Charlie grew weaker
from the old
1940s window pane
i’d hear him
then one dusk
in September nothing
a few days
passed i rummaged
the building’s trash
casually looking for
unexpected art supplies
it seemed Charlie’s
kin tossed out
everything that he
possessed and of
no advancement for
them pedigreed relatives
yet in my
quest for treasure
troves i found
from Ohio an
old Glessco bottle
the laughter in between the rays of the sun was missing i only noticed three days back when no eyes had shown glimmer or soul all were downcast and on the path cutting through the park the brown quilted fuzz on the cattails had fallen off and the wind and bird beaks carried it off to pollinate and line the nests for spring but the gravel under my low top white converse didn’t sass back with the crunchy feisty sound spurting from each tired step today was the today i had been counting back thousands of todays to my early youth of pink cheeked days by the legs of soldiers brothers wounded in battle combating through life while my post toddler mind wondered why the choir lead was laying down asleep in the blue and silver box as his wife and daughters cried over the flag blanketing him and while my shadow creeps under the shade of the upcoming crabapple trees i came to know this is what happens when the singer dies
to think that beyond shadows
a sun glows she dressed in gold
swatting at her lover heaven
sending radioactive flares of hot love
to think that behind those shadows
i sit silent staring at the calmness
of poppy blossoms along the hills
while the shadows shield a chaos
to think that beneath the shadows
are my remains that partake
in the Maker’s infinity loop
of clay between the ashes
a soft sorrow falls
doors closed as dying eyes would
no wreath or flower
the room is sterile
free from any love germ
only the tiny beasts of whatever
perfect in nature are adored here
in this sterile cold dry room
my gut told me
“She passed.”
referring to the death of an aunt
i hardly knew
i don’t feel grief
not yet
and
as i explained to my-self
some people might never feel it
to mourn loss is difficult
to mourn loss of a loved one is hard
to mourn for and carry a heavy heart for an enemy
is tougher
i don’t feel such loss for the masculine things in life
as i do for the feminine
to have had a physical mother
never to have experienced an emotional mother
or spiritual mother
has been loss
yielding veils of survival
darning lies as i went along
because for this ride
you must be tough
to have had to rip my addiction demons
from me without a cowboy’s hickory stick
to bite on
while all of Murphy’s laws
chose to shred themselves
has left a raw gaping hole
in my crippled soul
yet there is a certain life-long journey
a chipping away of the spirit
the grief polishes
nearly to transparency and vulnerability
that fake shine as seen on t.v.
we can certainly fight
for all our lives
against this erosion
but we will not win
in my age
i can now see
the entirety of who Taino was
what he meant to me
i could not
in my youth
see that deeply yet
*dedicated to Jose Montoya POET
mystic of boom bang
identity of our gang
pounder of fire
ask Elvis how’s he’s doing
while leading Heaven’s house band
RIP Charlie Watts
what is it like to sit in silence and hear the sounds of ocean waves playing
what is it like to face the sun and feel the wind cool and soft
what is it like to have lightness and to feel the colors of sea glass through my pores
and why is it that the dock doesnt move me to sleep and instead
i grip with my soul
afraid to drift away
some nights silently
arrive late to meet with me
to plan the party
my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved
words less spoken 