Even as dying, I have no time
For bitterness.
Life was too short,
Even before.
Each step holds gratitude for the sound
Of snow beneath it.
For
Now
I carry my passenger
Unburdened.
Say no to nothing. Not
Even the cancer.
Even tomorrow's mother's tears,
Father's clenched fists upon casket;
Flowers; loss. Inevitability.
Death grows inside me.
The opposite of a
Pregnancy.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
Streetlights passing by reflected
In her storm of mixed
Emotions render her tears
Falling stars.
Makes a wish with every salty
Drop on her lips.
Lips one man would touch briefly
With the tip of an adoring thumb, and
By that satisfaction alone
Die fulfilled,
While others see her as a tool, tossed
Back into the box when dull and
Exhausted.
Fit for a throne, yet only every odd evening
Finds her way to bed from the sofa
Before sleep finds her fading with fatigue.
Shoulders, neck, back, wrists, all
Aching in unison; a choir of
Discontentment, yet still driven by the
Love for her teenage
Kings.
I always hope she's laughing. I
Always hope she sleeps.
In my mind I rest a hand upon her
Belly when she dreams; the
Only way she'll accept a touch
Without shying away
With a faint, forced smile.
Beams of full moon finding their
Ways through bedroom curtains to her
Nearly closed eyes. She yawns a tear or
Three and turns towards the pale
Warmth; moonlight again rendering
Them falling stars.
No wishes for now.
Rest is her only lover.
I always hope she sleeps.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Such a huge, beautiful sky
Now that the mountains have all
Called in sick.
Plains where valleys were,
Seas withdraw as if in retreat;
Defeated armies of
Timelessness. Wake of
Soil and stone. Such a
Huge, all embracing heaven
Not even looking down.
And now, enter her, as I make
Myself comfortable with
My new life of treatments and
A violently shortened lifespan;
The one I always loved from
Within the shadows.
Willing me to live.
Caring.
A sleeper angel deployed to
Hold the holder;
Double-wing-cover from
The snow. Old love unspoken.
The kind that makes hills run for
Themselves.
Steady and unquestionable;
Tectonic shifts between hearts
Running out of
Tic-tocs and bass lines.
Plains where valleys were. She
Fills craters with her presence
In the room.
Never my girl; always my girl.
Sleeper angel activated.
I see why the seas withdraw.
No wonder the mountains called
In sick.
She raises solar storms with her little finger;
Conducts atmospheric changes with
A sigh.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Ode to a Norwegian mother.
How did you get to be so strong?
I shake my head in disbelief
At how she carries gold and grief
All day; all night-time long.
A silver crown upon her hair;
Those strands of grey now shine.
They speak of struggles; mother's
Fears. I wish that hers were mine.
I ask her: "Share that weight with me.
I know your legs are worn and sore."
But men have tried and failed before;
She says: "It's mine, just leave it be."
She'll pick the sun down from the
Skies. She'll sing until the ocean cries.
She'll shift the planets all at once,
To clear a path for her two sons
To rise as Kings of Time and Space,
And guide this place from guilt to
Grace. She raises them to save the day.
I say: Let's not get in their way.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
I
She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper
On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping
Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself
On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.
II
She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes
Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,
Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.
Diamond doubts and ruby
Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;
Audience adored,
Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.
About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box
Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear
Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.
III
Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted
Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting
Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,
She
Enters
Herself.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
She raises her glass of red
To the moon.
Each mirror the other.
Like lake surfaces;
The laughing eyes of old
People together, and
Other things that shine.
Her friend since forever.
A mother; she holds galaxies
In her heart, supernovas within.
The moon is her only witness.
And I.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
For Erling
Eighteen years is nothing.
Even those that may pass
Between each time we
Meet over coffee
Are hummingbird heartbeats.
Such are the strings between
Brother hearts.
