We spent the first part of Sunday digging a splinter out of his foot on the back stoop. A cloudy, windy morning. A painful, yet bearable procedure.
The splinter callused over so we broke the skin to dig. I began the excavation, but after so many flinches and moans, I let him do it himself.
I have learned it is easier to inflict pain on yourself than to let someone you love do it to you.
The splinter was a stubborn thing and by the time it was out there was a hole of pink flesh and clear pus left in its wake. I did what I do best and cleaned the open wound. Alcohol, antiseptic, and bandage.
He said a bandage wouldn’t hold. It will help, I say, I have learned it will help.
is not merely a flash of color. You can caress it, cradle it,
wrap it around your fist like the links of a chain. It pinches the skin, cuts to the pink.
I am not one to chew lips or graze nail tips, but on nights like this desperation crawls beneath surface,
lurks inside rough veins roped around arm, treads under the soft tissue of neck, I can see it pulse.
The salt of it can not be denied, the stink can not go ignored. I have been playing fill in the blanks with crossed eyes only to come to the conclusion that all of this,
ALL OF THIS
is for nothing.
Can’t you see that?
The hiss of heartbeat is not generous enough and with every scratch the healing takes a little longer. If the skin is already dead, then the venom will recede. Not even a scar remains.
The cut was never that deep.
I tended my own wounds before you ever had a chance to see them. There was never any pain, I just didn’t realize how easily skin could split.
when is the last time
you held sand
felt the fall
of each gradual
and wished for nothing
more than the warmth
your allowed to slip from hands
I am lingering deep
in a list of what
could have been and
relishing the simple
I have attained
I call them albas
morning songs
gibberish
they are nothing to anyone
but the melody
reminds me of a memory
yes time has passed me
forgotten my name
and kept
rolling through
like the weather
like the waves
like the pull of the moon
these things aren’t forever
despite how far they stretch
after all
there is no such thing as forever
merely here and merely now
even our breath is compulsory
do we continue the ritual and fail
or do we learn and do we go on
where does the fall take us
if not to the next season
every poem begins
as a suicide note.
And a
well rehearsed
death
is always
winkled inside my mind,
soaking there,
dripping stalagmites,
building blocks of
the subconscious.
Counting ticks
to the end;
the story
so close
to conclusion.
Loneliness,
like rock candy
crystallizing on
popsicle sticks,
attached to rib cage,
expands and compresses
with each
shallow breath.
I don’t have fear.
Sometimes the
only thing
that gets me through
is knowing
at any minute
I can stop it all.
I can rock and roll
out of this human suit
shed soft covering,
reveal bare bone,
and empty cavern.
The sliver of power
over my life;
if the storm did come,
i fear my first
instinct would be
to walk to the apex
bold and frenzied
my streets have been
dry for too long
leaving me desperate
to stand in the rain
i would trade my sight
for the scent of distant
thunder
my taste for the prickle
of hair twirled
in every direction.
i have prayed
for destruction.
but what do i know?
my mother was never
ripped into the sky
by unruly clouds,
my house never blown
down despite the coyotes
that surround back door
i have never wakened
to shattered glass
underneath my morning feet.
why should i distress the
wrath of weather when my
New Mexican sky is endless blue
my sun bright enough i see
only red in the darkness.
i want the storm,
the wind, the water,
i want to be ravaged by the
wrath of unkind gods.
i know this wish
may not be kind
threats of storms ravage
those who prefer to hold tight
to rock and earth
and toss bodies
like crumpled paper
hoping to cling
on to abandoned words.
i have not felt
that windfall, and
i do not seek to
inhabit the pain
of the others
but i can’t
help but to search the sky for
gathering clouds and sit pale in the
wind hoping for the sky to crack.
Saturday's Sirens 