The Poetry Marathon

I have been ruminating
On the idea of personal pantheons

The people that we relied on
Who helped us
When we didn’t have anything
Who advised us
When we entirely fucked up
Who loved us
When we were at our worst

My first was an amputee with a huge laugh
Second, another amputee with a sharp tongue
From there, it was opinionated women
And men who loved the theater
Followed by motorcycle riders
Bartenders
Drunks
Thieves
And liars

They were not gods
They were far from perfect
They were not loved by everyone
And they were not always my favorites either

But they remain where I placed them
In my personal pantheon
I remember the lessons they taught me
The wisdom they shared
The love they gave me
And that I gave them

They remain the ones I whisper to
In the darkest hours of the night

Daffodils turned to the sun
As fairies tipped
The petals of the daisies
Their laughter was barely a whisper

Their dresses outshone the stars
In the evening sky
Their hair pulled by the wind
In soft fragrant waves

They danced all night
Twisting, turning, fluttering
Lost in the ecstatic joy
Of the moonlight

As dawn approached they scattered
Diving into all the dark nooks
To curl up in bright buttons of chiffon
And sleep until evening comes again

He was fire and ash
His touch burned like ice
And his eyes were possessive

I was water and rot
My body was soft
And I hated to be kept

… we were perfect together

My brain is a sparking live wire
While at rest, the wires stay still

Thunder clap
The wires scratch and shower me in sparks

Car horn
They brush each other and sparks sting my skin

Car door
Neighbor’s door
Sudden loud noise
The shock knocks me out of my skin

Recent chemical baths
Have created a safety coating
But still things cut through
And my thoughts hit the floor

Repetitive hits
Throw me off all day

Day to day
The tolerance level changes

This is invisible
The only sign my temper

Dear Saint Tony,

Yes, I know you are annoyed
At the title ‘saint’
I do this on purpose
Knowing you will be annoyed
It tickles me
To know this will annoy you
In the afterlife

I do this to remember your fire
To catch the echoes of it
The rants against artifice
And quiet insistence
In pointing out injustice
No one will get out unscathed
And everyone will take responsibility

I do this to remember your acceptance
You walked into huts and buildings and palaces
You walked holy ground
You walked battlefields
You walked hunting trails
You walked escape routes
Everyone allowed to be exactly who they were

I do this to remember your curiosity
People you met yesterday
Invited you to try new foods
They took you into kitchens
And you marveled at process and ingredients
Every strange and new thing
Was met with a desire to know

I do this to remember your sincerity
Young chefs placed dishes before you
My bet their hearts skipped a beat
As you called them ‘chef’ with the same tone
As those seasoned and experienced
You greeted the recovering addict and the world leader
With the same deference and respect

I do this because
You’re not here
So I try to keep my fire
I strive to be accepting
I hold onto curiosity
And struggle to remain sincere
To be at least half the human being you were

Dear Saint Tony in your mercy
Hear my prayer

It’s a constant fight
To keep the sun out

Everyone opens blinds
And I shut mine

I can’t stand the heat
I hate the pain

The focus of heaven’s spotlight
Burns me to the core

No, not a vampire
But might as well be

I detest sunlight
And how it hates me

The copper bar
When polished correctly
Could reflect your face

The copper bar
Held up
Our drinks, food, sleepy heads and dreams

The copper bar
Was neutral ground
Where we were all equal

The copper bar
Was where I sat
As I watched the storm roll in

The copper bar
Was where I learned
Certain friends will always stop to help

The copper bar
Was where I first saw
A body shot off of a beautiful blond

The copper bar
I swore on
To never try coke or meth

The copper bar
That’s no longer there
Just a scar in the floor

The copper bar
And it’s brassy glow
Shines still on the memory of my 20s

I heard the words you never want to hear
He’s in the hospital
I pulled together my determination
He’s in the ICU
I put together the dollars
He will be there all week

They told me it was Moloch who would kill my friends
They never mentioned how deadly Bacchus would be
They told me it would be car crashes and heart attacks and unforseen accidents
They never said it would be the numbness we so easily reached for
They told me it would be war and crime and all the ugliness that comes with it
They never told me it would be the poison we so blithely swallowed

That drink doesn’t hurt anything
This bottle doesn’t make a difference
It’s just been a bad day
Lay off, it’s been a bad month
Calm down, it’s just been a bad year… bad two years… three years… life

We took it down
We took it in
We drank like drowning men
We became saturated in it
We were soaked and drenched in it
So enamored and entranced we kept drinking it
And danced around Bacchus’s throne
Neverminding the lingering sadness in his eyes
As we slipped and fell at his feet

It wasn’t until later, much later
That we started to count the cost
We stood in fear
Around beds and sidewalks
Staring at what some of us had become
We stood in black
Around graves and pews
Staring at the end results

I walked into an ICU for the second time in my life
“He is looking better today.”
Because I refuse to let another member of this family die
“If you see me with a drink in my hand punch me in the face.”
Without at least saying that I tried
“You said that in front of witnesses, don’t doubt me, I will do it.”

I wish we had more time

But I remember a story
About a class
They were asked
Do you hit the child on the bridge
Or swerve and endanger the 20 men in the back?
The class debated
They debated for an hour
Before the professor told them
“You hit the child 59 minutes ago.”

We never have more time

Last night I stood on a corner
I closed my eyes
And felt the wind rush around me
In it’s the pre-storm fury
I thought it could take me away
Far from the longest day of the year
Far from the music I have heard
Far from the people I saw
Far from the things I know
Far from myself
Far from here