JB Fuller

JB Fuller Jul 2019

our lives stopped in October
    with the brain tumor
    (that wasn't even ours)
and now there's a calendar
    and piles of things
    all stuck in October
while our real selves are in spring
    or is it our fake selves
    gone on before us
with the impossible feeling that we
    will never catch up
    still here in October
and the flowers are blooming
    the April showers
    bringing May flowers
to October.

in October he died
    though his body lingered on
    his meanness and vanity too
but there was never home again
    no corn from the garden
    no last buck to bring down
everything that should be
    died just before fall
    though life continued to gasp
through Christmas, into winter
    half-life, half-stopped, desperate
    and breaking
since October.

JB Fuller Mar 2018

sonnet for a rainy day

The soft breeze picks up my hair then drops it
as dark clouds come rolling through the sky.
Rippled in gray, the world becomes less lit
as though the heavens above thought to cry.
But don't weep for us now, it's beautiful.
There is nothing so glorious as dust!
The smile on my face is not dutiful—
this is joy as the wind begins to gust!
Something inside me loves the dissonance:
the broken sun runs away, reflecting
the desperate gasping for deliverance.
A return to the day we're expecting.
The rain, the wind, all mutely testify
to each bright day suddenly gone awry.

#sonnet #form

JB Fuller Jan 2018

beauty is the thing that breaks

"Mama, why
do the boys stare at me?"

She stares at me with her
bright green eyes
and golden wavy hair
that falls perfectly.

"Mama, why?"

What in all my years has prepared me
to answer this?

"That's—because—"

Ask me no questions,
I'll tell you no lies.

"Because—"

I flounder, but she
doesn't notice.
She just stares at me,
waiting.

I think.
I should have looked this up.
I should have anticipated it.
I stare at her.

"Hmm?  Mama?"

I decide to brush it off.
"You know why. You're
just fishing."
I tease.  Deflect. Wait.

But still she stares, so I lean in.
Hating each word before it emerges.
As if the sum of our existence,
our attractiveness to the world,
our usefulness,
hangs on this one flimsy, filmy,
fleeting facet of our being—

"They stare because you're pretty."

I smile love at her.
Before I walk away.

JB Fuller Jan 2018

the beast inside me

the beast in me wants to romp
and enrage the beast in you
tonight

you see my beast is locked up
in chains, a fearful cell--
locked tight

but when yours calls mine
it answers with unabashed
delight

"set me free," it begs
and the shadows grow
with fright

with myself and my desire
my deadly determination that I—I
am right

then your pet answers me and
out they fly—sparks and gunpowder
ignite

the beasts in lethal fury
grievances, protests, objections
recite

unfettered, unchained, and uncontrolled
they spin, they soar, they destroy
they fight

we lock away our agency
our wisdom—our love
from sight

our pets are eating us, my dear!
we look at each other and mourn,
contrite

too late. the damaged flesh
has uncovered our bones and shown us
each bite

there is no return.
but perhaps if we wrestle,
unite?

with every power we strive:
we send those animals back into
the night

when the morning breaks at last
have we gained
insight?

are we richer than before?
do we know any more with
hindsight?

is it worth the blood we bore
as our beasts fought before
daylight?

silence. there is no good
from letting the beast pretend to be
a knight

we have not won this day;
the events do nothing but
indict

we must build cages that hold our beasts
that constrain this ugly temper
more tight

and keep our hands off the latches
because love is always better
than spite

JB Fuller Jan 2018

A villanelle on our anniversary.

One beautiful day in June I met you,
alone with borrowed car and fluttered nerve,
trusting. Our God would keep and see me through.

I ate my lunch, watching your every chew,
and laughing. I saw also how you serve--
one beautiful day in June I met you.

We went to that marsh--then truly I knew,
though our brave path would not be without curve,
our gracious God would keep and see us through.

We sat on grass under the sky so blue,
and talked theology with no reserve,
that beautiful day in June I met you.

Those early moments when it was so new,
we carefully tried the other to observe.
That beautiful day in June I met you
knowing that God would keep and see us through.

We went on, we struggled, and so we grew.
The miles stretched far, the months much too long,
we thought. But God would keep and see us through.

One fine day in July we said "I do"--
and thus our partnership became lifelong.
We went on, we struggled, and so we grew.

So many days, we didn't have a clue.
We are sinners, prideful, selfish, headstrong.
Despite us, God would keep and see us through.

We looked in the mirror, in the Word too,
and have often found ourselves steeped in wrong;
we went on, we struggled, and so we grew.

Somewhere with grace it began to come true:
we two, as one, started to plod along--
We are seeing God keep and see us through.

With all those past years and struggles in view,
in grace our love is learning to be strong.
That beautiful day in June I met you,
and every day God has kept and seen us through.

JB Fuller Jan 2018

dance

travelling down a road
to a place I've never been
dashing in my own direction
getting lost once again

hearing the patient voice
calling me back home
saying "follow the road"
but I too often roam

thinking I have a pack
of heavy weight and care
the voice says "I have it"
and suddenly it isn't there

tripping over the rocks and roots
my feet just plod along
he tells me to look up and dance
and starts to show me the song

it sings of sorrow and of grief
of love betrayed and promises unkept
but there's a thread of faithfulness
and joy at which hearts have lept

the voice tells me this measure is mine
and shamed I hear the minor key
until suddenly brightness fills the song
he explains this is his work in me

the new beat floods my soul
and my feet find life of their own
for joy I dance, to joy I dance,
and I do not dance alone

JB Fuller Jan 2018

the education of innocence

i thought i could fly
so i climbed up the mountain
the view was very nice
wind blew through my hair
on its wings flew inspiration
i lifted up my feet to soar
and i ran away from the peak
navigating the currents
and it felt very pleasant
because i knew i was high
i landed ever so softly
gently, in the schoolyard
my feet carried me away
i found me at the seesaw
recounting my flight
the audience intent
the door slammed open
i whirled in surprise
teacher hurring to us
the devil in her face
and hell in her lips
lucifer bound my eyes
grating noises in my ears
i thought i escaped unscathed
but the next day i jumped again
and found my wings had been clipped
in a trance i shuddered
and tumbled to the ground
i lie with broken wing
but i know it not
i lie with broken dream
i cannot
rise

******* the playground
spinning wild fantasy
good to imagine but bad
to believe it all true
i had to do something to stop
inside i drew her alone and free
i distinguished myth and reality
her feet must stay on the ground
and all this insane wishes of dreams
is as eradicated i hope as yesterday
she must move on and be adultish
abandoning childhood fairies and hopes
i have made her a survivor
this is the way things go in this life
those who do not learn fall and break their necks
because we are post-everything
and definitely beyond this immature obsession
everyone must fall sometime
and it is good that i made her today
before she climbs to the summit
inside of herself
and crashes hard to break
to shatter more than myth
but infringing on reality
i have caught her
safely in my arms
i had a peculiar dream last night

i dreamed i could fly
thinking and lifting up
now, awake, i can only wonder
why i would dream such a lie