Author: poetryfest

Tuesday, January 17th
I was worried about what to make for lunch.
She’s a picky eater and I can’t buy groceries until Friday. It’s only Tuesday.
(They were worried you weren’t getting enough oxygen)
I went to work, feeling a restlessness.
(You went to sleep. Did you feel scared?)
I was home by four pm.
I started homework and thought about dinner.
(You slipped into a coma. What did you think about before that?)
I went to bed that evening, you were in the back of my mind.
(Rich was there. Your family was there. You were already gone.)

Wednesday, January 18th
It’s quiet today. There’s a melancholy peace. Tomorrow, the 19th, is my parents’ anniversary. And I am
thinking of you.
I felt it before I knew for sure. I felt you were gone. I felt scared and panicked at what was to come.
(January 18th you took your last breath. They “pulled the plug.”)
The world lost a humble and loving and caring man, a veteran, a coworker, brother, friend.
But it still kept spinning. How could it? How dare it.
I hold on to the truth that heaven rejoiced and you were healed and whole and happy.
(Garret, Garret, Garret… can you hear me say your name?)

Thursday, January 19th
“Hi, can you give me a call?” was Rich’s message.
“Is it Garret?” I asked, but I knew.
(“It’s not good news” he said. It was not good news.)
I didn’t call him.
I couldn’t.

Friday, January 20th
“Call me this morning.” It was a Friday morning.
I called him. And I listened to everything that happened to you since the previous August. And I cried.
Then I hung up and I sobbed.
(You were being fitted for your wings, asking question after question about life, I am sure.)

Saturday, January 21st
I brought my daughter to TJ Maxx. It was morning. I walked around, trying to be ok but I wasn’t ok.
The tears came back in the Kitchen section and they didn’t stop until later that night and that’s because I
fell asleep. They came back when I woke up and stayed for five days.
(Garret, Garret, Garret. Did you hear me whisper your name? Do you see me mourn?)
I didn’t go to your funeral. I couldn’t.
Rich said it was a beautiful service. You deserved a beautiful service.
(You were there. They saw you, he said.)

Wednesday, January 17th
One year later.
I still feel the punch in my gut. I still feel the lump in my throat.
I still say your name three times whenever I think of you. And I think of you all throughout the week.
I will think about you forever, while still worrying about what to pack for lunch and what to make for
dinner, while the world still carries on without you as it should.
How dare it

Fog, but light.

These canyons,
his voice beside.

Rain; mirrors.

I fail to walk
and not see his face.

The loss of life.

Roads sparkle dawn,

but his voice is here.

(a weird sort of
resonance)

Through canyons
and canyons.

A clotted sky.

The air is dull, stagnant and stale, infertile and barren…like an empty page,
Filled with grey, black and white, added to a drab, simple shade of beige,
Silent and still, without dazzle or sparkle, shimmer or shine,
Absent of pastry or cream, pizza or coffee or juniper or pine.

The feeling is sullen and scared, lost without found…somewhat sad,
Built over time, lasting forever as if molecularly clad,
The absence of fragrance, like a game without a score, deeper than an empty soul,
It’s not a matter of wealth, luxury or poor, it draws all within like some far away black hole.

As if caught on a breeze, a waft in the air…something aloft, something, just more,
You are instantly awash in it’s draw, gasping for more, you needly implore,
The scent catches you in awe with its sudden approach,
Drawing ever nearer it begins to enthrall one and all with a relentless encroach.

What is it, this unique fragrance that before was never anywhere near,
Maybe it made olfactory entry as an invasive, and welcome, thought so, so clear,
Its as if, its encroach was not as a sense, not a taste nor a smell,
Could it be a potion or spell that suddenly under, you befell.

As the scent becomes strong, and eyes turn to gaze,
You see around her, a special kind of glow, yet far from being a cloud or some haze,
The reason becomes known and quite abundantly clear,
She is authentic and pure, always completely, instinctively sincere.

She carries herself with power, inside and around, setting her free, satisfyingly free,
The scent you smell could never have come from any blossom, spice, fruit or tree,
Intuitive yes, incomparable too, she is indeed the reason for this redolent aroma,
It’s far from man’s creation, manufacture nor an essence from any fauna or flora.

Once she’s near, the origin is clear, its completely, intrinsically her,
Beautiful never had a better expression through declaration, siren, or stir,
The fragrance is more, so very much more,
Made of elegance, allure, with attitude and strength, upon wings that allow her to soar.

It’s her…yes, her…all that she is, all that she was, all she will forever be,
Never duplicated, always regenerative, all that you feel and all that you see,
Completely congenital, adoptive and consanguineous, natural and innate,
It came at a price…the great price of sadness and joy, of loss and love, only she could translate.

