What you thought it was

I said it was not.

It was not a romance, nor a fling.

It had not even been a date.

Certainly not a relationship.

You claimed I had stolen your heart.

No.

Were I to take anyone’s heart,

This is how I would proceed:

I would smile with a hint of a snarl and very cold eyes.

Thus I give you warning. Best to heed it and run.

Ere you stay, I begin slowly.

Using my words as surgical tools

I eviscerate with sharpened terms,

Carving into the skin of your illusions

Until they hang in tatters from your chest.

I pause briefly to provide you

With another opportunity to flee.

When again you do not,

I begin the precise work of delineation,

To show the flawed outlines of this organ I did not take.

Foolish girl, to make such accusation.

Now you will lose it in earnest.

Since you chose this route, I offer no numbing agents

Delivered in honeyed tones.

Clinically I speak of how mistaken you’ve been,

Each description a cut that makes you gasp.

Eventually I lift into the air

The paltry beating thing and with disdain

Drop it into the bin of cliches, shopworn metaphors,

And hackneyed phrases that constitute cheap love.

I don’t even spare you a glance

As I step over your crumpled form on the floor.

Remember, my dear. You asked for this.

The story is told as a tragic tale of great love lost.

What if Eurydice had this planned in advance?

Perhaps she grew tired of his endless paeans and golden lyre.

His story of course was all about him,

A strutting man of privilege

Who bound her up in melodied chains

And then offered her to the world to see.

She found an escape.

(Snakes can be persuaded to cooperate, after all.

Certain serpents are said a fondness for honey.)

Carried by Charon across Acheron, the river of suffering,

She then made her way to Lethe,

There to drink and thus find peace in sweet oblivion.

Being the object of such trumpeted passion a burden

She could now discard and forget the life she had not chosen.

Then to her horror and dismay, he followed after her,

Seeking to reclaim his vaunted possession.

Seizing her last chance, she slipped away,

Knowing that in his hubris and pride, he would look over his shoulder

To make sure that his glory glittered back from her mirrored self.

And of course he did. They always do, don’t they?

Only to find her departing, but he could not forget

The brief glance of triumph he saw on her face.

She sleeps beside me,

Moving in tune with her dreams.

I rest my hand on her side and wonder

If she knows how with each breath,

She measures my world?

Before she came into my life I had no heart,

only an empty space filled with a few jagged memories.

With her arrived love,

And I stare into her eyes with wonder and awe.

Every day we toss the heart that she brought

Back and forth in the air with joy.

I’ve come to know

That it is not mine but one shared.

Our time together is precious indeed,

And I want to cradle each hour close.

Instead I hold these moments with an open hand,

A lesson she has taught.

In such acceptance of time’s flight,

Eternity rests.

The fool capers through the festival’s throng

Reaching into their multicolored bag

Throwing out thick black clouds heavy rain drops gossamer rainbows

People frown in confusion gasp in wonder smile in delight

They reach down reach out reach up

Some gather these hold them close and run

Lest they be asked to share their treasures

Some stand still raise their faces and enjoy

All this new raiment as happens to fall

Some join in join hands join together

Saying here

Taste this stratus listen to this droplet feel these hues

The fool jumps into the air climbs into the sky

Claps their hands disappears into the rent

Glitter and ash rain down

The sun and moon become one

Laughter echoes across the world

We are all waiting

Breathing at different times

In different rhythms in different ways

With each inbreath we inhale the world

With each outbreath we create anew

In the pause between are all possibilities

A god turned swan chooses to take flight rather than ravish

An assassin turns the gun on himself and war is diverted

An artist becomes successful and 6 billion lives are spared

And also

A child learns to skip amongst encouraging cheers

A man chooses a caress rather than a blow

A woman drops her clothes to stand revealed

People of other gender other view open their eyes to freedom

What did happen what can happen exists only in that moment

Breathe yourself and consider these things

I stand in the middle of the field.

The morning sky above is clear and unclouded,

With the grass still wet from dew

And the birdsong playing from the trees.

I raise my hand above my head

To offer to the warming sun this:

My heart torn from my chest, bloodied and beating still.

Here, I give this freely,

Rather than have it wrenched against my will.

I say this with a scream. Or is it a whisper?

I open my fingers and release it.

It falls to the ground and rests there trembling.

I turn and walk away, not looking back.

It will be carrion for the flesh eaters

And even its decaying stench will dissipate.

No regret, this is what happens.

(What? Were you expecting it to transform into a bird

And fly away?)

I cannot measure this suffering.

The distance from my outstretched arm to my nose tip

Does not suffice,

Nor can I hold it cradled in my hand.

At times it fills the entire world,

Though I know that it is just a speck of dirt.

Let me throw it to the ground,

There to join all the other debris,

The gathered soil of wars, famines, and plagues

But mostly the common loam of everyday wear.

Life after life after life this is what remains,

Yet we return to dig again in the muck.

In ignorant wonder we hold up our muddied hands,

As if we have no memory that this earth is part of us.

My tears leave black streaks on my face,

And I cannot catch myself as I fall.

The air hangs still and silent,

Suspended in the heat of the afternoon.

It feels like the dog days of August,

Though the first day of summer has yet to arrive.

I sit in the shade on the hill, close my eyes, and listen.

I hear the distant stamp of armored feet,

The rattle of sword and spear against shield,

And the rhythmic chant of warriors’ song.

And I know: the Achaeans have arrived.

The wind briefly stirs

And brings the coppery scent of blood,

The drifting remnants of ash from sacrificial pyres,

And the faint threnody of women’s cries.

The ground beneath me shakes as Troy’s walls collapse.

Rising, I become aware of a passing train.

The sky has clouded over, but the scorching air persists.

The goddess’ wrath echoes in each step I take,

As I walk home to have a cup of tea.