1056

There is a Zone whose even Years
No Solstice interrupt—
Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon
Whose perfect Seasons wait—

Whose Summer set in Summer, till
The Centuries of June
And Centuries of August cease
And Consciousness—is Noon.

i remember january 2, 2015 like it was yesterday.
i remember waking up at 9:14 am with my cousin.
i remember my brother coming in my room to tell us my nonni was dead.
i remember yelling at him, like it was his fault or something.
i remember being angry.
i remember not knowing when i'd smile again.
i remember not being able to breathe.
i remember my mom coming home for the first time in five days.
i remember going through photos for the funeral.
i remember pulling out the black dress she always loved on me.
i remember three days later, seeing my nonni, so still, still beautiful.
i remember my friends and family hugging me.
i remember being numb.
i remember crying so much, i couldn't even read the eulogy i wrote.
i remember my uncle singing "you raise me up" for her.
i remember  january 6th, her funeral.
i remember slipping that black dress on.
i remember being there.
i remember people talking.
i remember a priest.
i remember maria squeezing my arm.
i remember paula reading a Bible verse.
i remember my mom holding me as my body shook.
i remember wailing as everyone took communion.
i remember not being able to stand.
i remember my friends and family trying to hug me.
i remember them carrying her out.
i remember taking a rose off her casket.
i remember holding that rose so tight, that the thorns cut my skin.
i remember remembering everything my nonni ever did or said.
i remember not thinking i'd ever get through this.
i remember screaming.
i remember trying to hide the pain.
i remember being broken.
i remember not being able to breathe.
i remember hurting.
i remember everything.
i remember her.

When I think of life without you
      I'd rather take my life.
            A whisper from inside
                  you better think twice.

                                 But I don't wanna listen
                                       I hate my own advice-

         Oh this life
              of men
                   and mice.

Shout out to the sky
     can anybody hear me?
              There is no answer
                    nobody loves me dearly...

         Mind remanining silent
               with a gun
                       to my head.

                            Maybe she'll finally
                                        love me
                                  when I'm dead.

As I lay me
down to sleep,
I dream of you
in places deep.
I heard your voice
through a hidden door,
but you are worlds beyond
my physical form.
I wonder,
is this just a dream?
Or another world
where I will someday be?
A place where time
does not exist,
a world with
eternal bliss.

Hot air blows on your face
Radio plays on the background
You on your balcony,
Looking at the streets below you
Watching people passing by,
carrying excitement in their steps.

And suddenly you remember
Remember your old friends from your old life
Your old parents in your old house
Your old books in your old bedroom
And your old journal with your old feelings

Take your time slowly and surely, my love
Your open arms may one day be my home
Allow me some time, too, to fit into your frame
I am not used to be told that I will be safe

Sink into me deeper and ever so gently, my love
We are a hundred stories wrapped into one
I have long let go of my childhood dreams
Yet your grasp made me believe in fairy tales once more

Pull me close and take me away, my love
Today you may be a part of one sonnet in my book
Take a day, a fortnight, or a moon’s time
And may you become the word to every story

The old songs don’t feel right
wrong key, out of tune
somebody wake Sinatra
reclaim these wayward melodies
My Way, New York
New York
seat of the Queen
a gilded new King
everything he touches
Gold

money equals tower
Freudian crystal skyscrapers
the fitting measure
of a brittle man
who has not strength
to speak the truth
recites instead from
a book of fables
the moral to every one
those in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones

the town crier proclaims
the truth does not matter
no one cares

hold tight that red hat
lest it be snatched
by a rebellious wind
see it now, a symbol
framed in white and blue
rising above the crowd
boots on the ground speak
shiny brass buttons
on a pert military coat
don’t a revolutionary make

the peddler of lies is just
a liar once-removed
“alternative facts”
brash fabrications
with a fancy semantic bow
such a pretty package
such a pretty family
the biggest crowd
in all of history
let the whole world

Witness

this most
perfect union