Death lands on my fingertips,
asks if I want
to coddle it, if I want
to cup it and hold it close,
raise it, share a bed with it.

I am not sure what I've asked for,
if this was planned, if I was
a spiderweb to entrap
a sea to let you swim in.

A yellow jacket sings on the table
floats toward the color.

Do I, too, float towards the color?
Am I the spider, the web, the
     bug, stuck?

Shrapnel stings like the yellow jackets
like the wasp in my thigh.
Shrapnel that might never let go.

When we threw the pumpkins out,
old rotting
     mold gourds
we let them sink into the ground.
We forgot.

The next year, vines shot out
pumpkins shouted out
and we could never forget again.

They come every year,
along with the burning of leaves
and the blindness of a dog
who sees less
and less.

I wonder about forgetting.
I worry about forgetting.
My memory is being tossed like
seeds to the wind,
I'm hoping the planting and the sowing will birth
what I have forgotten.
The intention was invisible,
the darkness was audible.

I'm sorry to myself.
I've forgotten everything else.

The thing is

I am made up of terrible jokes,

some I make up on my own

others were forced upon me in the cruel kinds of ways

that happen to everybody.

I still feel like I am starting over,

I still feel like every day should be a new life that I could be living,

but I sit with my colors

and I do not use them.

If only fate were so kind as to ring the doorbell,

if only those red threads of what some call destiny or at least something close

weren’t also the kind that you can trip over, bruise your knee over,

find yourself in a collapse over.

——

I am trying.

I say this everyday.

I am trying.

Nothing's asked
and very little said
two strangers lie
on either side of the bed.

Life ticks on
Like a rusted clock
to the eerie routine
all dreams are fed.

Yet there's a spark
that lights a fire or two
in the moonless night
it shines like a dew.

Morning comes
and rings the bell
pushing the tiny sparks
into hell.

And life ticks on
like a rusted clock.
Two Strangers live
on each side of their bed.

I spontaneously decide
to get on my bike
and cycle to the grocery store.

I didn't think twice,
sometimes you don't need to,
intuition often works fine.
I grab my purse,
take my bicycle out the shed
and go on my way.

It feels like flying sky high:
the wind blowing hard in my back,
(force five)
pushing me along the road.
The cars pass me,
also seemingly without effort.
The shadows of the clouds
speedily move ahead of me.

After a while, I leave the green sea
of the countryside behind me,
as I turn on a path that runs
between two lines of trees.

An old man is on a walk
inside the peacefulness of the trees,
enjoying some time alone.
Once I leave this green corridor,
with a tall bridge in between,
I soon, maybe too soon, arrive in town.

Into the grocery store,
get what I need,
get in line to pay
and get back on my bike.
Time to go home.

Instead of making me happy
and blowing in my back,
the wind now blows in my face.
The muscles in my legs
soon start complaining,
thinking they work too hard.

In the green corridor,
I pass a mother
walking with her child
and taking out the dog.

Up the bridge again,
this time so much harder
to cycle upwards.
But also, much more satisfying
to not push the pedals
and still move forward
when you're on your way down.

This time round I need a few breaks,
as the wind causes my nose to run
and I need to use some tissues.

Out on the plains again,
I pass a woman
who's playing with her dog,
practicing its tricks
and playing with a ball.

I pass a man
cycling in the opposite direction,
the wind now in his back.
I feel jealous.

Finally some respite
as I cycle through a village.
The houses soften the wind.
But when the village ends,
the wind seems to blow
much harder than before.

I now envy all the drivers
in their cars, passing me easily.
As I approach the last turn in the road
I realize I don't care
that the wind tries to ******* off my bike.
*I'm almost home.

I do not want to burn that candle you gave me.

I'm afraid of forgetting
how Tuesdays smell,
or how it feels to fail at
all the things that don't matter,
and to let them go.

I'm afraid I might forget your smile,
your eyes in the sun,
the scent! the scent of lemon and leaves.

And memories linger like smoke
in my eyes but there is no one
else, no one else but you.

And I love you.

I am bad at keeping promises,
but I think I'll say this:
I'm afraid of burning that candle
because I'm afraid of burning you.

he reached out
with his cold hands
not to injur others
but to try and find
some warmth
for himself

It's not time yet...
You both still need to heal.
Need to grow a little more,
Get that closure you deserve,
Be selfish for a while longer.

It will happen...
You'll both get there.
Know being alone is alright,
Make awareness of your worth,
Get lost with just yourselves.

Keep your faith...
You guys are doing right.
Entertain your mind indulgently,
Discover passions you never knew,
Meet the you, you are supposed to be.

Just keep eyes wide...
Your paths will cross.
Get rid of negative notions,
Be ready to embrace the wonderful,
Open up enough for a landing.

When you've been patient,
After you are centered,
When it's time,
And you're both ready...

LOVE


© NDHK