Having risen

I feel 10 again. I wish I knew his language. I wish I memorized something that would benefit me. But I know nothing, my mind draws blank when questions are posed. There is no reservoir. There is no beyond-this-point. On my journey for knowledge, you stood in my way. But I overcame you.

Forty paragraphs. Forty sayings that are next to my hands. But there are papers lying over the book. Piled on from the months of school, from the chaos of trying to plan for happiness.

There is nothing left for me but to submit to the Will of God.

I almost drowned today
where the water pooled
after it rained. Did you see the rain?

I tripped over the uneven bricks
walking on this road
and the rocks and shards of glass,
they wounded me.
But God healed me.

I lost my heart on the highway,
to branded thieves on the highway.
And I could not live without it
But God breathed it back
into my chest.

I came to a fork in the road
and the darkness overcame me
until God, He put His compass in my hands.

I built a stairway to His Mercy
and He opened the door
to let me in
and the pain
the pain was over.

raw

It has been some months now, since he left. Some months now since I could talk, really talk, like I used to. Yes, the absence has done its deed, it left an emptiness which cannot be filled by anything it seems, though I've tried.

The curtains are open, the curtains installed so long ago, before words became a disease in me. The light seeps in, no matter how thick the curtains are. Should I hold back from comparing him to light? Because they are so similar: when I falter, when I need the light at my darkest hour, when I stumble. it evades me.

But who can I tell.

Distance

A childish laugh
becomes flirtatious
and the time between the change
hasn't been counted
but it is short.

I haven't your patience to
look back and wonder where I went wrong.
The photos were never black and white
never so clear, remember?

--

I haven't the courage to ask
someone to return when
he has already set off on his journey
alone.

Remember that picture of us
and cotton candy
the one with abee on a pear tree
in sunglasses.
Polaroid us in front of the
stationwagon, rusting away somewhere now like
the pictures.
and feeding the birds with
leftover spaghetti - it looks like worms.
Or in Ottawa with water balloons
just one each.

And when she was born, the pictures.
the hospital room with jam
out of a toothpaste bottle.
Remember the eggs that abee cooked while
omee was in the hospital.

Remember your room? Your paintings
are hung up on every inch
remember you said don't move anything?
I might have, by accident.

But there is no one here to fix them
now that you're gone.