The Poetry Marathon

When you said, Michigan
It was all I could do, not to change my mind.

About us

I mean, Michigan?
Really?
With him?

Much as I wanted to say, “No, don’t go. I’ve changed my mind.”
I knew it was too late for that
Much too late

I watched you pack your mom’s pickup with what was yours.
Some things that weren’t.
I didn’t care
What I really wanted, was moving to Michigan

I knew, though, as much as I hate to admit it
Moving away was the best thing you could have done

Some months later, your mom came by to pick up the rest of your belongings
I helped with the heavier things
Made small talk in earnest, albeit sparingly

As the pickup rattled away an hour or so later
It was then that it hit me

You were gone.
I missed you.
And even though I hated the things you did
I loved you all the same

He was so quiet
No one ever knew he was here

It was always a moment of surprise once he was discovered
A blonde body laying in a small bed
Just inside the living room on the recliner not reclined since 2007

He was so quiet
Unless it was raining
Or snowing
Or the garbage man came
Or a sudden noise from the television sounded remotely like thunder

He’d get, what has been called, his crack face
Mouth open as he panted
A bit of drool for good effect
Shaking uncontrollably

He was my four legged barometer

Not a single sign of rain
But he knew
He always knew

It was the eyebrows
And the eagle eyes that lie just under them

Kind and wise
Intimidating when the need arose
Always when my cousin’s and I were rife with potential mischief

But always kind
Tired, maybe?

You could never tell.
You could try and stare the truth out of him
But he would always win that contest

Especially when he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
Which was almost always

It’s hard to say what I miss the most
I recall so fondly, but only as a faded memory

Strange, that I can recall his eyes with full clarity.

I recall also, the look of pain
As his body waged war on him during the summer of ’96
Multiple tours in two continents; including Normandy and the Ardennes
And his body became his worst enemy

He died on a Thursday

You are tossed into it like a piece of meat to a swarm of carrion flies or a murder of crows

The human condition, I mean

“We need…”
The scariest opening of any conversation
Right up there with, “You know I love you, right?”

“We need…”, though?
It’s the gradual ascension on the rails
To that roller coaster, you swore to yourself you’d never go on

We need to talk.
We need to take a break.
We need counseling.
We need a lawyer.

The nights were almost unbearable the first week
It was the quiet
So quiet

I measured time in heartbeats
Listening for the telltale lub-dub; lub-dub…
The dead do not suffer the silence
In this new found void, I tumbled

I learned to cherish that quiet, though
Partly because, I realized I didn’t miss the nightly language of home

Random gunfire from across town
The sirens that followed
Or lack thereof, depending on the mood of that night

The bikers and their language of revving
They do like to hear themselves talk

Here, though, the only wail was that of the coyote’s
Singing to each other, or just to the night

The odd semi on the state highway a mile and a half away
Making that low rumble sound as they down shifted in a hurry
The language of Jake and his miraculous brake

It was the third week of my stay in Gainesville
When I realized that it wasn’t the silence that harried me so

It was me
For the first time in 13 years, I was alone with my own thoughts
I was alone with a stranger, whom I looked in the eye not a month before
Declaring that I needed to learn how to be by myself
Never considering the terror I would endure
Those first three weeks
In Gainesville, Texas.

It was then that I cherished the silence for what it was
A respite from the cacophony of society
So that I could finally address the cacophony
Within myself
Learn the language of me

The house was always the object of fear
The foreboding tree out front
that seemed hell bent on being creepy at all angles
And the smell…death.
Or what we imagined death smelled like

The neighborhood kids would often dare one another

Ding-Dong Ditch!
Ding-Dong Ditch!!
Do It!
Don’t be a bitch!

Yeah, kids were vicious in 6th grade.
I remember one kid who gave in.
Running away, he tripped on his overly baggy jeans
Bloodying his JNCO’s from the knee all the way down
His Converse were never the same again

Maybe it was out of my loneliness?
Or the phantom he left behind, ever day?

You were here when I needed most
A face that smiled when I smiled
Got all nervous and shy, whenever our eyes met for longer than a pause
Or just a single breath
That’s what drew me into you, I think.

That and our rapport that could segue from nothing more than a look
My look, as I walked past on my day to day routine
While you sipped your coffee and smoked
Staring back over the rim of your cup and your glasses.
A smile. My smile.
All for me.

I remember the first time we kissed
At the pier, in the dead of winter
Freezing and shaking
Though I shook for more than just the cold
Anticipation?

I still have that shell you found
The one you searched for
Just for me.
The inscription you wrote
It’s still there
Faded
But still there.

As am I.