if you were here
we would live in a building with black stone walls
to highlight your beauty when we went for a walk
the sun would catch the dark mischief of your eyes
the eager joy of your delight
people would see first the impossible shadow
thrown against the outer surface
elongated to make you even more elegant and sleek
then their eyes would find you
they would bow and present their hearts
lay them at your feet
you would smile graciously then dance away
we would continue on our way
the buildings above us lit up
glowing like an ambiguous signal a colorful beacon
that showed just where we are
music insistent as a celebratory warning
beneath the beat we gathered
this year like every year but especially this year
it felt existential
even though it was not a farmers market day
and those days have been the days
I see you everywhere beautiful haunt
the bits of my heart that fell in tears
glittered with such bright shining love
that people placed them as jewels
in each other’s hair and clothing
I heard you laugh and there you were
disappearing just past the color’s fade
once again the sky clouded over and I find myself
bent under the hot metal hood of a broken down truck
changing the oil for the second time today
just to get home from the waster job
the only one available in this broken down town
we had a Main Street filled with stores once
with factories and shipyards near the river
but that was before I was born when gas stations sold gas
not a little bit of everything including sex, salts, and lottery tickets
I’ve seen some faded photographs but they’re ragged and torn
things were bad back then for most the same as now I suspect
it sounds better but doesn’t it always
ain’t no back in the day for me or anyone like me
the day is just the day is just a day
another summer and again familiar
the heat the sun the wind the endless sky
will this one differ from the last or the one before
or the earliest ones we knew when we were so young
these will mark this season in this time and place
holding it pinned like an insect caught just so
the large smile of a street dog as I pour water into her bowl
a woman in a full black evening gown gliding on a scooter
Mount Rainier half-hidden in the evening haze
a man playing a violin under the canopied shelter of the trees
as for you, you must find your own ways
delineate your own your time I cannot do it for you
not good at standing casually with a glass
filled with melted cold side stares
bubbly remarks now falling flat
and the requisite dash of acerbic bitters
hand me this and I get the urge
to throw the contents into the nearest smirk
to justify some stereotype (being from the South)
I always show with my iconic flask of hot tea
for the safety of all concerned
the bitter taste of childhood memories
salty and harsh like someone else’s tears
left on the pillow in a chance motel room
where once you stayed on a lonely trip
though not yours they end up in your mouth
jagged and broken on your tongue
and you dream of digging holes in river sand
where the water line is just at the surface
you awaken the next day
drenched and the bed is damp
when you walk out the door to the car
you feel the wet grit on your shoes
I want to leave childhood youth middle age
and now the days approaching death
leave them all like broken cups on a windowsill
beloved shards of collected dreams
what use are these grimy scrapes of life
sticky with longing for what never was
for what never now can be
to go beyond these hopes these fears this body
deep deep into the well of wisdom and compassion
perhaps rain today
the sky beyond the window offers uncertain light
the sun appearing beneath a gauzy haze
obdurate indeterminacy a hallmark now
but always tea
let it remain at half-mast until
the ragged stars make room for a rainbow
a recognition that all have a place
the brutal stripes soften in welcome
to no longer resemble harsh prison bars
let the colors run until they resemble tears
so that we can finally release our grief
know that we are safe to cry and then to rise
to build ourselves a home
