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Category Archives: Poetry

My infant son

Has been asleep

In my arms

In the rocking chair

For almost ten

Minutes

And I could

Put him back

Into his bed

With his clean sheets

And a dry diaper

And warm pajamas

And a few minutes to

Go until his mother

Can come in

From work in

The office (garage)

To feed him

But I think

That I’ll just sit

Here and hold

Him in my arms

For just another

Quiet

Moment

While the world

Spins

On.

It’s not really an “extra” day, I

Know, but there’s something

Unbelievably special about

One extra night falling asleep

Next to you.

You

are allowed

to write things

that are not

Profound

“Hallowe’en”

 

In distant times, it is said,
People would gather to
Be near to one another on
A cold night, and reflect
On the warmth of those
They had said their final
Farewells to many years
Before.

And on that cold night,
Halfway through the fall,
We remember those no
Longer with us, and we
Bid them to come near,
That we might learn
From them even in
Absentia.

My truth is my own,
And if you cannot
Open your mind to a
Reality that is vastly
Different than the one that
You have always known,
Then perhaps, dearest reader, you
May find that these
Tales are not for you.

If I could, I would always
Walk beside you, not
Holding your hand, but
Simply being there, to
Let you know that I’m
There when you need me.

So much of what my own
Parents said and did now
Makes sense to me, when
I see you taking those
First, cautious, unaided steps
Toward my outstretched hand.

But the best thing that I can
Do is teach you to always
Strive to be kind in a
World that feels more cruel
Now than when I stood,
Aided by my own father’s hands.

 

We often talk, mostly in a
Joking manner, about how
We would like to drink
From the skulls of our
Enemies,
And leaving aside for a
Moment, the practicality
Of just such behavior,
Would it not be a more
Poignant act, albeit less
Intimidating, to do so
From the skull of a
Friend?

You say
That you want a
Poem,
But that it can’t be
Political. That it can’t
Be about my
Identity, about who I
Choose to love,
About how I feel.
You say
That you want a
Poem,
But it shouldn’t
Attack those in power,
That it should be
Passive, peaceful,
About unity, despite
Your support for those
Who would divide
Us
Me
You.
You say
That you want a
Poem,
But it shouldn’t
Include lines about the
Ways in which I
Have been erased,
In which my friends and
Loved ones and
Chosen family have
Been ignored or betrayed.
You say
That you want a
Poem,
But it shouldn’t
Reflect on the life
I’ve lived or the
Death
That I’ve seen,
Felt,
Held in my hand,
A small
Fragment of grief
Beyond description.
You say
That you want a
Poem,
But you don’t
Seem to actually
Know what
Poetry
Is.

I know that the winters
Seem hard and cold, and
I know that the dark
Seems endless.

Remember that wheat is
Planted before the winter,
And awaits the freeze
That it might sprout in

Spring.

There’s a chill that gets down
Into your bones, and you can
Feel nothing but the cold, the
Ache, and you cease to know
What warm was, and there’s
No escape or reprieve until a
Few months from now when
Winter slowly fades to Spring.

I love that chill.