JACK’S LOST:
turn left, then right, go straight, turn left. directions i gave to friends my age, the days I played with no regrets.
and yet, mistakes abreast of time, land a man standing in a cage.
my life the dam holding back success commanding happiness–i’m really low on faith, that the bench I call my bed has a door I can escape.
streetlights come on again, reminding me the harshest winds will be my nightly cape.
DANGER NO LONGER A WARNING BUT REALITY:
flashes, head a swivel, too much my eyes can’t form a picture. pretty pictures … what I hope for as I sip my liquor.
God, my body pulled by strings, hardly can i repeat simple words to get me down the street:
turn left, then right, go straight, turn left.
i laugh as another car swerves around me, my eyes are closed, blind to my surroundings.
it hits my nose– the smell of gasoline, and I ponder pictures of factories, loud noises and fat machines.
PRETTY PICTURES! –I yell.
cross the avenue, my attitude is changing, cuz’– i toss my bottle down, cracking it blows, i blow in laughter.
God already knows this is my final chapter–nothing matters.
i open my eyes, what do i see?
cars pull up behind me, one sliding to the tip of my achilles.
woulda made a nice killing, but i guess they prefer not
but then the car behind runs the line, my brain hits the chalk–
M-M-M-MAYA?:
friends my age, the days I played with no regrets
my regret was to leave you, to waste your time
that I’m aghast at harm without a breath
how I’d give everything to shield you from thoughts of death
how I’d give everything to be there for you
You smiled,
but didn’t mean it;
You cried,
I didn’t see it
if time is what’s at stake
this time, Jack, I will be here
for you
JACK'S FOUND:
Time’s passed, and the curse has been lifted.
Two seconds awake and I can tell that some things are different.
My eyes open like a jack-in-the-box; my hand is twitching.
Then I’m embraced like a mother who has just found her lost children.
Something about this is oddly familiar. Except for the bed of a hospital.
M-M-M-Maya?
It can’t be, she–
Swatted her hands through the web of our plans
She and I are not connected
we are,
strangers again.
"Tell me you’re okay, Jack."
"I’m okay, or I’ll be okay,"
Same clothes and the same smell,
Too familiar but I can’t tell
"I’m sorry, this time I’m sorry and this time I mean it.
this time I can help you."
I ****.
Help is not an option, I’ve determined, I’m for certain that it’s just another scam–IT ISN’T WORKING.
"I know, I know, Jack, please. But give me a moment, a moment
to show you."
Her grip is stronger, or wit is smarter, i don’t know but I can’t move.
"Maya no! Maya I–"
"Jack, I’ve paid your medical bill. You’re free to go home, wherever
that is but please, listen before you go. I know I’ve hurt you. I know
I’ve left you at your lowest, kicked you when you were down,
attacked your weakest spot. When your brother died of pneumonia,
people thought it’d finally be the thing to shut you up. Everyone at
the campus thought that. Everyone despised you Jack! And I’m sorry
that people despise what they can’t understand, that people don’t see
the beauty in difference. Some people just hated the way you spoke,
how every sentence, though they were few and far between, sounded
like poetry. They hated when they heard your music playing
through the walls as they walked the hallways, they hated walking
by and seeing your murals on walls of the student center, and they
hated most that you never seemed to care what people thought
of you."
"Maya, I didn’t care for the majority because only the opinion of the minority mattered. But my currency of faith has been wasted, entrusting it in the hands of my friends presented falsely in truth. I hate it–I hate the insatiable feeling to trust, so that when the wall you lean on falls through, you know you can only put blame on yourself."
"Jack, you’re not to blame. It’s me. I should’ve had your back
instead of crumbling under the opinions of others. I just wanted a
reaction, satisfactory, the joy of feeling like I’m found attractive. And
in doing so, I gave up on the only true friend I had–you."
I look into her face, forgiveness tackling me like a football player, forgiveness for her and I. And I hug her like a mother who’s just found her lost child.
a poem that's a story...
