I still remember how
you look like Magic
to me.

and I don’t believe in ghosts
but you still haunt my dreams.

Places we knew together lie in wait, still as I’ve ever seen
for our return.

And we will return, but
it will never be as it was.

I’ll never again hear my brothers’ shrieks as they climb
and break the weak lower branches from our tree.

We will have dinner at our table, but you won’t have grass-stained knees
and we won’t study on your bed afterward until a new day comes.

And still you wear a white uniform, but not the stained jersey we knew.
Now it is pristine and reminds me that you’ll never again be mine as you were.

Though you wear the cover of an officer and make me proud every day,
I will always miss the boy that this man used to be.

Even now as I too seize everything I want, I fear I am the only one
who would give it all right back to return to what we were.

Untainted,
Unworried,
Careless,
Naïve.

But mostly,
Together.

He appears in the mirror behind me
and lifts my hair as I brush my teeth.
Kisses the back of my neck
with a lingering brush of lips.

I close my eyes tightly as I can,
try not to flinch away from this
unauthorized intimacy.
And I don’t know when we reached
this place where intimacy must be
Authorized,
stamped with approval,
but here we are and my mind is
screaming at the violation.

My arms tense, eager to
push away, resist, escape.
I rinse my mouth and hastily
slide right out under his arm
before he pilfers a goodnight kiss.

Everything is the same,
every press of skin or lips or words
but nothing feels soft and tender
as before.
We are entirely too close,
breathing the same stale air of the apartment.
I suddenly need the cold air and the
familiar smoke in my lungs
so I dart out the balcony doors.

I inhale shakily and see all the
dark windows of my neighbors.
How can they sleep with the restlessness
and the stifling air that I am sure permeates
the entire city, hell, maybe
the entire country.

I don’t know, but I do know that I
need a ******* cigarette, so I
light one and set it between my lips.

I hear jingling pockets at the grocery
and suddenly
all I can think of is you.

I am ten again, greeting you
at the door.
I tuck my head under your chin and note,
“Daddy, you smell just like pennies!”
and you only laugh
and hold me closer.

I am five and haven’t slept in days.
you, well, you
silently traipse outside with a broom.
And you never said anything, but
my hooting owl never again
sat in my holly tree
and stayed up all night with me.

I am eighteen now and here I am,
crying in the laundry room at 3 a.m.
But my handful of nickels reminds me.
You can’t chase my owls anymore,
but as for these demons of mine—
they will always vanish before you.

i swear that
nothing ever broke
my heart
like watching you grow
and waiting for
the bottom to fall out.

because your poor little
heart,
it was so whole.
you still thought everything
was good.
and,
worse,
you still thought everyone
wanted to be.

and i, well,
i stood by and watched you
misty-eyed
because even then i knew.
i knew that nothing
is what they tell you.
and i saw it so early
and i thought maybe
that's what broke me.

so i still hoped for you
and your little
wrapped-up heart.
but i was wrong,
of course.
it always had to hit you,
and hit it did.
and the light never faded
from your green, green eyes
but i could tell that
they didn't see like before.

and i just want to say
i'm sorry,
sweetheart.
because this world can be so
ugly
hazy
loud
and i thought maybe i could
keep you for myself.

but i'm a fool's fool,
just like the rest,
and nothing could keep you
from my hungry world.
not even me.

"amen!" booms the stout man behind me
and it's joyful
except it's not.
because i know what he has never learned
and i see what he refuses to see.

you love to think you're right
well, that's universal.
bend the words all you want
to support what you're saying
and it doesn't make you right.

defend your hate with words of
"god"
divert the blame from your charcoal heart.
and it doesn't make you right.

"the atheists won't be so smug when
they're burning in hell,"
the sunday school teacher says.
i wonder what she heard growing up
to make her so scared to think
to consider
to decide what she thought about the world.

and the preacher shakes my hand
and his wife hugs me warmly
but i can't help but wonder
what these loving souls would do
if i told them.
if i stood up and said,
"i respect your views, but i don't believe
there's a god watching over me and you."
well i imagine they'd have a lot to say
but it wouldn't begin with
anything about
respect.

and i have learned, by now
the surest way to tell
that someone is wrong
is if they refuse to acknowledge
the possibility of it.

and as the children nod along
to the condemnations
i don't need to burn in hell
i don't need everlasting punishment
this is all the agony i need
and after listening to this,
burning
sounds
fine.

He takes a drag,
closes his eyes.
Day after day.
More nicotine,
more misery.
So it goes.

She feeds the kids
and drops them off.
They learn multiplication,
and she cries at home.
All the years
have disappeared.
So it goes.

He sits at a desk
and makes calls.
to China, Brazil, and Montreal.
They're no different,
the grind is universal,
day in, day out.
So it goes.

How can the trance break?
The traps are set in stone.
Success, success.
Work, success.
Once there was more
Passion, recklessness.
We were alive.
Where'd it go?

We are safe.
No surprises.
But are we happy?
a few are.
I'd rather live and die
than join the horde
of you.

You work
and go home.
There is no life,
just a machine.
cogs and belts.
I quit.
I choose flesh.