Wednesday, September 29, 2010


To Begin:

Asleep in your arms, even if just a wish
I awoke to a letter from your father
sewn onto the pillowcase beside me

Please take care of my little boy, he wrote
especially when the days get shorter
and the leaves begin to die
He glows inwardly and you glow out
and together you illuminate my darkness

Under the Pale Shafts of the Moon:

I stashed the letter deep in your voice box
and could feel the whole world tense up
inside your chest

When I tried to take the letter back
I reached into your throat
and pulled out a river instead

I guess we better build a boat, you said

Upon Starting Construction:

I hammered your name in nails
across my chest

and noticed that the object you were building
looked more like a coffin than a boat

No matter, I thought,
both will carry us
both will float

On That Note:

Burying grief is like swallowing dynamite
after it’s already been lit

I would rather navigate a thousand storms
than ponder regret

I would rather drive for hours on the hottest day of the year
in a car without air conditioning
than not be the one who gets to pick you up

But now I am Digressing:

Emotional restraint is for anchormen and pilots

I type so I don’t explode

The point is:

I feel safe with tools in my hand
I feel free when I use my words

Now hear this:

I will never help you put nails in that coffin
not even if you tell me that we’re dead

In Conclusion:

The river is the fear.
We can sail above it.