I didn't -
fall out of love
I tumbled, backward;
overly-tired
chocking on Z's
and poetry:
my, indecent way of
overexposing my
love for you
and
no one likes to be embarrassed
but
I'd rather be that than
without you
so I tortured myself
I strangle my own neck
over and over again
with palms that
want nothing to do with me;
I'd rather
fall asleep
under water
than
breathe this way
*anymore

A locked door
A rusty razor
A towel stained with red

A folded note
A broken mirror
A young girl lies there dead

Their emotions tangle
And the room begins to swirl
She was mommy's perfect angel
And daddy's little girl

Diaspora
From the Greek

When I heard the word I felt it
And I looked it up
In my old red dictionary

I could have used the Internet,
I suppose

But I like to run my forefinger down pages
Of words

I read the definition
And I felt it
Oh

Oh
We are diaspora.

Am I using it correctly?

We are a diaspora.

Diaspora
From the Greek

From the green valley of Ottawa
From Scotland
From Ireland on wooden boats

From the French village thirteen children
From the mines in the North
From Poland and from Germany

From the churches and
From the Blueberry patches
From the Island Manitoulin

From the dark lake Kagawong
From Kinburn and Arnprior
From Markstay and from Sudbury

From Waterloo
From Kitchener, Michener
From the Suburbs

Oh

From the Suburbs
From the red bricks, red currants
And geraniums
From green island cabins

From the desert

Oh

From the desert
From the potholes and pipes
From the salty wind
Cracked Caspian Sea
From the middle of the east of nowhere.

From the mountains

Oh

From the mountains
From the crystal water fountains
From the tram bells
On the cobblestone streets
From the torrents of the Rhein

From the white cross

Oh

From the white cross
On the green hill
From the river Laurence
From the French and from the English
Plains of Abraham

We are diaspora
We are a diaspora

Diaspora
From the Greek

How did it end up here on my tongue?

It is diaspora.
It is a diaspora
Diaspora is a diaspora

And I wonder if it misses its other pieces
The way that I miss mine

Ours

There is no
Roping us back together now

There is no
Home to go back to

There is no
Point of meeting
Of reunion

No
White steeple in our old town

No
Yellow slide in our backyard

No
Old folks on an old farm

No
Walled house on a hill

No
Luzernerring 93

No
Familiar riverwater

There is no
Ancient Greek anymore
Diaspora

Only fragments of fragments
Of roots of stems of words
In different dialects

There is no
Place for you to belong,
Diaspora

You’ve been sliced to pieces
And scattered
Into the wind

But
When people ask you
Where you are from

You say simply
From the Greek

Oh

From the Greek

And
When people ask me
Where I am from

I say simply
From the diaspora.

I can't think of anything to say...
The cliché of an apology, I'm sorry sounds weak and falls flat in the staging area that's my mind.
But saying, "I'm sorry you've felt sadness" feels heavy and thick, even though it may be the truest thing I've ever wanted to say to you, it asphyxiates my decision making skills
So at this point, admitting the truth sounds like a pretty good idea.
Which means I'll admit the fact that I have no idea what to say to you, to your face or your soul.
I have no idea how to fix you, no matter how hard I try
Maybe one day I will
When sadness has hit me the same way it hit you, but for now...
All I can do is give my condolences...until a better more earth shattering explanation for why we've felt sadness has come my way
And I can't give you a date because to give you a date would be to mark an unspeakable day, which will make me able to speak to you
I'd do anything to be able to speak to you again

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.