I am

Going to leave you
And you won’t realize
At first that it was the last time
You will see me
A week or so will come
And go
and I will not be there
then months
and slowly years will shadow my memory

You will call me
and you will see
my phone on the end
table vibrating.

First you will think
I forgot it,
that I will come
back for it.  But I won’t.

You will see my clothes
and shoes.
You will assume
I’ll come back
for a change or to get
them at least. 
You’ll  hold onto them
longer then you should,
finally with guilt
you’ll  drop them off
at a second hand store.
And slowly all my stuff
will be gone
until you only have
a few photos of me
that you’ll  hide away
because when you
look at them
they will hurt you.
You will have to move
and change your life
to stop the hurt.

And I won’t know or care.
I will have already
moved on -Dead and rotten
far and forever removed

Lost and found

Startled and afraid in your empty house from the sound of your
own foot stepping on an old wood board. Click, then echo,
then the long creek. Followed by another. Followed by another.

First is the swallowing panic, then it is horror,  then the crazed fear grows into the chest gripping, to finally your ears ring so loud you can’t  hear if it is you screaming or a siren some where far off in the next town over

It hard to live soft enough
Not to wake up the fear
that hides in awareness

You are here
And Henry is not

Monsters

Dear Henry,

Right before you died I kissed
your thin lips. You could not move your body but your lips quivered

You are the only monster I kissed

on the mouth

Then you growled a deep and raspy, far away  “I love you.”

You were dead after that, Henry

I didnt say

                   Good bye
     

The Stage

The stage is black.  The curtain is closed.

.

Sit and wait as he might no clap of his

will cause you to step onto the stage

and sing  -“Luck be a lady tonight”

.

In his joy, he miss judged  you for a gentle son who’d

be open for coffee or talk and never leave  for good

How could you after all you’ve accomplished?

.

Does the thick fabric of the curtain hang onto some

of your DNA where you rubbed as you rushed by

to change your costume for the romantic scene?

.

Are there skin cells of yours on the make-up brush

that helped your eyes pop so the person in the back

could gage the twinge of your expression?

.

Is there a hair of yours on the jacket

that you wore when you went outside

to rehearse your lines and get fresh air?

.

Did you leave your voice in the creeks

and falls of the building, rhyming in

rhythm with carpet hairs and the very foundation?

.

Is there some magic left that a father may find

or did it leave when you killed yourself?

Here lies the body

Here lies the body of a well-loved

human -under this pile of stones

a power decayed

Even though, in his generation

his people loved and praised him

now he is a sonnet; a sealed container of dust

We stand, his future, new generations

sprouted from the past and remember his

name and the territory of  his revolution

but none of us can smell his morning breath

or feel the warmth of his penis in their mouth

he walks in

he walks in and says –

“Hi

I ‘ve got a sore butt from biking

I love you – keep writng

I am watching a dumb movie

bye”

And so I get up and drink a porter

and smoke a stick and ask while

he dies, does he think he’ll pray for life

after death

 

 

and his answer is

a strong and sturdy

“no”