Living Will & Trust
Flaxen drapes her cedar chest
Rainbows dye wreath braids
Pinned with twig tiaras,
Nests, where doves of peace lay wait
Silver Maples cradle
Ivy, canopied in shade
Veins of Blue Spruce Pine weep
Like the Willow trees cascade
Creeks whisper sweet nothings
Cherry lips speak, sunset’s mouth
Seas drunk on streams’ kisses
Eye of storms translate soul’s spout
Rivers cut through virgin skin
Tattoos inked, tanzanite
Platinum, gold and silver leached
Clay bones of marrow, mined
Hollow heart beats, swells and quakes
Waves crash beneath bare feet
Scales tilt, tare, tsunami
Salt of sorrow crests each knee
Pillars set in tungsten, stand
Flesh peeled in thunder’s truth
Foundry fashioned lightning
Fire’s kiln where all is proofed
Kissed by death, her nemesis
Time steals Life’s laurel crown
Revealed as weak in nakedness
When winter strips her gown
Until through Beauty’s Gate arrives
Her Prince of Spring is found
Sowing seeds of Eden
Florid jewels stud fallow ground
As tines of wind brush golden wheat
Sun drips from honey combs
Illuminating children’s wings
The heirs unto Earth’s throne
photo credit: I. Pettus
The Nerve! The Audacity! The Intrigue!
My, what constraints you have us under. To ask for uniqueness, in such a limited way, with such strong constriction? And then to dangle a prize in front of our faces? The boldness! I'd be offended, infuriated even, were I not so compelled.
So what to write about? What mad ravings shall I possibly conjure up to appease you, O Great Keeper of the Cash Prize?
The point of view of a fly on the wall? Far too overplayed. Or might I write yet another self-aggrandizing stream of consciousness piece? No, that would be like beating a dead horse.
Oh, I know- what about a story involving a horse being assaulted after its untimely passing?
Ah, perhaps not. That's far too tedious and my severe morbidity paired with a penchant for visceral descriptors may very well get me booted from this site.
Never mind all that. Back we go. Greetings to square one.
You, the keeper of the gate, sphinx spitting riddles from your perch, poised to devour those who fail your test, you demand a medium unthinkable. What form of "Abracadabra" shall I speak to bring such a piece into existence? I am naught but mere mortal, and yet you have presented lead and demanded gold.
How to write about something that has never been written about before? In a way that's never been written?
I spit upon the very idea that a person would impose such an arduous task! Only a fool would embark on this ill-fated expedition!
I-IV. Questions of Divinity
I.
Do your eyes glow when you close them
or do you dream in colors and that’s what
you’re seeing?
II.
Are fireflies fallen stars that learn to adapt
to the Earth or are they ones that never got
a chance to shoot toward the night sky?
III.
Is every thought that’s crossed your mind only
yours purely or are they collections of words
picked up during life’s journey?
IV.
Who are the mirrors reflecting back at us
the person other people see or the being
we see ourselves and believe there’s no changing?
They Call to Me
I descended from wolves. Ancient as mammoths. Fierce like the sabor toothes. My sinews shriek of survival.
Yet here I am relegated with the task of watching this box- an apartment so small my ancestors cry. I hear them howling down the street, late in the night after the popping sounds in the dark. Nothing comes in the door I don’t admit. I’m that good.
The forests don’t smell or feel like they used to. Here the ground is light grey, hard as a rock and level all over. Giant mechanical beasts parade in lines. Even the trees are caged in their tight little corner amonst the shelters.
My mother passed down old knowledge, licked it into my brain. The smell of the pines when the rain picks up, the sweat of prey as it panics, the manner to salve a wound in the wild. And I long to use it. To feel the wind in my fur as I stretch out my legs till they burn. I want my sides to ache with a dull heat from the strain of a sprint. I need to clean my paws of the mud that is caked in their crevices from the agile shifts of my hunt.
Yet, here I am. Pacing. In this room that is my cage.
I must escape.
The window is cracked to allow the cool air to breeze in. It is much too small and we are far too high for me to jump down. There is no exit save the door. I stare at the slender black handle that curves down into a loose piece to push. The lock is closed. I’m not a young pup.
In fact, most of my life I was content to sit here and wait for my master. My master with his black shaggy hair falling into his eyes and his kind words for me. We used to run together, down the rough roads as we panted as a pack. We would pause in the park to catch our breath and to stare at the ducks. I always want to catch their slender throats in my jaws and squeeze. Such instints are eternal.
But I’ve aged. The white fur has graced itself into my muzzle and surrounds my eyes in a mask. I look into the pool of water and see not me. My hips they ache- a dull, pain that makes it hard to rise. I fear that by sitting here I will not get up the next time. That I will die in this place with the sky just outside the window and not over my head.
