the pen slipped when
the phone chimed.
the voice of the nurse
calmed then surprised.
it’s your turn,
she said,
follow me to the back.
at first
he didn’t
and she didn’t
respond to that.
instead,
he held her hand
in a way that
seemed to say
‘remember’.
remember the infinite
that brought us together.
remember our promise
to laugh afterwards no matter the pressure.
remember we choose
our forever.
remember we were good
before we met.
and
remember, he said to the nurse, neither of us are ready
to leave just yet.
wellness
metricks
stats are
traps
that
make attacks
from
our gaps.
we travel
and
we trip
over rolls
and flats
trying
to max
our
forward movement
forgetting that
our fears
always
for-warn
the past.
esteem is
made trash.
hope
seems rash.
heart can
get
so broke
no cast
can bring
it back
to life.
same oath
same path
same toasts
same ghosts
same boast-
those that
can,
act.
that’s
their
test.
those that won’t
change,
brag.
and
then
count
their
steps.
nearmiss
I almost died... who says that and means it? After a long draw on his diet coke he dead-eyes me with- no one knows what that means. He is smiling and chewing on a double bacon burger. I can see the hinge of his jaw and the bowl of his cheek work the beef and grease. Muscles spasm slightly under greyish skin, his hands hurt, chemo does that. Who says that and really knows for sure? This is his version of bon vivant sarcasm. I agree in my head, conversations with my father swing this way every time lately. I suggest salad. I'm not sick, he says. I hug too lightly. I'm not delicate, he says. I am quiet. I. Am. Not. Dead. Yet. He pronounces with both definition and prognostication. My mom binds his days with balms and emotional buffers drenched in apologetic overbearing caretaking. Though he tries, he usually can't leave the house fast enough and hesitates in the car at drop off. Cancer and it’s multiplying minions, lurk at the edges of our visits. We name it, call it out, offer it a seat at the bar beside us. We talk over it, We laugh at it. My dad mentions that he will probably barf later, then jokes- give me an hour then we can go out for pizza. In his world you die or you don't, any bridge of indecision was washed out the moment of diagnosis. And living means swimming in the turbulent eddies of the in-between. He always seemed confident that he could wash up on the right side of the riverbank. Order onion rings, he says. Then we will go see a movie. He always pays the bill and says- you'll get the next one.
orbit
twshhhhhhh wshhhhhhh thoughts go out twshhhhhhh and return wshhhhhhh eager tides twshhhhhhh help me learn wshhhhhhh feelings need twshhhhhhh space to churn wshhhhhhh when I feel twshhhhhhh not enough, wshhhhhhh overwhelmed twshhhhhhh life's too tough wshhhhhhh smiling wide twshhhhhhh feeling rough wshhhhhhh I was taught twshhhhhhh by the sea wshhhhhhh another wave twshhhhhhh will soon be wshhhhhhh on its way twshhhhhhh back to me. wshhhhhhh twshhhhhhh wshhhhhhh
wink
this iece
is a pr mise
to y peeps,
a head nod
to sh w em
th t even
an inc mplet
opefilled
ch cklist
is st ll
a poem.
the impossibility of quiet
It has a texture, a dust
residue.
Like a reminder after the too loud moment
or like the space between the fall and the tears.
It has a gravity,
like the falling feeling as air escapes the room
or an ombré filled space where you once were.
It is volume,
like the empty cup you keep overfilling with chatter
and the sound as another command hits the floor.
It is fear,
like the moment after the bump in the night
or listening to you lightly breathing, but actually checking proof of life.
It is familiar,
like watching a thing long enough to behold it
or like our hands falling into a folded resting form.
It is the thing you crave, then a thing you fear.
It elevates will.
It antagonizes while you await results.
It takes a beat before expecting to be noticed.
It is the moment just before acceptance.
It is the disturbed air warning as the subway shoots past.
It is indecision between two emotions, fear and excitement, because they both feel the same in my body.
And sometimes, sometimes, it is the sleepy gaze from my cat atop the couch.