Playing with Matches
Love is like an unlit match.
And who doesn't love playing with fire?
Raw unrealized potential just waiting to explode,
Flashing upon my memory like a celluloid film. Never to expire.
Though the flame's existence maybe but mere seconds,
What a grand display before my very eyes.
Somethings are not meant to last forever,
But each of those precious nanoseconds holds the true prize.
Reliving Those Times
We had it all.
Friday night school dances,
hamburgers and shakes at “Willie’s”,
football games and picnics;
we shared everything.
The Saturday Matinee’s double-feature,
popcorn and soda,
two cartoons’ and a Flash Gordon serial.
you would clutch my arm,
scream at the scary parts,
cry on my shoulder at something tender,
laugh wondrously free
and very much alive
at unexpected moments of humor.
I think about those times,
and all the years to now.
Even when I said, “I do,”
You only smiled.
When each child was born,
I cried tears of pleasure.
Each child an extension of you,
of our future.
Our children have grown,
with children of their own.
They have given us more happiness
than two people deserve.
But we shared everything.
Gazing on your wrinkled face,
each line a mark of true beauty,
I smile, gently squeeze your hands.
All day’s past were good days,
when we shared everything.
You are gone,
but I feel your presence close by.
You have left me sunflowers and rainbows,
memories filled with joy and love.
Your soul touched me way back when,
and touches me still.
We had it all.
Last night was late.
The half moon shone bright
Cast on my dog’s head.
His tail wagged
Like it does
When he’s tired;
He knew it was time,
Time to go to bed.
We went in the house,
And his brown ears twitched
At the sound of
Rat claws in the walls.
It had been past time
To call the pest guy
For a while.
I had a dog
To keep them
Out of our room.
He sleeps on my bed.
I know that my sheets
Are not too clean,
But I can’t sleep
When it’s just me
In the bed,
When I don’t have
The warmth of one
Whose heart beats,
Whose blood flows like mine,
Next to me.
I have a hard time
With sleep these days,
In the midst
Of the cold months;
And, of course,
When no one
Can go on a date
To save their life,
I let my dog
On the bed first,
Then I crawled in
Next to him,
On a soft, brown ear,
A smile on my lips,
And my eyes closed.
“Here you go, sicko, your last supper. Eat up. Midnight’s lights out for you,” the not-nearly-as-funny-as-he-thought prison guard guffawed, pushing the tray through the requisite space in the steel door.
How quaint, I thought, my last supper. I smiled to myself, thinking that there was something almost poetic, about that. The last supper. I mean, how many psychiatrists had testified to my deep-rooted god-complex thickly entwined with a sadistic personality and psychopathic behavioral tendencies. Hmmmm, now that is a mouthful, I smiled to myself.
I removed the cover from the plate and breathed in the delicious scent. As a soon-to-be-executed prisoner, I was permitted (almost) any meal I desired. Since dinner at the Bar Boulud on Manhattan’s upper west side was not permitted, I had requested a steak, bone-in, rare (bloody), with a baked potato and a glass of Merlot. They laughed at the last bit and suggested grape or cherry juice. Of course I chose cherry...
As to be expected, the meat was already cut, no knife, not even plastic for me. Not even a spoon. They were learning. Ah, but what’s this? They had given me the bone. T-bone. Silly boys…
Earlier in the day, the chaplain had come to visit. He’d sat outside the door and spoken through the little hole provided for communication with those like me: brilliant minds they feared and could not control except through steel doors, chains and death. Shame that…
I ate slowly, savoring the texture as much as the taste, closing my eyes and thinking about the pious prick who deigned to offer forgiveness for my many sins if only I would kneel down before him and god, repent in these, my last moments, and pray. God would forgive me. Forgive ME? That I did not break down into a fit of hysterical laughter is a sign of my superior self-control. Did he really think that his proclivities were unknown? Clearly, they were sanctioned, a blind eye turned by those that put me in chains, put me behind steel, intended to separate my soul from this body. It made me sick. At least I was honest. Well, at least when I was caught.
Did he really think no one knew about the boys, his boys? The (always) young, beautiful men he protected from beatdowns and gang rapes. Oh yes, his boys were kept separately, cleaned the chapel, assisted at Sunday services, never got bathroom duty. He kept them on their knees…praying. He kept their butts safe from harm. The only catch was they had to service his. I hate hypocrites. I began to gnaw on the bone.
I had suggested he join me in my dead man’s walk. Surely, I would have need of his benevolence in my last moments?
As they removed my chains to belt my arms down to the hospital bed, I asked the reverend father to come closer so that I might whisper my prayer for forgiveness.
In the split second my hands were unencumbered by chains or belts, the sharpened bone slipped to my hand and was imbedded in his neck. The blood gurgled, spurting from both mouth and neck to my laughing lips.
