If my body language
isn’t enough for you,
heed these words,
do not approach.
I am to be admired
from afar,
grubby hands will be
swiftly dealt with.
Use a light touch, and tend to me
tenderly, if you’re really invested.
Roll your sleeves up,
and take great care –
more for your sake
than mine.
Am I worth it?
See for yourself.
Snip my thorns,
peel back the layers,
find my heart in there
some where,
then cut my choke out —
I’m all yours.
It would be a crime,
to confine,
to contain you;
to constrain you
and force us both to stay at eye-level.
Months of planning,
of meticulous engineering
and countless calculations
mustn’t be wasted.
I believe in you,
eyes trained toward the night sky,
you worked tirelessly for this.
Rehearsals
day-in and day-out,
for best and worst-cases,
drills and and regular upgrades
culminated, finally, in this.
Liftoff.
It was overcast,
like the black smoke
you left behind,
but where you’re headed
it hardly matters.
I stand in awe of you,
as you wrestle out of gravity’s grip
breaking through
the heavens —
you did this yourself.
Free now
to see the vast expanse.
I think of you,
of us,
and I’ll carry you with me.
I wouldn’t have missed it
for the world.
Please,
please stay.
I’ll do
whatever it takes.
You’ve come a long way,
and I know it’s not ideal —
It’s a huge adjustment
and you miss home so much.
If it helps,
I’ll bring the oasis
to our backyard,
to take your mind
off the dry heat.
No more mirages,
no more marauders —
only figs and pomegranates
in the shade.
Trickles of spring water,
date palms,
verdant vines
that wind and climb
up the bricks.
Brisk breezes
and reliefs along the walls
that tell our story,
it’s all for you.
This isn’t home to you,
not yet,
I get that.
Please,
please stay,
I’ll make it worth your while.
———————————-
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Greg wore thick-rimmed glasses,
had meticulously,
parted and slicked-back hair,
wore a white button-down
and freshly-pressed slacks
every single day.
CLIK-atik.
“Here’s a picture at Niagara falls with Molly,”
They stood in front of the famous formation,
Facing our neighboring northern nation,
Looking uncannily like a modern American Gothic.
CLIK-atik.
Molly smiled lovingly,
but had nothing much to say,
aside from “Greg, honey, get out of the way”
As his shadow was blocking the projection
of the spectacular cascade.
CLIK-atik.
“After we crossed the border
We drank a few beers, and ordered poutine.”
Someone from the sea of folding chairs called-out mid-yawn,
“Greg you’re the only person I know who would summer in Canada.”
Molly smiled again.
She knew more than most about Greg,
Who found excitement in the routine,
and archaic.
CLIK-atik.
The whirring machine,
Was so old that it seemed,
Ready to come apart,
In a tumult of loose-screws,
and dustbunnies.
CLIK-atik.
“Hey look! A moose!”
Greg didn’t lie,
but the picture was from such a distance,
that it was hard to make-out,
the animal.
“They’re pretty dangerous,
so we stayed clear.”
CLIK-atik.
A black title card,
With the word “FIN,”
Written minimally,
Spelled the end of the slideshow.
CLIK-atik.
His favorite part of the trip,
and his life,
was sharing the experience,
with his friends,
family,
and wife,
Long after he left.
If you’re lucky,
You will see the writing on the wall–
Whether you’re enthralled,
Or feel the scald,
Of the stream of consciousness,
Depends on the context.
But the assymetrical,
Solipsistic nature of feeling,
Will leave you reeling all the same,
If the answer isn’t what you’d hoped.
Whether the graffiti,
Is a firm “no I don’t,”
Or “I wish I could,”
Or the dreaded “once I did.”
That disparity,
Will sting,
Believe me,
But with time comes clarity,
Do not despair.
To forgo the truth,
To let sleeping dogs lie,
Is to be forever ensnared,
In your most cherished,
Nightmare.
Up from the abyss,
Leaning in,
For this,
Pressing against,
The precipice.
“Not quite,”
Walking the line,
Not going quietly,
But we never intersect,
Not that there wasn’t any interest,
Or an interception,
But unrequited I stay.
The end,
Becomes smaller,
Ever smaller,
Yet does not fade away.
The File Pile 