Once I was a spore
Sought the ***** and was accepted
Millions of my fellow spores
Did not and was washed out as junk
A residue of no value
I won the highest prize without trying
To be given life is luck
Had I lost and not known life it would not
Made any difference for the spore
Not to have seen a sunrise a sunrise over
The Pacific Ocean, a mountain high and
Rabbits in the Woods
Never loved by a woman or the glorious hurt
Of the first one who left
The softness of her skin the colour of her eyes
Yes, I swam in the lake of enchantment
Walked near the waterfall where lovers cry
All this because I was the lucky one, the victor
And so millions had to die

far away enough from five pizza doughs per plastic bag or purple keys to a locked unit,
your multicolored hair lights up a coffee shop on days where thunderstorms keep the paper from being delivered.

"she's a sweetheart," the woman in the turquoise blouse says
to her wife,
noting nothing of stains on her apron or
the colors of California strife.

wildfires have lit your eyes for ages, parts per million of the cyclical, ecological division. anything hazel will fade into oblivion with enough self-doubt.

when you've tied your last sweatshirt around your waist, I will hold you through the memories of the wildfires, passing out on the bathroom floor, losing her, the lies that your mother told you, and when you flew just far away enough from the ocean,
but too close to the sun.

it scorches with agonizing pain but i suppose we all have to stare into the sun once more after our eyes have been burnt badly enough to burst.

Still sleeping with the tv on


Missing your light snores

FELIKSOWA has gone again from our house and this time for good, I hope.
She and her husband took with them the cow father gave them, and they sold it.
She went like a swine, because she called neither on me, her brother, nor on her father, before leaving for those forests.
That is where she ought to live, with bears, not with men.
She was something of an ape before and there, with her wild husband, she became altogether an ape.
No honest person would have done as they did.
Whose fault is it? And how much they have cursed me and their father!
May God not punish them for it. They think only about money; they let the church go if they can only live fat on their money.

She must be beautiful;
She must be funny;
She must be perfect.
She knows she isn’t. And this terrifies her.

He knows he is none of these things either.
Neither is he happy, nor motivated, nor selfless.
Mostly he is lazy. He hates himself without really noticing.
If he didn’t feel this way he might not be scared enough to do anything-at-all.

She finds it hard to be assertive without sounding like a *****,
She feels stifled when he gets too close. How will she ever make a marriage last?
She has failed for never liking children.

They both skirt the issues. “She is blunt and he is forgetful”.
They laugh and accept this.
They laugh a lot together,
Carefully and with shame they hide the things that make them horrid.

Time passes


..........


And one day, as the light filters down to hang in the mists of a darkening month, infusing their street with a hushed sort of patience, she appears in the sitting room.

In quiet confidence, this beautiful, funny, thoughtful girl reveals to him a portion of the true, uglier weaknesses she has masked. Does he run away? Of course not. He embraces them as she is all the more beautiful for revealing these truths that are so rare and so well hidden.

Whereas before he beheld a doll at arm’s length. Perfect in form but somehow not real; porcelain even. Now the shell has cracked to reveal beautiful breathing blemished sensitive skin beneath which he scoops up and holds in his arms.

He felt as a man who had never seen a real woman, only pictures, and here was one now, open and shy and willing and as exhilarated by him as he is by her.


..........


He sees she is happy.
It is only natural to him that she be worthy of love.
She is silly for doubting it.
He wishes to fall in her lap and to lay out his own faults as best he understands them.
For one desperate moment.
He must be a little better first; a little less worthy of disgust. One day
Not yet, not yet.

They reveal themselves in bitterness later. When she is unprepared and he is suffocating under guilt.
They deny any problem until they are screaming.
They make up and soldier on.


..........


Perhaps his faults will break them apart.
Perhaps hers will, in spite of his initial embrace.

This will not be because they are disgusting, or truly horrid.
Without exception their issues are troublesome, yet entirely normal and worthy of understanding.

We can hope that at the close they are kind to themselves.
We can hope they will not feel despair at everything ending.
We can hope they are wise enough not to see it as everything ending.

We can hope they do not hate themselves for succeeding in doing something that is, in reality, incredibly difficult and praiseworthy –
Making a deeply intimate relationship last any time at all.