Palm Sized

Lying in bed, the world online flickers behind my closed lids
Playing out a nightly routine,
Can’t sleep
He lies on the opposite side of the plush king,
Can’t sleep
Both of us existing in alternatives on screen
Whittling away the remaining time with our fingertips
Touch
Swipe
Tap
Dimming the back light as our eyes start to strain,
Just like we are.
Not that we’re not aware of the damage, reaching over periodically, skin on skin contact across the mile long sheets representing our cognizance and denial.
Like a intellectual tidal wave the Internet overcomes our
Moments of doubt
Provides us with
One more distraction
Social media meditation
AppStore medication
Articles for stimulation
Anything, anything
To cling to the outermost rims of our consciousness, pulling our weight in a mad dash to escape,
Just enough to close our eyes and sleep despite brains waterlogged with artificial light.
Saturated in detachment,
Another night passed in the arms of our handheld lovers.

Ode to Snow

I will see you beautiful with my eyes today.

I will see you coat the land I grew up in, taking all that nature gives, while also being given of nature herself.

I will appreciate the blinding whiteness of your virgin self, unblemished.

Not yet exposed to the trampling of children, thrilled to reacquaint themselves with you again,

Or the sludge forming on the roads and paths well travelled,

Or the backyards littered with a season full of pets cooped up, depositing every which way.

I will bask in your perfect asymmetry and the rhymeless reasonless rhythm of your falling.

I will take time to adore the insignificant flakes that land on my black coat, made all the more significant by their shortened lifespans.

I will see you for all that you are today, because my reverence runs dry when my limbs are numb from cold!

Looking Back

We never looked back when we left that town
The industrial cripple, the affluent invalid.
Where you felt anger from origins unknown, where accusations flew rampant from mouth to mouth and commiserations were only found elsewhere.
The kind of place that made you wonder why people go there,
And more puzzling –
Why people stay.
How a city could inspire pity was beyond us, as remorse made slippery the road that led us away
From the sprawling mass of small minds and smaller hearts that left little room for positive vibes, unless paid for with plastic.
Plastic that is more relevant and revered than connectivity
The town where everyone looks down.

The Slate

There is a level of forgiveness that ranks high above all others.
To compartmentalize the years of offences, to pick and to choose those that hurt the most, which to hold on to…
Which not to forget.
Not many have been forgotten, just
Let go.
As best as could be managed.
There is a level of hurtfulness that ranks high above all others.
That which an apology can mend, but cannot wipe from the slate.
A slate tarnished and dented and stained from years of living, polished time and time again with love and tears.
A slate in the tiled kitchens of our youths,
A slate between the caulking of the bathroom walls that saw many moments of anticipation,
A slate on the pathway to the household full of memories,
One that fit in every room, every heartfelt second and every life within it.

A curious metaphor for a forgotten building block of a lifetime.
Which sometimes I resented and sometimes I adored.

Bubbas

The beauty of my bubbas is unbounded.

I’ve never known a love like this.
Every moment treasured and memorable –
Good and bad melding into one beautiful circumstance.
How else could we live, now that we’ve tasted such affectionate infinity?
Her head droops on the long drives, over and over I push it back up –
A repetition I never tire of.
A task that never diminishes in its perfection.
Emotions so fierce
and endless
and transcendent
and beyond anything I ever imagined for myself.
We are so blessed.

I’ve never known a love like this.

Bodywide War

At some point on Christmas Day, I caught something from my little niece or father. Toddlers in daycare are little buckets of nasty. Did a little playful writing on the subject to alleviate my mental symptoms, since the physical ones are clearly sticking around.

Going up against the Great Wall of China that is my throat,
The bacteria marches –
It knows:
The wall may be tall,
And we may be small,
But we’ve the combined forces of all.
The cantankerous
viral
spiral
into…
… Chamomile.
The tea I like least.

In this particular war, I want my mama.

The Life Unlived

I have recently become acquainted with a beautiful elderly woman named Jackie.

She made me think long and hard about the life unlived. I have often resolved to work hard to live each second of my life fully… And it’s not easy. She makes me feel so many varied emotions. For that I could not be more thankful, as people like Jackie provide me with some of my most treasured experiences in life.

This is for Jackie: a woman who has had many pains and many gains and is so lovely to me on her every raw and human facet.

The life unlived is struggle
The life unlived is loss
The life unlived is waiting for something you’re not sure you’ll come across.

The life unlived confuses
The life unlived dumbfounds
The life unlived is floating, your feet never quite touch ground.

The life unlived is a question mark
The life unlived is a darkened heart
It makes one wonder oftentimes how not to fall apart.

The one thing to remember about the life unlived you’ve got:
It’s yours from the start
It’s yours til the end
And you’ve only got one shot.

The everyday

Such familiarity
In the sounds
Car door slamming
Throat clearing
A grunt of satisfaction
Or
A grunt of frustration
All these things
That
Comfort enough to greet the day