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xii- twelve (a bit of my soul)
i.
september
hot rails beneath converse-clad feet
speakers encircled by the outer ear canal
and they said the music was
too loud for him to hear the forewarning whistle
but i call bull s***
ii.
october
the discordant split made their trinity ache and crumble.
it led up to our show, changes of heart (holy spirit didn’t have one),
and the son didn’t show up for opening night.
he found the father gassed in his car because
the holy spirit decided to pack her bags.
iii.
november
it was imprinted in my mind that morning,
every time i closed my eyes i saw the gleaming white,
the upward curve of your lips and like your lips
i rose to meet the day, i was ready, i was strong, i was wrong,
unaware and oblivious, and so god damn ignorant
until i read those words.
my world shattered
and the darkness began to seep through the cracks
the image imprinted in my brain was no longer clear-- it never will be--
his lips now wrapped around the barrel, waiting for sweet “relief” to come
waiting for happiness to hit him like a bullet in the brain.
iv. & v.
december
what’s two more?
cold wintry day, old memories start to fade
as that cold and old piece of metal came
came fast and hard like i’m sure she did when they made love
one of his socks and one of his shoes was
found a few feet from his body--
covered in a white sheet, just like hers--
i guess the impact of metal on flesh rattled his bones
enough to rattle the crowd.
vi.
july
it was the beginning of those drunken nights,
running through those suburb streets at midnight,
stripping ourselves of societal rags on the cold metal structure
where children played during the day, pissing behind trees,
that first puff of acrid smoke, “don’t inhale,” and in my drunken stupor i did,
the kitchen floor was cool on our bodies, flushed with alcohol,
the bright computer screen made our eyes ache and the sentence,
“he’s in a coma,” made our hearts ache,
so she and i held hands and prayed our aching hearts out that he would wake.
we woke midday and hungover.
he never did.
vii.
august
glioblastoma brain cancer--
rising from those star-shaped cells, the very glue of his brain,
the large network of blood vessels that support it’s reproduction,
betrayed by his own body.
not to mention the chemo.
it was the size of a tennis ball, but he came back to school with a shaved head and a scar.
but he came back.
we finished the year,
thinking everything was fine.
we started high school,
thinking everything was fine.
we relished in the summer air,
thinking everything was fine.
the symptoms caused by increased pressure in the brain (it grows rapidly):
headache, nausea, vomiting, drowsiness, weakness in one side of the body,
memory and/or speech difficulties, visual changes,
death.
viii.
may
how is it
that more than a
year later
i still find you?
on walls-- grey cement,
made beautiful by your name.
in people-- selfish and greedy,
made beautiful by your
soul, even if barely touched.
i like to think that you left
happily, doing what you
loved, looking up at the
green trees and blue sky.
and i like to think that the ground was
made beautiful by your
skull.
ix.
june
it took two weeks
for the next calamity,
he must have been hurting…
so much, and i guess that his
end was the end of that pain and
on the bright side:
they’re together now.
x.
september
Her arms were holy and
Every day she made more,
Reopening all of those old wounds.
Of course, she felt it and the
Imminence of demise was
Near.
xi.
june
our formative years were filled with
freedom and knowledge but mostly
merriment. those playground days
seem long ago,
and they are,
ten years or so.
our teenage years were filled with
drugs and booze but they were mostly
unpleasant.
he never made it past those years,
never made it past 17,
he only made it past
life.
xii.
now
i try to remember lessons from sunday school,
like that “the righteous are taken away
to be spared from evil..
they find rest as they lie in death,”
isaiah 57 verses 1 & 2.
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