Feel her, see her…touch her, a total of every sense, take her in,
It’s extra…above…icing on top, as well as deep from within,
Beyond all feelings, all senses, including a magical sixth, a complete and total ensoul,
In truth, despite old theory, the sum of all parts is far greater than the whole.

There is no safe word
the pull of his face as he stares deep into its depths
He can’t tear himself away
consumed by an all-encompassing lure

the fish flash their tails, wondering who is this man?
billions of dollars have fallen into his trap,
this trap to snatch the attention away at a moment’s glance
like super-glue adhesive, his face appears bigger, closer, nearer

in the mirror, it says that things appear closer than they appear
and for him, this is true as well

he tries to recall wether or not if he can swim?
He’s not positive exactly if he can, but he may as well lie

The valley’s and dips float past the stream, and he reaches his fingers out

He feels the coolness of the water’s surface,
wondering if it were some sort of trick

He had never heared of water before —
His tongue is dry, and he longs for his throat to be quenched
he wonders what it might taste like, he’s forgotten the smell
Taking off the mask that he always wears on his face,
he sniffs at his wet fingers

Disappointed, he leans closer, studying the way his jawline fixes
his eyes glowing with the curiousity of knowledge. He knows now
that he has a beautiful face.

He touches his lips, the fullness of the bottom, and the curve of
cupid’s bow, two small points like a cat,
Kiss me, his lips seem to say, as they move in the reflection

He sees her appear, the woman of his lusts and dreams
standing right behind him
but he’s no long able to tell wether or not she were a figment of his imagination
she talks to him and he doesn’t answer

she crosses her arms since it’s evident that he is blind and deaf to the
all of reality, time and space

she flexes her arms, as he begins to drown, trying with all her might to pull him away
but he won’t fight for his life,
water won’t splash as he chokes,

he thinks this is air, and she screams for help

her face is ghostly, as he stares up at her now
a woman in a flowing white dress, her attention on something away
He doesn’t see that she is beautiful, but he wonders if she might be

as he becomes one with the water, consumed by a tasteless,
odorous liquid

he feels, for once, like he were no longer lonely

A flower appears at the feet of the girl,
she falls to her knees to look at it properly

Narcissus, she whispers.

The man who knew how to love himself

I held you like a pebble
but you were a boulder on my chest
I have found a safer way to
seduce the cold
than by burying my breath
beneath your weight
I have tip toed in the fairest parts
of your rigid soul
and I have found that we are
synonymous with
trickling drops of weighted rain
waiting for some great hand to wipe us away
if you are happier with speckled features
then hold me to all accounts
for my foreboding tongue
has a way of twisting knots
out of fragile situations
and my fabled feet
have made a living
at evading
I once saw us in starlight
and now on brighter nights
I trace a skyline
sewn together by empty verse
and I can almost taste
the breath
that I had captured with the cold
I can almost feel a pebble
where stone met flesh and bone

Why does he close the door to say goodbye to me.
What doesn’t he want our friends to see?
I imagine that his roommate—my friend—
is peering through the peephole
and I imagine there are people
walking down this hall
I imagine what they’d think
of the embrace he’s giving me.
But nobody’s there to confirm what I see.
And later, when I have my suitcase and we’re
pausing by the staircase, wordless, my ride waiting in the garage—
I drop my disguise and grab him again
I hear him drop my duffel and feel both his arms
wrap around me.
Any question of love automatically answered
by the pressure on my ribs.
I know it’s not possible. I move to let go but he pulls me back into him
briefly, takes the
air out of my lungs with the force of it.
My chin brushes his hair when he lets go.
Anything but a kiss, I know.

Peeled back, the black lace on your thighs,
Pink silk sheets and Born To Die echoing off mist-kissed windows.

Fistfuls of soft onyx strands twist in my grip,
Cognac-laced lips speak sweet meaningful nothings.

Hopeful breaths mixed with astonishment,
Moist words sneak through clenched teeth.

Opaque whispers crawl along the bassline,
Reverberating, getting stronger in the silence.

Flickers of tangerine candlelight tiptoe across your shoulders.

The two laid on their backs, looking up at the night sky atop a shed’s roof. She turned her head to look at him.
“Is that pizza place open?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Do you want pizza?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
“Why did you bring up pizza?” he teased.
She most definitely wanted pizza. He most definitely didn’t care what she wanted or where she wanted to go. He’d take her.

The sun was hot upon the dusty ground
Where knights in metal dress contended for
The hand of maiden fair. One would be crowned
Her prince. And yet, the princess did abhor
Dull competition and these games of war.
But then she met a knight who who made her grin,
With whom she found a startling rapport
For they were both constrained by fortune’s whim:
The shining armour masked a girl therein.
A feeling grew within the maiden’s soul,
A flutt’ry, trembly tumult deep within,
A spark becoming flame out of control.
And when her knight had triumphed, tourney done,
The princess also felt as though she’d won.