Author: Kel

grief again again and again

a poet killed, a writer imprisoned

a boy in hunger, a girl in flight

missiles through the sky, bombs beneath the earth

the world wailing and tears the only language

then

small kindnesses stave the overwhelm of despair

a fallen jacket returned, unnoticed on the cafe floor

a brief smile shared, passed along on the back street

a local sign righted, toppled by the afternoon wind

a barking dog petted, uncaring of consequence

such acts of connection reminders, allowing all to breathe

love heals, and in many forms

it did not go well, this thing

often it does, more often than not

light shines through the dusty windowpane

motes briefly illuminating the air

distant sirens don’t matter, until one time they do

and all has crashed down

not well, not well at all

even though the roadside is lined with purple violets

no forgiveness, and why would I ask?

the wind is cold, though spring approaches

offerings of blue-skied days and false warmth

I am not deceived, old enough to know nature’s fickle promise

my misdeeds mine and acknowledged

holes in walls, friendships killed by unkind word

scrapes on floorboards, aspirations felled by glaring fault

dust on ceilings, dreams given the lie by lazy inaction

all of these I have done and will live accordingly

I stand in the doorway and listen to the rumble of the train

unable to remember how long I’ve lived

I cannot climb a telephone pole

to take thick green glass insulators

be a thief of conversations not my own

purely because the color caught my magpie gaze

she did this far too frequently and so

stern-faced men in dark official suits

knocked on our red door to tell her to stop

she just smiled at them and said of course

I knew she was not sorry because she laughed

and threw one of the domes at the door

when I would visit after I escaped

I would see the gash in the blood-like paint

a mocking reminder of her power to flaunt any rule

he never repaired it, and I wondered

if sometimes she scared him too

when I was a child, I knew this

no action no word no thought no dream

would greatly affect the world

no more so than a laughing dancer’s graceful wave

a passing motorcyclist’s warning yell

a busy technician’s silent musing

a dying patient’s sedated nightmare

for a while I forgot, ignorant of emptiness

thought that I mattered more somehow

walked in protest wrote researched articles

reasoned with considered logic aspired to impossible goals

old now at an age I never thought to reach

I laugh at that interlude shake my head

back to having clearer eyes though my vision fails

but you, you! why do you bother? please don’t read my foolishness

perhaps I had burned my hand

held my palm (had my palm held) to the hot stove

I was home alone (was not alone)

you know how careless children can be

(I was never a careless child)

she said that was so possible,

a reason why he was able to find me

there alone on the road in the dark

and all that happened afterwards

who knows?

(three people knew. two lied.)

I wanted to hold the hours lightly

a leaf blown onto an open hand

found myself instead clenched

a snarling heart deprived of unknown desires

antidotes curtailed inadvertent violence to others

I breathed and sat with closed eyes

miserable soldiers with dead faces rampaged in vicious pillage

not fighting them all I could do

reaching my arms upwards in the warm grass

it seemed so blue and stretched so far

far enough to hold my dreams

not just mine but all dreams ever dreamed

and I watched them fill the air

twinkling lights hung from shrimping boats

Mardi Gras beads thrown to the clamor

here in the mountains as I walk

lowering thunderheads touch the ground

burdensome as heavy weights

those I carry and those bourne by all

discarded fiddles displayed on shopworn shelves

abandoned silos by the railroad tracks

I never thought to get so old