November 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
cinnamon in french toast before
morning bustelo with whole milk
means getting to be winter
plumes of dark clouds and slices of sun
on the walk to the subway
all the 7a.m.ers holding themselves
someone has to do it
can’t be held all the time
can’t have someone hold your hand the right way if it hurts.
i always want to hold the kids hand that needs help the most
my inclination is to shake hands with adults
so i don’t have to hug them
really that contact is a brief hold.
putting someone on hold while they are on your body.
there is a sincere way of walking and i am suspicious of most people who seem like they have mastered it.
there is a sincere way of talking and i am suspicious of myself after a long and thoughtful conversation with a party that was more invested in their meat than i was.
i see a kid on the street and they aren’t my kid
i see a kid raise their hand and they suddenly pop into the world as real beings.
i see a kid afraid to raise their hand and i think of how i am sometimes still afraid to raise my hand.
i also think of all of those times i am not afraid to say exactly what i want to say
(how many times does that end with me not saying i am sorry.
don’t waste your sorries someone told me.
they’re just words that don’t mean shit.
i now know when to really apologize.
i now know when i am wrong enough).
putting together this book that is mostly poems
mostly the teeter totter of what it is like to be relaxed and how you get to feeling not much but the mood of
wood or beached plastic.
i wanna live like that. inside the woods or on a beach with the least plastic.
i wanna say a few things, be a real being, discount myself with a few sorries, sincerely hug people i need to touch, to hold. i wanna be scared still and know that it’s a driving feeling. “making progress” the report cards say. otherwise they just say: “can work harder, not meeting potential.”