants to feel the spark of her lips touching his,
the dance of his tongue against her tongue,
the divine blessing of souls connecting for the first time.
Masks are for when the camera is on her,
otherwise she wants to pull them away,
relishes the victory of fallen walls
because she wears no mask-
even when her skin is laid bare,
masks are checked at the castle gate,
for she is a knight clad in armor.
The second time they ran away was to be their last,
each stolen moment had a cost;
the slightest withdrawal from a lovers touch,
a missed dinner date or a text not returned,
unasked and unanswered questions,
the weight carried was more-
affection,
desire,
need,
passion,
and love.
Her gift was a last moment,
preordained and purposeful,
love and tenderness where
suffering would have
otherwise taken hold.
She’s all soft curves and sighs,
wry smiles and bashful glances.
She is soft words and profound insight,
thoughtful language and careful intent.
She is the sunshine at dawn,
flowers send their aroma to her,
reflect her colors in their petals,
she is power and strength,
casting aside the darkness.
There’s a universe where I hold you at night,
where there’s no need for soldiers,
where life isn’t a struggle for survival,
where feathers and tears are always signs of joy.
Where the birdsong lulls us to sleep,
after we welcome dawn with an exhausted sigh,
when tires settle peacefully onto pavement
and a queen touches a man and makes him something important,
where there are no endings needing gifts to note their passage,
where masks never exist and armor falls to the floor,
like little balls of paper littering the ground,
each one holding the promise of a smile on Monday morning.