Hallway to Nowhere

she said

your eyes are too big too startling too blue

you stare at me when I enter the room

she said

you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are

you’re really nothing special, you know

most of the time she said nothing to me

moved around me like I were furniture

only less valuable than the chairs or tables

that she had wanted and chosen for herself

not like an imposed disaster that upended her life

I had to stop flinging myself again and again

against the stone wall of her implacable rejection

made worse by the love she displayed to others

a flawed love but tender nonetheless

years passed and much work

I viewed her with relinquished need

still in unguarded moments

her words echo in the background

their harsh judgment ringing sharply

overriding what I know

My words have become leaves

Tossed in the bitter wind

The wind a foretaste of winter

And the days darken more quickly

I dreamed with the trees

Our lavish gloried visions

Made into detritus by inexorable passage

Become dry drabs trodden unnoticed

Yet these desiccated remnants remember

Remember with such fealty to beauty

That they sway time’s unbending resolve

The months bring bleak skies and cold rain

Cover yourself against the chill

Feeding the yellowed pages with faded ink into the fire

To warm you through the lengthy march

Eventually in the lightening morn

You’ll gather your courage, peer into the new sun, and know

The pledge I made

The pledge of the trees

We vowed true

The house ruined by fire,

Flames so hot that the brick walls collapsed.

The surrounding countryside invaded by strangers,

Pathways paved to build busy streets.

The bridge destroyed in a hurricane,

Massive supports twisted by wind and waves.

My ancestors were wanderers, and I will never call anywhere home

Knowing shelter ephemeral and beauty brief.

I still recall the taste of fresh figs in the summer

Warm from the hot sun and sweet.

The interior of a celadon cup

Reveals a tea-stained fracture.

The exterior of a hand

Displays a finely-wrinkled web.

Do not disdain either

Or consider these as flawed.

Each holds unique beauty,

Testimony to time’s passage.

Recognize their value

And hold them dear.

Open eyes, open heart.

A sip of tea in the morning.

A stain on the fabric of the chair.

The first, it brings a sense of relief.

I no longer hold my breath in tensed anticipation,

No longer wonder, “when will it happen, and how?”

This marks it officially used, officially mine.

I can quit being so damned careful and relax.

I can sit and think and eat and drink,

A worn person resting in a smirched chair.

We fit each other now.

I would like to say I’m waiting.

Expectant, open to the new day.

Open like the door through which I stepped

Early to check the morning sky.

Open like that very sky,

Accepting every color of cloud.

But I am not.

I sit inside in a darkened room

Watching the letters of every word

Blur into meaningless squiggles.

They are not that, and I know

You would gladly read them aloud to me,

But your voice would become the message,

And the story lost still.

I have given up hope for the moment,

Letting the door stay shut in the silence.

Silence that fills the air.

Silence that hangs in hushed abeyance.

Silence that carries its own sense of longing.

I close the book and leave the room.

I’m not excited about your arrival.

I’m not.

(The world is poised in anticipation,

Breath held, one hand slightly extended with a tremor.)

I don’t care how I look.

I don’t.

(The trees have rearranged their leaves multiple times,

Dropping the yellow, one leg swinging forward to showcase ripped jeans .)

I don’t wonder about my voice.

I don’t.

(The birds exchange songs back and forth,

Deciding on a warble, one hello deepens in tone.)

This is just a date. I’m not bothered at all.

(Please let her like me like I like her.)

Scientists discover the shape of a lithium atom:

In the absence of corrosion, the crystalline structure

Is that of a rhombic duodecahedron.

The die used in Dungeons and Dragons, also a particular 12-sided throw.

So perhaps the universe does provide a gamble.

Should I chance this?

Or will I find that rather than the orderly form,

I’ve thrown instead metallic bones with spiky filaments

That ultimately produce an explosion.

No good result there.

I am no scientist, merely a wordsmith.

I’d better not tinker with that sort of risk.

Words alone can be tricky enough,

Sometimes becoming spark to a fire that burns uncontrolled.

Then I stand bewildered

In the midst of an unintentional conflagration.