Tag: poem

There are a lot of things I should do

It’s three degrees outside.
The house seems
to be moaning.
It’s making
sounds I’ve never heard before.
“I understand,”
I say out loud,
trying to comfort the empty room.
It’s brutally cold outside.
I was thinking
that maybe
I should build a fire.
There are a lot of things
I should do,
so many things.
But instead,
I just sit here and drink coffee.
It’s lukewarm.
Black,
and strong.
From the couch,
under my blanket,
I sip coffee strong enough
to strip paint,
and look at the fireplace
thinking about all the things
I should be doing.
But doing
often means saying
and saying often means talking.
I don’t trust my words
or the things
that might fall
out of my mouth
when I open it.
So I just sit
and sip my coffee.
I listen to the house,
as the cold day
takes its toll on her.

flesh and bone

I know this much: the way you recognize the taste of rain on concrete.
During the day, breath slips away quietly.
At night, sighs drift apart and settle around you, like old memories.
Maybe it’s just curiosity, that restless feeling inside you.
Or maybe it’s a sense of longing.
Or maybe it’s just thoughts passing by, quick and hard to catch.
In quiet moments, when everything is still, you notice your heartbeat.
Time slows down and moments stretch into hours.
Hours slip by and soon become days, like clouds drifting and fading away.
All of it stays with you, like a memory that never leaves.
The body was once solid, full of flesh and bone, with a steady heartbeat.
Now it feels like just a shadow, barely there in your memory.

unspoken

I have seen your eyes.
I remember them
when they spoke,
when they answered without words
showing me your happiness.
Now, what do your wrinkles tell me?
What do your tired eyes say?
Wrinkles can tell a story,
but I am not sure what they say anymore.
They are different.
I long for age.
I long for old age.
There is beauty even in worn skin,
in the wrinkles around the eyes
that tell of everything
that words cannot.
But your eyes?
I do not understand their language.
And your wrinkles?
They speak of the arrival
of old age;
not of beauty,
of loneliness.

Budapest in the morning

The last time we saw each other
Was it really back in 2012?
You helped me discover my strength.
Did I ever tell you that?
We walked through Budapest
early in the morning
sharing our stories
and the joyful chaos
that comes with brotherhood
You helped me rebuild my foundation
which had cracked in places
Have I mentioned that before?
We are both balding now
with wrinkles that show everything we have been through
and all that we’ve learned
I wish I had come to see you after my treatment
When I found out I would survive
I should have come to see you
before my back started to stoop
Before I became afraid
before I put others’ happiness
ahead of my own
When did you teach me to speak up?
When did I start to walk
with my shoulders squared
My eyes are looking up
Focused straight ahead?
When did you explain to me
that the pain others carry
Was it not mine to heal?
When did you show me
that my sensitivity
was a gift, but it also made me a target
for people who were hurting or felt weak?
My shoulders are still squared
My eyes are still bright, looking straight ahead, clear and direct
brother
You would be so proud
With just a word
I can turn away
those who come to me because of my sensitivity
to heal them
those wanting me to hold the weight
of their pain
How old will we be
When we meet again?
Will we look younger?
Will our wrinkles reveal more
about the lessons we’ve learned?
will they tell of living
And how did we live?
Will mine tell you about the peace
You helped bring me
The calm you brought to an old man
with squared shoulders
and confident eyes fixed straight ahead?