May 2014
That's Grass Poem
5/16/2014
If you think about it hard enough, you can feel the life tingling on tips of grass. As if they are blades true to their name, yearning to clash against your soft skin soaked in the sun's sweat. The thrill of the fight when you're feeling alive. That's grass.
Getting chopped up into tiny pieces by the violent churning grummm grummm grummm of a mechanical ****** machine, the lawnmower. Spurting out what's left, the ruins of a once emerald empire, into twisty bendy bits thrown to the fierce winds, allowed to dissipate into dust at dusk.
Who thought time could pass without you? That's grass.
I went to the park the other day and guess what I saw?
Grass. But on top of it. There were picnic tables adorned with checkered table cloths, and I could just smell the waft of hot dogs, hamburgers, and acidic pickles. But this is not about what I saw. Not what I smelled, nor the fabricated memory I longed for as the moment fleeted, like a photograph fade out at the movie credits, when the characters' lives become just what they always were - figments of your imagination, allowed to live on the big screen for just a brief moment of viewing pleasure.
I saw a family of four. Picturesque, painting the scene one would like to see. A father, mother, and two children. Sons of separate ages. Laughing, that laughter. If I could just capture one of their smiles and keep it in a jar, I wouldn't have to ever go very far to feel happy. And who knows if they went home later that day and cursed each other, or pulled out their phones at the dinner table, completely ignoring the company of one another. Maybe, just maybe they hated each other with all the scathing loath one's own family can create. But, they had the option. They could grow together. That's grass.
A. They had the ability to knock on your door and be told you're too busy to talk. B. They had the ability to call you and let it ring to voicemail. C. That older son had the ability to sneak out of the house late at night and wonder if you've noticed and been worried. D. The younger son had the ability to have you drive him in your car and receive whatever wisdom you'd choose to share, even if it's only a belch or burp and then have a nice day school. E. The mother, she had the ability to be a human being with you and live life happily, not just a mom, but a partner in love and life.
W. The ability to see your smile at the law school acceptance letter.
C. The ability to ask you for a cash loan when times were tough.
M. The ability to watch sci-fi movies with you in bed and eat Chinese food.
A.B.C. The ability to share life's monumental moments with you, like learning the alphabet.
Those sons, they had the ability to fight with you and refuse your request to pass the tv remote from across the room when you were sitting down comfortable, and they were standing up. Something so shallow and stupid, not giving a ****. not knowing that at a few minutes before midnight that Christmas Eve... you would leave. Is this what grass is supposed to be? A ****** broken down family.
I saw grass this Father's Day. It looked a bit overgrown, but 9 years can do that I guess. It's almost gotten hard to read that plaque on the ground, but I know it still says Michael, father, husband, survived by sons and loving wife, now lost to the grass.
Who thought time could pass without you, and I could continue to grow.
But that's grass.
5/16/2014
If you think about it hard enough, you can feel the life tingling on tips of grass. As if they are blades true to their name, yearning to clash against your soft skin soaked in the sun's sweat. The thrill of the fight when you're feeling alive. That's grass.
Getting chopped up into tiny pieces by the violent churning grummm grummm grummm of a mechanical ****** machine, the lawnmower. Spurting out what's left, the ruins of a once emerald empire, into twisty bendy bits thrown to the fierce winds, allowed to dissipate into dust at dusk.
Who thought time could pass without you? That's grass.
I went to the park the other day and guess what I saw?
Grass. But on top of it. There were picnic tables adorned with checkered table cloths, and I could just smell the waft of hot dogs, hamburgers, and acidic pickles. But this is not about what I saw. Not what I smelled, nor the fabricated memory I longed for as the moment fleeted, like a photograph fade out at the movie credits, when the characters' lives become just what they always were - figments of your imagination, allowed to live on the big screen for just a brief moment of viewing pleasure.
I saw a family of four. Picturesque, painting the scene one would like to see. A father, mother, and two children. Sons of separate ages. Laughing, that laughter. If I could just capture one of their smiles and keep it in a jar, I wouldn't have to ever go very far to feel happy. And who knows if they went home later that day and cursed each other, or pulled out their phones at the dinner table, completely ignoring the company of one another. Maybe, just maybe they hated each other with all the scathing loath one's own family can create. But, they had the option. They could grow together. That's grass.
A. They had the ability to knock on your door and be told you're too busy to talk. B. They had the ability to call you and let it ring to voicemail. C. That older son had the ability to sneak out of the house late at night and wonder if you've noticed and been worried. D. The younger son had the ability to have you drive him in your car and receive whatever wisdom you'd choose to share, even if it's only a belch or burp and then have a nice day school. E. The mother, she had the ability to be a human being with you and live life happily, not just a mom, but a partner in love and life.
W. The ability to see your smile at the law school acceptance letter.
C. The ability to ask you for a cash loan when times were tough.
M. The ability to watch sci-fi movies with you in bed and eat Chinese food.
A.B.C. The ability to share life's monumental moments with you, like learning the alphabet.
Those sons, they had the ability to fight with you and refuse your request to pass the tv remote from across the room when you were sitting down comfortable, and they were standing up. Something so shallow and stupid, not giving a ****. not knowing that at a few minutes before midnight that Christmas Eve... you would leave. Is this what grass is supposed to be? A ****** broken down family.
I saw grass this Father's Day. It looked a bit overgrown, but 9 years can do that I guess. It's almost gotten hard to read that plaque on the ground, but I know it still says Michael, father, husband, survived by sons and loving wife, now lost to the grass.
Who thought time could pass without you, and I could continue to grow.
But that's grass.
