Our Life in 5 Year Increments

In 1 year,
We will be living
In our apartment,
Loving each other,
Every night,
Covering our bodies
With kisses.

In 5 years time,
Your breasts hang heavy
With milk for our little boy.
Theodore has your eyes,
And my smile,
He rarely cries,
rather, he laughs for hours.

In 10 years time,
Theo is celebrating his 5th birthday,
We got him a cake,
Shaped like Brother Bear, from the Bernstein Bears,
His favorite books.
We read them to him every night,
Before singing him to sleep.

In 15 years time,
Theo, now 10, is a hellion.
But we love him the same,
Learning to laugh at his active imagination,
“He gets that from his father,” you tell friends.
We still love each other,
Finding creative ways to show it.

In 20 years time,
Theo is doing very well in school,
I stay up late helping him
With his math and writing assignments,
While you teach him about the fine art of doodling.
Last night, we laughed ourselves to sleep,
The same way we have for the past 20 years.

In 25 years time,
Theo has moved out,
Gone to an Ivy League School,
Which gives us plenty of time to rediscover,
Exactly why we love each other so much,
We watch game-shows all day,
And passionately kiss during commercial breaks.

To Be Continued…

Advertisements

The Aquarium

Underneath the tunnel
In the aquarium,
We look upward,
And see all sorts,
Of aquatic creatures.

The rest of our tour,
Moves farther down the hall,
But we stay behind,
Still held captive

By the beauty
Before our eyes.
You reach over,
And grab my hand.

A nurse-shark looms overhead,
I hold you,
To keep your body
From becoming terrified.

But then the jellyfish
Swim past us,
Dazzling us with colors,
We had never seen before.

I watch the colors
Reflect off of your eyes,
And you pretend to not notice,
Me staring at you.

A Starter Home in Rural Indiana

I remember the day,
When we drank milkshakes
out on the lawn.

The sun was celestially
shining through
the opaque clouds.

I looked over
at your tan skin
and felt your soul.

It was soft,
like the down pillow
we rested our heads on

late the night before,
after a day of painting –
I slept in your arms.

We painted the entryway
a bold red
and got paint in our hair.

You reach over
and draw a heart
on my forehead.

Tantalus

Tantalus

Jeffrey is anointed by God

3 is the Holy Trinity,
The number of wise men,
Who visited Christ.

Christ, who died
When he was 33,
Died for everyone.

He died for all men,
Even the sinners,
Who never believed.

* * *

Jeffrey is currently committed

pop one,
pop another, breathe in, breathe out,
then stop.

slouched over
in my chair, I’m falling asleep at the wheel,
white

and yellow lines,
become small suggestions, and I lean a little
to the left.

I just don’t
understand you, she said as she stormed out the room,
her eyes

dark and swollen,
as she begins to cry, exclamation: I just don’t know why
anymore

* * *

Jeffrey is afraid of love and feelings and romance

Your skin tastes like honey,
Your eyes look,
Like milk.

When the storms rage on,
Inside the darkness
Of the mind,

And I am fixed with fear,
You bring
Sweet softness,

And erase the madness,
And when
I am lost,

Searching inside for strength,
You are
The light,

That shines throughout me.
When I
Have fallen,

And lay in despair
On the
Ground,

You reach out to me, and hand me
Hope and charity,
I shall not forget,

I shall not forget,
The things
you have

done for me, The beauty
you have
restored,

And the love you have expressed.
Thank you,
my friend,

I will forever
be in your
debt.

But I can change,
Who I,
Am.

I’ve always been the liar,
The cheat,
The criminal.

I promise, when this is all over,
I will stop,
For you.

You’re my way out,
Of this
Hell.

When the job is done,
I will retire,
For you.

I will repay you for everything,
You have done
For me.

I will love you every day
And every night,
For eternity.

But alas, I must finish.
One more.
One more.

* * *

Jeffrey is wanted in Parma on a burglary charge

The rush,
Of power,
When you pull the trigger – shooting into the air.

The rush,
Of wind,
As you drive away in a stolen Corvette.

The rush,
Of adrenaline
As you hear the sirens far away.

The rush,
Of stealing,
From a church, that should have locked their doors.

The rush,
Of fear,
When you see the spiked strip in front of you.

The rush,
Of sounds,
As you swerve out of the way and hit a tree.

The rush,
Of shots,
Fired into your stomach.

The rush,
Of air,
As it leaves your diaphragm.

The rush,
Of weight,
As you hit the ground.

The delay,
Of time,
As darkness forms around the eyes.

The delay,
Of sirens,
As the ambulance finally arrives later.

The delay,
Of heartbeats,
As they try to save Jeffrey.

* * *

Jeffrey is unconscious

She sang to me –
So quietly,
As I slept through the ages.

I awoke to
Find her sitting
Still, without movement, frozen.

* * *

Jeffrey is more than his paralysis

A lover-less bed,
Is a book,
With blank pages.

Nothing to read,
To gain,
Just an emptiness

The world revolves,
As it rotates,
Around a dying fire,

Like the fire on the day
We camped,
During the cold November.

Like the day we cried,
Over the loss
Of my father’s father

I remember the days,
When we,
Played games in the back yard

I remember the first time,
We lit up,
Starting down our painful path.

