I am Private and he is mine.
I see him follow in the feet of the other men
when his white eyes are turned so is his face
he sits in an aisle behind a glass too straight
I call to him but the glass is too thick
I am he and he is I so how can the separation be stopped
my heart is pattering and he sees it
a small bird wakes in the nest
eyes open
the cold salt
It is all over yet only to those who remember
there is always the now if the then was kept forgotten
the then is me and he is the now
the others stand around us with long hair
one has white eyes and skin too cool
he is dead and standing
most stand in lines straight on forever
some turn around in small shuffles
some glance over one shoulder slowly
those most eat and drink and eat and drink and eat and drink
there is nothing to eat no space to turn and no features to see
we look and move and eat to go
the one with the white eyes and the skin too cool knows but cannot die fully
he first scared me and now he is here
we are here and there
he and I
the one with the skin too cool too
the small bird cries out on the edge of the nest as the wind whips around
it cannot fall so alone
we cannot see it fall
there is no space and nothing to eat
the white eyes drift away with no movement
they seem to be searching
We sit now
although surrounded there is no one around
the glass is too thick
I can hear the thoughts of the others and he can hear their actions
the walls seem to go on forever
forever blocking the light
his light
the whites of his eyes signaling recognition and reflection
the light allows his sight to see me through the glass
he is mine
he is not dead
I am he
the cold salt
the pattering heart holds me still and devours me
I am not dead
take that heart away from me so I do not wrench it from you
the others look on and see nothing for there is nothing
it is only in my pattering heart
the bird sees something on the ground in the shape of a open heart
the bird falls to the other
the cold salt
Before I felt him
I tried to save him but the glass was too thick
the aisle was too crowded before and now it is too
everyone dressed in their best black but wearing nothing of meaning
they are the same the others
I patter at the one sided glass
he cannot hear me
the darkness of the shadow hides me from him
the shadow of the cross deafens him to the birds song
I am he and I cannot hear me
I pray for the book under the aisle to be true
I pray he will see me soon
I pray my prayers are needless
he wants his pattering heart
I want the cold salt on the cheeks of the best black dressed
the bird has no cold salt left
the fall took them away
the heart shaped ground stopped the cold salt forever
before the men and the women were together and now they are the same
the one man with the white eyes moves closer
I like his skin too cool
the buildings mixed and separated them
together was complicated
together and alone was complex
he is large
yet there is space for me
when he is I cannot be touched
no one knows he is dead and I am alive
they do not remember
that small bird feels another
the cold salt and skin too cool
I am still alone but with him alive
here is where I can see him
this place too small is where I wait
I saw him in the rain and fell to him
the bird fell to the pattering heart
he is still down there
his skin too cool and his eyes too white
I want those eyes
they smile up at me through the lighted glass even
the skin too cool reaches me and I am fed
there is no food but his skin
there is no sight but his eyes
he is the smile
I am the happiness
I am him
the bird smiled on the way to the heart shaped ground
it hit the ground and the cold salt stopped
the cold salt
the ground hits
the pattering of my heart beats all the louder against his one sided glass
now illuminated
the light warms his heart and cold salt
it patters in time with the rain harder and harder like the ground the bird hits
over and over until his patters with mine
he is me
he is mine
his cold salt
I miss those
I lose them to rain down on him and he feels their sound
he is not the smile now
I feel his heart pattering
mine patters the hardest against his glass too thick and too straight now lit
in this room too small surrounded by the others but without him I am alone
I am his happiness
I want his skin too cool and eyes too white
I am his smile
the cold salt and the skin and the eyes and the smile are me
he was lost to me one too many times
my not dead man was kept hidden behind a glass too thick and too straight
I cannot see what is hidden even though I am hiding
the others sway now there is no room in here to move
the ground is gone
the small bird sings
he is mine
he looked up when I first pattered on the glass
he saw nothing
he was not going to then without the light
now the cold salt illuminates the pattering heart
his cold salt
I am sitting at the top of a building in the rain
the rain falls just as the bird and my heart
the ground fast approaches
a glass too straight through which I see him
he is alone in his room
the one with the skin too cool
his heart now pattering through his wrists
it falls and patters like mine did and does for him here
I want my skin too cool
the best dressed do not want to really see him
they do not want to see me
so they remember
I am in a room too small wanting his skin too cool
the others with the long hair carry ropes in their hands or a gun or a bottle
we are all in a room together but cannot fit
there is no room
there is no light
the aisle is now empty and the glass is still too thick
I am he
I walk
the cold salt drops
I am not dead until we are all dead
he is dead the room was too small and could fit no one
the small bird loved his skin too cool
the man sees the small bird jump for him
I am the bird
I am the man
he is me
he is mine
I have his skin too cool and now pattering heart I am here
the cold salt falls now with his smile and my happiness
Private, he my friend.
He mine.
See.
He come back to me even now.
I don’t have to tell him anything, he knows.
They all looked at me, but to him I say nothing, nothing needs to be said.
He reached safety and came back for me.
His love penetrated, and now mine patters even more.
I cried cold tears when I saw him fall.
They never left my cheeks and he dried them.
I see him in my room and play with him like all friends.
The church glass was the last place I saw him.
Wet with rain from my tears he was a bird, broken and small.
Sundays were hard for him and me.
I had love for him in the pattering of my heart.
I tell him that over and over now, and he understands.
He my friend.
The one I only have tears for anymore, even after the rainy day took them from me;
after his body reminded me of the small bird on the ground under the nests.
He did not come back to the school or to his home, but to me.
I am his pattering heart, only fully opened now.
I don’t have to explain that the men and priest made me into this.
They took my love and warred against it.
They told me to feel this and not that.
Love was red and boys were blue.
Now I know why the stained glass which separated me and him was all colors.
Now I’ll be on the lookout.
I tell Private what a new winter this shall be, another one to warm my cool skin.
We’ll be warm together, Private.
Private.
I don’t remember the verses of the Lord.
The black book under the pews, those hated aisles, have no rememory to me.
All is he, and he is mine.
We would be one again, you tell me in my room late at night.
Private came back to me by falling, like the baby birds on the farm under the nests too high.
You warm my skin and catch my tears.
You got close and I am now.
When you fell I wanted to lay with you and now I can.
My pattering heart and its contents now flow freely from the arms longing to hold you again.
I am close.
I should have been close then.
I wanted to.
Nowhere I had lain in peace since the rain and the fall.
Now I can lie like the birds and their young.
He come back to me, Private, my friend, and he is mine.
Let me dispel now the allegations that will surely follow: this is a piece written in the poetic form of Toni Morrison from her novel "Beloved" and is in no way meant to plagiarize, but rather to build on the genius of her work.