Tag Archives: love

A Name in the Sky

There once was a boy who dearly loved a girl. This boy loved her so much so that each morning, as the Sun made its way out of the night, he would write her name high in the sky. But when the girl would wake up, yawning and stretching, she’d look out the window to greet the day and say, “Such pretty contrails.” Each morning the boy would repeat his ritual, but each time the girl would say only, “Such pretty contrails.”

The boy became discouraged, so he asked the Wind, “How can I make her see that I love her?” The Wind thought for a short time, before howling with a loud gale, “I know!” the Wind whooshed. “I’ll carry her name closer to her in a blustery gust!” The boy thanked the Wind and on the next morning, repeated his ritual and waited… When the girl woke up, however, her name was nowhere to be found! The wind had blown too hard, and her name was long gone.

The boy became discouraged again, so he asked the Clouds, “How can I make her see that I love her?” The Clouds thought for some time, before yawning with a dribble of rain, “I know,” the Clouds sighed. “We’ll make wonderful shapes so her name is easier to notice.” The boy thanked the Clouds and on the next morning, repeated his ritual and waited… When the girl woke up, however, all she could see were the beautiful shapes of clouds. “A rabbit! A heart! A face!”

The boy became discouraged again, so he asked the Sun, “How can I make her see that I love her?” The Sun thought for a long time, before beaming with intense heat, “I know!” the Sun exclaimed. “I’ll shine brighter so it’s easier to see!” The boy thanked the Sun and on the next morning, repeated his ritual and waited desperately… When the girl woke up, however, the Sun shone so brightly that she could no longer see. “Oh no!” she cried. “I’m blind!”

For a long time the boy wept. His tears carved rivers that ran down from the mountain where he lived and a forest grew at the foothills where beautiful flowers blossomed. Soon, wildlife began to populate the area and the murmur of birds and squirrels and bullfrogs could be heard from where the girl lived.

She was attracted to the noises each of them made, and went for a walk in the forest. She heard the chirping of the birds, the barking of the squirrels, and the croaking of the bullfrogs. She listened for a long time until she also heard the boy crying.

The girl found him by the top of the mountain and said, “Why are you crying, boy? What’s the matter?”

Through a sniffle, the boy replied, “Because I hurt the girl I loved, and she never knew I loved her!”

“I knew you loved me,” she said. “Every morning I saw my name in the sky and said, ‘Such pretty contrails.’”

“But now you are blind because of me,” said the boy. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“My eyes are now closed,” she said. “But my ears have opened. Let me show you the sounds of the Earth.”

And so they climbed down the mountain through the trees that had grown and listened to each animal. They decided that their favorite sound, the boy and girl, was the sound of the each other’s laughter.

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Filed under Prose

Heaven’s Enough

I drove you in the sun-stuck heated
front seat of my ’95 sedan
and kept each memory of that place
in a rusted, put-together file cabinet
where they still make and sell and
deep fry Mars bars.
It’s somewhere.

I keep the key on a pewter ring
in a different drawer—dusted-over,
unopened since the Sun was taught
to dawn. From there, I saw a man
crawling bearded through the gutter
painted as a monster from grime,
leftovers and throw-aways.
He clung with estranged,
probing digits thick around
a brown-bagged bottle.
I witnessed true fear that day.

I share it now, with you,
wind-sung hair blown back.
Reaching out to you,
with not only a hand
but with a plan to rest it
on your thigh.

Vermisse den Mittleren Westen.

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Filed under Poetry

Vega Blinked

.44 rifle neck cocked back, skyward…
hammer strikes, astral projection
and my face is in the stars,
where their shadows twinkle red
and blue, and move if you stare.

I taste cicadas, cochlea
And listen to foxes mate by the creek down the street.

Quests, reaction, reward. Procreation.
Laws, particularly of physics—
and I, a standing martyr of cause have been
shotgun-wingding crucified to the Milky Way
like an Achean explanation.

Odysseus wavered at sea, eyes at the sky:
contemplative, in transit, trapped. Free,
but still a man. Still and not still.

Do I barter with Death or demand immortality?
Dare I disturb the universe?

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Filed under Poetry

Work in Progress Poem no.4

“Arbor”

Roots assimilating upwards
into a trunk,
bulging & contorting
like the first time we made love—
whatever that means.
Bark abrasive & smooth,
rough but harmless,
like the taste of your name on my tongue:
pungent as cinchona
though the memories are sweet as
the eucalyptus sap I was.

Up your trunk to all your branches;
my hands, your watery lifeblood
caressing your chest and limbs yielding
explosions: beads of sweat on your brow
& below your clavicle—
A youthful and naïve display.
Pollination.

The tree, too, remembers youth.
By growing malignant knots in its vascular cambium,
sun-scathed sides,
displayed in scars of black and white
& sagging roots at its base
above & beneath the dirt.
We, too, remember that summer
by our burgeoning distance
& the bitterness now between us.

Yet the tree still grows.
Were you and I not watered?

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Filed under Poetry