I Think I Will, Eventually, Forget

I think about what will happen to my paternal grandparents’ house when they die. I always hated that house, not them, not the experiences that I had in it. Just, the house ITSELF. I hated that no matter how many people you filled it with it always seemed empty, no matter when you went into it it existed on another plane of time and space. Lonely. How it always had a crushing quiet, the quiet of an awkward silence, when you heard that a family member has just died, except it is always, always like that.

My maternal grandparents house was similar, but less so, mostly because the only place that was eerie was the basement (I avoided it like the plague). This house felt more familiar, in a subconscious sense. My Mother’s family was larger than my Father’s, and well, it still is, despite how many that have died, and have made that once familiar house more hollow than before. It was also once filled with family members in picture frames that had died, that I had never met, that even my Mom had never met. When my grandmother died the house began on its downward progression to this hollowness, in fact, that was actually the beginning AND the end, because when my grandfather died, his soul had already left him when the love of his life did, six years before.

When I was working the other day, I had a sudden flash – of lightning bugs and of the humid New England evenings that had seemed to never have an end, in my maternal grandparents’ fenced-in back yard… it was the first time I had thought about these memories, that place, since my grandfather passed away, and it came to me, in a sudden realization, that these nights would never happen again, these dark sunsets playing capture the flag with siblings and with cousins (in the end someone would inevitably get hurt), capturing lightning bugs en masse (because dear God they were everywhere) would exist only in my memory; I could relive them as many times as I wanted to, until I replayed them so much they eventually faded and became forgotten, like the jaded photos of family members on walls, like my Dad’s cassette tapes that he claimed to wear out, like the rotting books and dusty vinyls my grandparents gave me, all of those, existing in my memory or not, with someone watching them or not, would fade, would rust, would tire of being the objects they were, becoming nothing, so that no one would even remember them for what they were.

Shone

When I turned the telescope upward
the day fell away from me
and I was left with the night.
But just the black expanse –
no stars: were gone.
I was left with the ugliness.
I only saw that imperfectness.
I only believed in that imperfection.
No one ever moved my hand
just a little to the side
so I could see that shining light
That each of them had seen.
I looked down and away
and saw so many others with telescopes
pointed in all the wrong directions.
I saw them give up –
drop their hands,
drop their heads.
Just as I had done
because I hadn’t shifted just a little bit
to see how brightly I had shone.

What You Don’t Know Can’t Hurt You

Night – a horrible, now chemical thing…
But everyone that knows it doesn’t care that it is,
and everyone that doesn’t know it…
is of course ignorant of it.

“I want you tell me another lie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to stay quiet.”
“I don’t mind it… The night, I mean.”
“But I do.
I should have found out through you.
I’m glad I didn’t.”

It’s a lie, isn’t it?
Staying quiet. A lie.
It’s funny, actually.
How not doing anything
could come back to get you.

Doing something
would put you in quite the mess as well…
wouldn’t it?

It’s funny, it’s funny, it’s funny,
so sadistically funny…

Like picking poisons…
off a shelf…

How funny.

Stagnant/Flowing/Observing

3:48, is no one else awake but me?
Not the ones I don’t care about, not the ones I don’t need.
I’d like to think the ones I love are thinking of me.
Awake but dreaming of what we already could be.

I seem to be doing this this time of day, day after day.
Thinking of you, thinking of you thinking of me,
or at least I hope you’d be.
Nights all seem as one, continuing infinitely, eternally, endlessly…

8:03 and I know that time has passed.
Days seem to move past, leaving me behind.
I’m still wondering what you are doing,
if we are at the same place we once were.

It seems that I forgot the date.
I used to check it to see when we’d meet again.
But I’m content with thinking about our current state,
than meet up for an update.

11:57, I’m in heaven.
Darkness is still outside my window,
but I guess that’s just a way from keeping
from keeping change away.

We can stay in once place
at least until I ready to move.
For now we aren’t stuck in a limbo
just in a place where I’m safe.

A Farewell On A Wet Night

I have tread for miles in shoes still tied tight.
When their soles hit the loamy ground
in a forest I once called home
I knew I had finished my earthly travels.

The snow had soaked the grassy grit
in which my horse dug its hooves.
He was lonely once
and now to be so once again.

I walked inside my dripping shack,
the place where I could lay alone
with my memories and stories floating around
as I closed my eyes in a final sleep.

Nightime Road

On the nightime road
Time passes me slow
But I’m living it fast
My mind is in the past
The radio’s on
It barely snuffs the pain
At this point
Its just background noise
Against my dying thoughts
As the glass of my mind shatters
And the headlights of my eyes go out