No room for discord;
Life never 'gets in the way', we
Just know:
The stars won't move an inch
While we live. So let's just
Walk and watch them,
Even be silent, and in that silence
Do all the catching up
We need:
These could be hurtful times,
But aren't.
As long as you can look up and
Smile at us all, I'm not
Going anywhere.
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
I've always loved to make her laugh.
She deserves as much,
My mother, the hero.
First call from the hospital;
The worst one I've ever made.
"I'm sorry. Yes, it's cancer."
Hearing a mother's worst
Fear grip her throat with the
Force of a crocodile's jaws around
The neck of something
Unsuspecting.
She does what mothers do: Finds
Strength within the heart of
Complete devastation.
Clears her throat and tries to
Speak,
But the sounds she makes are
Fingernails on
A blackboard to a sympathetic son.
I am not the victim here.
I am merely a messenger
Whose life is on the line, bringing
Bad news to the
Undeserving.
*"Didn't you put us through
Enough with your nearly failed
Heart surgery a
Decade ago?"*
She manages a stab at
Sarcasm, and I
Smile in comfort
At her
Courage.
I smile into my phone.
I smile at the emerald
Lawn around the
Hospital. At the sky, where low,
Dark clouds speed above me
Like angry, little spaceships. I
Smile at the horizon, where
The sun sets behind an
Almost pitch black
Promise of evening rain.
And my mother doesn't shed a
Thousand
Tears. She sheds one.
One single tear, the size of a
Womb around
Herself, like hers once
Held me.
A shield of salt water,
Transparent kevlar of
Maternal self-defence.
Flashbacks from little legs kicking,
A sore back and things swollen,
The battle of her first birth.
*"Life's not supposed to
Be boring,"* I try, and she grasps at
Anything light-
Hearted in desperation,
Letting out a little laugh; not
Forced, but faint.
A slight relief from the
Nightmare.
I've always loved
To make her laugh.
She deserves as much,
My mother, the hero.
There are parents who
Take their childrens' good
Health for granted.
I know two that
Never will.
"Have you spoken to your father?"
"I'm going to," and we
Hang up
With our usual I-love-yous.
The wind picks up the fallen
Features of August, whirling
Them against
Bricks and across parking
Lots, and I pause
Before I
Dial.
Swig of cold coffee, button up the
Ridiculous patient-
Shirt they gave me, and
I can't take my eyes
Off of that
Horizon.
That dark, wet deluge approaching,
And it's dad's turn now.
I love to make him laugh.
This time I won't try.
I crush a handful of dead leaves that I
Surrender to the wind
As he picks up and answers with
An unsteady, nervous eagerness.
"Yes, hello?"
"Hi, dad. It's me."
I brush my hand clean on
My pant's leg
And begin with the loving
Determination of
A parent about to rip a
Disney-band aid from the
Bruised knee of an anxious
Toddler.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
Cancer, old devil.
I've shaken my fists at your
Ugly back as
You've laid your
Hands on my loved
Ones.
Cursed your name;
Kicked at your
Shadow. At last you've
Gathered the
Courage to
Face me. I
Suppose you could only
Ignore me for so
Long.
Come at me with scythe
Raised, I'll stand,
Broadsword
Drawn.
No shield; double-
Grip-swinging.
I'm ready.
No nurse ever saw
You greeted
With
A smile like
This.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
Words barely audible;
Choked and phone line
Distorted.
*[Words muttered between
Sweat-wet moans and
The grasp
Of a lover
Whispering
Back.
Fingers finding fingers;
Knots of nails and tendons
Tying, untying, re-tying.
Legs, arms, ribs, knees -ropes
And hull of something fleetingly
Unsinkable.]*
Words barely audible.
Hoarse with worry.
"Will you be ok?"
IV-bag drip-dripping iron
Supplement into my arm
That itself remembers her
Sleeping head still warm
With contentment's embers.
"I'll live if you'll live."
A pact between our broken
Hearts; that everything else
Stays unbroken.
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC