if a home I had
I wouldn’t have discontinued
the trinkets, I find my life.
they somehow have me they aren’t alone.
don’t figure out
who they are? or else you’ll
lead me, my urban
which you give the dreams
and where me, a dream daily dies.
a vase of 1990’s vintage stands
down in the mouth, porous, its skin
holds the patterns of the past,
sleazy newspapers read bulletins of the times horrible than ours;
in a pitcher, surrounds the life
of a broken lid, and no undersides.
thousands of kilos of polyethylene bags promises within,
an énouement sky I see over flyovers
gently sloping to our huts underneath
much the same as silt, grit, and gravels.
people where understand no people
think no more.
they couldn’t have but they’d skinned my cat for
their one-time meal and me, I ate my heart.
Live Again, Anika Anderson
Alive but not living
Surviving but not thriving
Wearing masks, hiding identities
Controlled but not in control
Conforming to roles, titles and positions
Giving all but feeling empty
The meaning of me lost
A life summed
On that precipice of life, I awakened to a revelation
That the the key to me was found in my Creator
The Creator and His creation a relationship never fully explored
So I began seeking to know and understand
About my purpose and design in His master plan
What I discovered was peace, love , joy, trust and intimacy with Him
Most of all I discovered how to live again
for Rossen V. Vassilev, Ph.D. 1952-2020
Tatko, are you hungry?
Are you thirsty?
Is the room too hot?
Is the room too cold?
Is there anything I can get you?
Do you remember all our walks in the park?
Which park was your favorite?
Do you remember all those summer days
we spent at the beach
listening to the waves
and looking at pretty girls?
Do you remember this photo of you and me
and Baba Snezha?
Do you remember the beach at Burgas?
Remember how we used to cook dinner every night
and then watched movies together?
Remember how we always forgot the bread till
it got all moldy?
Is there anything I can do for you now?
Are you hungry or thirsty?
Was I … a good son?
Did you really tell the nurse
that you’re seeing angels?
What do you keep pointing to in the corner?
Tatko, do you really see angels?
The embers of an old flame
Sparkle like a firefly
The fire long since gone
Random coals still clinging to life
Not yet consumed by time
Keepsakes of days
Never to be recaptured
Shared only in secret thought
Now complete strangers
With only memories in common
Memories released like fireflies
From an old mason jar
They slowly disappear into the dark night
With an occasional flicker
But refusing to die
or an introspection of our deeds
We are puppets in someone’s hands
Starting with aught and
ending with griefs
Restless souls, brooding over past
Lost in the mayhem of snippets of life
To be believed in nurturing
but become wayfarers of thoughts
Crossing many paths, handed aid to several
That was the mission
but juncture fiddled in like an alibi
Approaching the end-
What do we do?
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