I loved the way you looked,
When you
Asked me to stay that night.

I wish I would have never stole,
So I,
Wouldn’t have ever been without you.

A lover-less bed,
Is a book,
With blank pages.

Full of possibilities,
For you,
To write your soul.

Jeffrey is more than his paralysis,
But sadly,
Still paralyzed from the heart in.

* * *

Jeffrey is tantalized

After nights of beautiful legs and various positions of forgetting, Jeffrey cried. He cried one tear for each moment he was without her. All he wanted was to feel her in his arms, but he can’t. His heart continued to beat, but his mind was slowing down. Jeffrey was a race-horse, with a broken ankle, just waiting for something to put him out of his misery. For something to pull the metal trigger, causing the pin to spark something deep inside of him (or soon to be.) He began to drink…heavily. Now a broken drunkard, he cries daily for his lost love. “So thirsty,” he thinks, “So hungry,” he moans, all the while, in the shadow of the rock looming over him.

All shades of passion and variations on regret

Do you remember the day we went to the park, where we sat on the swings and talked for four hours about nothing in particular?

No.

What about the time I held you close to me, and we danced around in parking lots to indie folk music, staring deep into each others’ eyes?

Not really.

What about the time when we went to Cedar Point together and were stuck in lines for hours.  Don’t you remember the ugly couple in front of us, drunk beyond reason, practically having sex with each other?

No. I don’t remember any of that. I wasn’t there.

I remember when we played Apples to Apples with my friends, and you fit in well, making jokes about laughing at mine.  Don’t you remember the beautiful drawings I made for you?

No. What color were they?

All shades of passion and variations on regret.  Don’t you remember the time when we stopped talking to each other for a day or two, and then you cried all day, wishing I was back in your arms, and I could barely function at work, and nearly got fired?  Then we talked about it, and you said you finally realized how much you loved me.  Remember?

Not sure.

Remember when we made love all night, and fell asleep in each others’ arms; our bodies a sea of limbs?

God, no.

Remember by the moonlight when you said you would die if your father ever said those words again, and I said I would come to your funeral and out the jerk for hurting your mom?

What funerals? And what moon?

You don’t remember do you?

No.

Not even the time we cried from the joy we felt from saying our vows together, and finally joining together in law and spirit?  Remember when we had our first child, born at St. Joe Hospital, and his hair was a bright red?

No, I don’t remember.

What about our first house, the white one with a red door, and our picket fence?

Nope.

Do you remember when we died in each others’ arms, like we always said we would; our last thoughts on how much we loved each, and how happy we will be together in the next life?  Do you remember any of the things we said to each other on that last fateful day?

No, nothing at all.

Oh, I remember now.  I remember daydreaming in class about you.  I remember trying to talk to you, but you never heard my voice.  I remember buying you little cards and sticking them in your locker before school.  I remember never telling you all the wonderful things I felt about you.  Of course you don’t remember all my fantasies about us.  How could you remember me.  You never noticed me in the first place.

Madison Center

It’s taken me over a year to write this, but I finally felt I could.

Madison Center

I know what it’s like to go to Madison Center.

I know what it’s like to force yourself to throw up 20 to 30 pills you have swallowed in short succession. I know how it feels to be in a drug induced coma, to lose your ability to open your eyes. I know the difference between “voluntary” and “committed.” I know how valuable exercise time is. The freedom you feel in that large gymnasium, shooting hoops, and I know how short that time really is. I know of locked doors and of standing in a straight single file line.

I know of blue walls and the premade meals that always tasted like the salt and pepper you would put on it. I know why Jeremy had doubles, twice as much food as the rest of us. He got doubles so he could give some of his away to the rest of us, to create friendships and bonds. To make you want to be in his favor. I know why he always wore gowns, long and white, like an angel. He was abandoned there, with nothing to claim his own. No one came for Jeremy. I know why he had scars on his arms, and bags under his eyes. .

I know Stephen had Asperser’s, but everyone else just thought he was weird.

I know of bunks and “lights out.” I know Scott wanted to talk all night, and wouldn’t let me sleep. Scott had abusive parents; his stories made me love mine even more. I couldn’t sleep, even after he stopped talking. I know what it’s like to stay awake for hours, edging closer to crying, but still too scared to release tears.

I know Cindy was here for the same reason as I was. Cindy desperately wanted to give me a hug when I left, but unfortunately wasn’t allowed to touch another patient.

I know how wonderful freedom is, and how desirous slavery can be. To never have to make a decision, to have zero stress. I know living is better than dying, but that doesn’t destroy the temptation.

Sæglópur’s First Voyage

There was something about the way
He pounded nails into the planks
On the side of the ship.
This time was different than before;
For this time,
He wasn’t building
A ship for them,
But for himself.

Sæglópur finished his ship,
Christened it “Nýr Dagur”
And broke the bottle of wine.
He was finally ready
To depart this great land,
His homeland,
To find a new one
For himself.

Even if I fail,
He thought,
This is better than staying.
Because I can’t stay here forever,
And live the tragedy of George Gray,
I must push off.
For I already am a lost seafarer,
Looking for a home.

As he pushed off the shore,
Staring into the mist,
Praying down the list,
He had a phantasmagoria,
And felt utter euphoria,
He knew this was right,
He could see into the light,
And he felt better than before.