Daily Archives for February 12, 2015

Pillow Envy



There is a pillow between us.


That’s all

just a fluffy puff of cotton and foam

lying nonchalantly, lengthways,

pointing carelessly at the headboard

and forming a T with the other pillows,

a circumspect intersection of downy

hiding its shameful face under the covers.


You are no further away

than before

and yet I can not seem to reach you.


It lies motionless and silent

as do we,

but I can hear it’s muffled laughing.


A feather-light wedge.

The softest of simple machines

prying our sleepy bodies apart

with no effort,

save its cottony presence.


You roll over and I can see

the soft outline of your face.

You embrace the barrier

dividing us and pull it close.


I take a moment to reflect

on the silliness of pillow envy,

then I grab the pillow and cast it

from the bed.


You are startled, but none the wiser

to the melee that has ensued.

I slide to the center of the bed

in victory and gloat myself to sleep

with your arm around me.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
A Million of You

			


		

		
Cell Division




I’ve loved a million of you,

second by second,

through and through.


The one that I met

ordering fries,

a sheepish grin

and a timid line.


I’ve loved a million of you,

minute by minute,

through and through.


The one that I kissed

on top of the car,

the girl you were

the woman you are.


I’ve loved a million of you,

hour by hour,

through and through.


The one who carried

our children with care,

positive and negative

we make quite the pair.


I’ve loved a million of you,

day by day,

through and through.


The one who said yes

then yes, I do.


I’ve loved a million of you,

moment by moment,

through and through.


I’ve loved each and every person

that you’ve gradually become

and all the parts that added

to contribute to the sum.


I’ve loved a million of you,

person by person,

through and through.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
God is laughing

			


		

		
MickieDees




The small plastic balls of varying color bounced around inside the nets as small hands flailed, a few of the balls breaking free and rolling past our feet. My son of three, smiling away, crawled out of the balls and disappeared quickly into one of the tubes, as did many others.


People abound and pigeons galore, we looked away and chewed our burgers slowly, trying to keep the wind from carrying the fry bag away. Sprinkling salt into the puddle of ketchup. Talking about the weather, my job, and bills to be paid. Then a scream. It is my child’s scream.


Terror. He’s hurt. Perhaps twisted an ankle and fallen down a tube? A busted lip? In a fight with a larger child? Following the scream from outside we see his face through the clear plastic of a corner section.


The others had left and the maze had turned thick… dark, empty. He had probably circled once, maybe twice, with nothing familiar, the walls of the labyrinth impenetrable. Trapped with no way out.


We pointed out directions as we tried with calm voices to settle his heart, elephant tears rolling from his cheeks. As my wife walked to the tunnel entrance and hollered to provide direction, I couldn’t help but realize the silliness of it all.


A small laugh giggled its way up in spite of his tears and terror, and as he turned to follow the voice I wondered how he could be frightened at all. In the mind of my child it was the end, with no way out and no hope. And there was no one else around to help. His fate had been sealed by a colorful tube with a bubbly, convex lens through which he could see the outside world but never reach it.


Safety couldn’t have surrounded him more that day if it tried and the unnecessary screams were calmed in a short time. His tears and terror soon forgotten as he attacked another section of the playground. We settled back to dipping fries and I couldn’t stop laughing.


As a result of this encounter with terror and loss of hope, I wonder if in my most pitiful of states, my darkest of hours, in which all of my hope is gone and there seems no way out, if God is looking at me and wondering why I’ve lost all hope and given up. Why I am crying at all. Why I can’t just stop and listen.


God is whispering through that dark tunnel so I can find my way.

He is watching from very close by.

And my tears and terror will end soon enough.


And I wonder… no, I’m certain.

He is giggling all the while.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
Sin

			


		

		
Water Well




The day I dug the hole

was laborious and solemn,

unkempt hair wild in the rain

with cakey mud and deep

it went down, down, down

only a pinhole of light at the top

and then I threw in the body

and left.


I came back in four years

gallivantin’ on the baked dust plain

and there were rocks sittin’ in that place

circling up a roped bucket that ran down

to the water that the people all drank

and I wondered about bacteria and death

and e. coli blackness and pissed-off cows

or whatever you call it

and out walked that side of the road dead man

from a whirlwind tepee

still wearing that canvass suit that

married us in madness that muddy night

and pointed at me and yelled to the people

who pinched my arms and drug me to the well

where that stranger I knew so well

watched me enter that pinhole headfirst

to cleanse myself in the muddy wallow of Karma.