I’ve waited all day. Now is the time he returns. He will not expect me to run. Not his good companion, the one he can trust. What is one little betrayal at the end of my life? Surely, he will understand. Someday when he is unrecognizable to himself, won’t he ask himself what was it he was meant to do? And he will think of me and know. Without words because words are not passed down deep inside of us. It is the feelings. And his feelings will sense me and that will be enough.
I can hear his feet on the stairs, far outside the door. It gives me time to get up. My right leg doesn’t want to be extended. I force it to obey. I stare at the handle and hold my breath. It begins to move and I can hear the gliding of the bolt, smooth as a stream. I lick my lips.
The door pushes in and I’m to the side with my nose already gliding into the gap, noticing his posture and the leg movements he’s about to take. He widens the opening and I press forward when he leans down. His satchel flows down in a heavy movement and smashes into my face, stunning me from my plan.
“Hey, boy,” he says and smiles.
It’s the tenderness that hurts and I dart around him in a full gallop, down the hallway to my freedom.
“Brody!” he’s calling behind me but I’m frantic and the hallway is a long tunnel. I can feel the years, how they have slowed me. A younger me could have moved much faster. He’s running after me and I look ahead and there’s a door. But this time the door to the stairs is closed. Sealed shut. I skid to halt and breath heavy as he comes panting beside me.
He kneels down and holds me, so gentle like my mother used to. I almost imagine that he will lick me.
“Where are you going?” He grabs my face and looks at me. He stares into my eyes and I wish I could tell him. I descended from wolves I would tell him, and they call to me each night. And they beckon me to run.
Hello, it’s Earth
Hey everyone. I thought I'd take a moment to talk to you all. We don't get together nearly often enough and I was thinking it's about time we sit down and have a nice family discussion. No, no, come back. Don't try to get out of this. Especially you, Americans. We really need to talk.
Alright, now that we're settled, I need to bring up a few things. First of all, I'm happy to see that you're all enjoying the gifts I've given you, and most of you are doing some great things with them. You've built some nice homes for yourselves and you're coming up with some really cool tools. I thought the airplane was especially clever. Some of you are really branching out and a small number of you are even starting to leave me. I knew the day would come—every mother does. I'm really proud of you, though. You've come a long way. Now, most of you are really good at cooperating and trading with each other, but please remember to share. I gave you enough to go around, but I still see that some of you are keeping more than you need all to yourselves. I taught you better than that.
Second, I've been seeing a lot of fighting going on lately. This is unacceptable. It's never okay for you to hurt any of your brothers or sisters. I honestly can't believe what I'm seeing. What made you think that that's okay? You all have always disagreed a lot, and that's totally fine—that's what families do. It's normal to disagree because we are all wonderfully different, but it's not okay to expect everyone to see things the way you do. You know, it's possible to get along—and even be friends—with someone who doesn't believe in the same things you do. You can be entirely different people and follow completely opposite ideologies, and still find ways to be amicable.
Remember, we are all one family and we need each other. We need each other's differences, especially. That's what makes our family so strong. Without our differences, we perish. So, what I want you to do is think of one of your brothers or sisters with whom you don't get along, maybe one who lives a very different lifestyle than you, and I want you to think of one nice thing you can say to them or about them. Shake hands, say sorry, and for heaven's sake stop fighting.
And just remember what Father always says. Sometimes when things get heated, all you need to do is just give things a little Time.
Also, stop smoking. It's bad for you and I'm dying over here.
Love,
Your Mother
among the trees
popcorn clouds light
on the horizon
hovering just to smile
corn stalks folding
towards us like arms
waiting to embrace
blackberry barn
paint splattered wood
fairy lit enclosure
fresh lemon air
we were free out there, among the trees
summertime wind
heated with promises
and burning with secrets
ghostly copper truth
engraved in your every smile
but I still laughed like
shaking leaves
maybe I was over it
or maybe the scent of
grass blue eyes would
send me back
back to those days when I would sing for you
silently but beautifully
I've missed you all but I wonder
do I miss you the most
i’d be a gardener for you;
you're a mortal garden and i'm attracted to you:
i'd point every light so you'd grow the best
(it could be blinding, just perhaps).
my hands would squeeze every ounce of a word out
(of poems i'll claim were written about you).
as my soul filters all the bad things out
(letting a few good ones trickle through).
and my heart will bury your seed inside me
(since that's where my feelings for you will be).
kisses will brush every petal you hold
(accepting all the weeds you bare).
singing songs to you will become the only thing i want to do
(here's to the candor and lyrics that get us through).
damn, eden don't even compare to you.