Knowing

we slouch on the curb

you twisting a blade of grass

between thumb and pointer

a distant look in your eye

me with my head down

concerned with the pavement

the sun beats down on our faces

and the words that stop at my throat

don't need to escape

you know the thoughts

the worries

the doubts

and the fears already

you turn towards me

squinting

and offer a shy smile

a breeze lifts the hair from my face

and I smile back

that was all I needed

Continuation

I am from her incessant holiness

and little pins stuck through purses

congratulatory thoughts as light spoke into the darkness

from “what happened to her?”

to “what happened to them?”

I am from total rock music and seven swans

everyday, something golden and new

I am from early mornings

spent rolling through the fog on Samson or Jonah

I am from idealism

and I am from that smiling, bobbling head

gleaming with all promise and foreshadowing

I am from oxygenated, starry nights

with the windows down and melodies lifting us away from youth

and scattering us miles apart

I am from “SHOWERS!”, chow, a cannon

and a well-developed dread for the five o’clock hour

I am from the vine, a withered thirsty branch

filling up on Thursday nights

I am from reconnection after dissatisfactory chatter

half of those absences accounted for and

half hearted delinquency in the park

totaling one whole mess of my affections

I am from mourning my mother’s endless tears

and turning my back on David

praying for his redemption

I am from the glow of reality

brighter as layers of life continually peel back

in joy and in sadness

To to to

she feels the dirt falling under her feet

and sees the mountainous clouds colliding

rolling

peaks and valleys just miles above her head

manic shouts of thunder alert thousands of birds

to take flight away from here

every dried blade of grass folds

and buries itself hurriedly beneath the soil

to the left and to the right, she is alone

frantic, she sprints to to to

the place in her mind that takes her

away away away

from a lonely world that moves much too quickly

Mess

The woman covered in sandstorm robes

bent slightly to pull rope and motivate her bucket skyward.

It took all the strength in her arms

and inspired an ache in her thigh.

She clenched her jaw and breathed in preparation for

one last exertion

and falling backward, the woman saw the vessel rise

and sway

and spill across stone, sand, and cloth

before diving again, invisible, into the well.

She remembered that when one wrestles deep water,

one should expect to make a right mess.