September Trials and the Misdemeanors of Family

When I get around to finding you

among the empty automobiles and vacant buildings,

the groves that will surely shrivel and die-

I might have a bottle of beer with me

to chase the memories of yesterday

that refuse to join the sky.

I used to look forward to seeing you,

the way you held my hand

and spoke to me about making

something of myself.

Now I sit down in my usual place

and I watch words become pictures inside my head,

 the last image of the ceiling before the lights go out,

a glimpse of the neighbor next door in skimpy panties

calling her dog from the back porch.

Once in awhile things turn into something

gentle reminders that the moments matter,

the beginning and the ending of what we think and how we struggle

to change the unchangeable, 

how we put together little pictures from broken memories 

hope of doing more 

or doing less 

than yesterday.  

September 30th, 2000

..and you were gone.

journal entry full of silences

This started out as something else, another journal entry full of silences, words to capture the unrelenting, this unimaginable falling down quiet.  Then I realized putting this here is sorta fruitless, like fig trees and pomelos sliding thin branches full of Autumn, destined for mud and wintry skies, lost in pie plates and conversations so very nearly soon to be forgotten. 

If I write about the exquisite depravity you might think it insufferable, if I write about the debauchery of pain to ruin your face from ever smiling again, you're certain to call it the exaggerations of far away malingerers, too busy with your prejudice to right your wrongs, too busy with your sense of superiority to be willing to acknowledge there is no excuse for a defense comprised of lies and abuse.  

You cannot escape punishment yourself with something less permanent, however awkward, however necessary the slaughter of the innocent.