not a stranger
someone whose days I do not know
journeying to another shore
my heart breaks with this knowledge
so should yours though you do not see
her smile filling her eyes
her face mapped by life still being lived
let it touch you nonetheless
this is how we love each other
our hearts fractured by beautiful sadness
our hearts broken open
(for Beryl)
to get to the door I had to move
a box a chair a screen
and then the door was open
I stepped outside but could not leave
the door remained
to enter again would have to be opened
so I found and placed in front
a chair a box a screen
relieved that I would know how to reenter
I set out upon my walk
doors can be so problematic
push books behind shelves or remove them altogether
their very existence threatens something you cannot define
reading itself a subversive act taking the reader unmonitored
into a private interior realm where anything could happen
better not to let people read but to let them be read to
for better control and shape of ordinary minds
kill all the writers who will not give in
shutter the libraries bookshops and schools
think that in a few generations people forget
beware
words will appear in the dead of night
scrawled on walls and down streets
written on stones left in doorways
scribbled on leaves to drift in the wind
people will read them
someone will always remember how
you will not win
we lucky ones never fought in war
but we all love some who have
war that people argue over
tell stories about or refuse to discuss at all
war that took them away and sent them back
kept part of them in some far away place
war that made strangers of their hearts
sent their eyes into a distant gaze
war that continues to wreck them
wrecks us all as we try and fail
knowing this we decide again and again
that we will fight wars and
fighters will come home or not
in the end none escape
we cannot seem to learn
I was young once never young enough
to call myself a flower
dance barefoot in the grass
my lover wove garlands of clover
tossed them at my head
I threw them back at her laughed
within a year she was dead
I imagined I would follow
yet now here I am
picking clover on the hillside
missing her still
she swept her words into a heap
left them there on the living room floor
trudged up the hill to live alone with her silence
no one would notice them anyhow
they’d slam into the house like always
not even bother to wipe their dirty boots
demand their hot supper and cold tea
she wouldn’t be there to care
no more caring for these ungrateful men
they didn’t care to hear anything from her mouth
good bad or just plain tired didn’t matter they never listened
she’d fetch cook do only for herself now
spin all the tales she could laugh within her head
but to all who knocked on her door relative or not
she’d give them nothing but a wordless stony stare
point them down the rise with one sharp finger
and as they left her porch
shut the door hard enough to be heard down the hill
he said nothing when he walked out
there was nothing to say
years added themselves up
they spoke the reasons
doors worn by being gently closed
held shut by the immense swell of anger
walls battered beneath glossy paint
hiding scrapes from hurled accusations and objects thrown
a roof patched too many times
sagging beneath the growing weight of unmet expectations
his shoulders straight, his head erect
he heard the shrill calls of their endless needs
he left everything there but himself
he did not look back
you pass through the room
night a stranger in formal clothes
the faint scent of cologne
a memory from a different life
outside the stars
the touch of your hand still warm
none of this happened
the days grow shorter in this forbidding land
I have always been alone
the air burns bright with ghosts ablaze
shining with incandescent need
frantic hands snatch words from speech
maws agape in desperate hunger
they feed and feed and feed
in such a space and time as this
we cannot talk
we cannot hear
they ignore tears limning our faces
we can see each other grieve
let us give comfort
let us give kindness
feed starving spirits these
together we’ll sweep up their ashes
to keep as reminder, a holy relic
those had weight once
determined we slung them across our backs
inspired we cradled them near our hearts
older now we’re burdened by the stones in our pockets
those things we pick up on the way
to give them to someone put them somewhere
use them for something we never remember
still we grab more and more
over the years it becomes too much
we shrug off the heavy hopes
those discare the rocks we choose
they break into pieces with a thud
some end up in our pockets
some shake the building