So, alas, the execution is on hold as I await another trial. Silly boys…
100% pure notes app, too lazy for editing
i'm lost from this so-called guide placed on my hands. i remember when i use to believe: the lines on my hands are the places you can find me, when i didn't know where to go; so when they're cracked and bruised, bloody and dried to my fingers' bone; darling, that
meant they were rearranging, i was finding a new version of me. but now, it feels like, they're just leftover marks of my past, present, and future soul.
No Sniffing the funeral flowers please!
Last week I attended the funeral of a very dear old friend of mine. Let me preface this by saying that I am currently training a 14month old GreatDane puppy, Karma, to replace my previous service mobility dog Tigger.
We arrived at the funeral service just as it started so I was trying to keep Karma’s gear from jingling to much as we entered the auditorium.
Since we have social distancing going on right now, even though there weren’t very many people attending the service, every other pew was taped off so of course we couldn’t just quietly sit down in the very back row. About seven pews up, I directed Karma to go in between and lay in the floor. I just forgot that she has never been in a church building before, I was used to my other dog Tigger he always knew what to do.
UP ON THE BENCH SHE JUMPED!
I wanted to crawl in a hole. The more I tried to get her down, the more noise her gear made so I quickly gave up and let her stay on the pew where she laid quietly.
UNTIL I LOOKED OVER!
Ok, so this is not supposed to be funny, but I looked over and Karma has her head hanging over the back of the pew as if she’s saying “Hi” to everyone behind us. I just prayed no one was upset.
The service moved along and was very nice.
Just before the service ended it was asked if anyone had anything to share about my friend during her 90 years of life to come up and share their memories. So Karma and I stood up near the casket and I gave my story.
However, I didn’t know until later that Karma was giving her own little show. She was sniffing the daisies and looking around, things that puppies do and that I didn’t think about before.
About the funeral, my friend lived a very long and good happy life. She was happily married to a wonderful husband for 61 years before he passed a few years ago. Good people are hard to find so when you find them hold on tightly with both hands.
And great dogs are even better!
I had always wished for invisibility during times of distress. I had always secretly hoped that I could just blend into the wall and go unnoticed while I go about my day. And, far the most part, I could. I glided through life as a background character, seen but not spoken to, heard but not listened to. I had never dreamed that one day I would get my wish.
But there I was. Alone.
At first I wondered if I had died. I had ran out of my apartment and knocked on my neighbors door. I was shaken and afraid. But she was even more so. She opened the door and started calling my name, confused. I tried to talk to her but she shut the door in my face. I should have been used to that by now.
Eventually, I realized that I wasn't dead, only invisible. A sad life, really. One I should have been used to. One I should have seen coming. Everyone I spoke to got scared when I tried to talk to them, so eventually I gave up.
I sat in the park, a typical afternoon activity for me, and thought about all the times I've felt invisible in my life. All the times I let myself go unnoticed, or thought to myself, "Why even try when I know I won't be seen? Why even bother when no one will listen?" I thought I knew then what it felt like to be alone. Only sitting in that park, imperceptible, did I truly understand.
I held many regrets. There were so many times that I didn't even try because I just knew it would be for nothing, and so many people that I didn't talk to cause I just knew they wouldn't listen. That feeling was nothing compared to how I felt the day I became invisible. Helpless. Hopeless. Regretful.
All the people in the park knew how to live their lives. The children running around as if nothing could bring them down. The couples staring in each other's eyes as if they're the only ones in the world. I longed to be as free as they were.
I went to sleep that night feeling more alone than I'd ever felt. I thought about all the things I would have done differently, all the chances I would have taken, all the people I would have talked to if I had known that I would have ended up like that. I never gave myself a chance to live, and thought I never would be able to.
Until I woke up.
Glancing down at myself and seeing my hands, my chest, my legs, my toes, everything, I felt so free. I felt the world had given me a new start. And this time, I wasn't going to let it pass me by. This time I was going to be seen. I was going to be heard. I was going to meet new people. Hell, this time I was going to scream! I had lived my whole life wanting to hide away, to be invisible. Not anymore. I wasn't going to let myself go unheard anymore. This time, I was going to do so much more than just be seen. I was going to be unforgettable.
What a wonderful world
Never in my wildest imagination did I think my dream of a lifetime would happen. I put on my raggediest pair of jeans and most comfy sweatshirt for my journey across the sky. So many times I wondered what birds were thinking when they swooped across my backyard. Now I get to experience what’s got to be a miraculous feeling of being among the clouds.
Turquoise blue and puffy white surround my body until I choose to pause on the earth beneath my feet. What appear to be toddlers are hunched over a well. “Water” they loudly exclaim as I watch them fill their tiny buckets and drink ferociously. Soon a grandmother appears and helps me understand that water is a gift to these children whose thirst is rarely quenched.
My first adventure gets me wondering if seeing the real world is what I hoped to do today. But the unbelievable feeling of gliding through the air brings me to my next stop. Here I see a very old couple standing in a field. My instinct is not to ask how they are doing. But that wasn’t how I was raised. A simple hello is greeted with huge toothless smiles. A picture I could never forget.
I decide to end my tour since I desperately want more time to simply enjoy the thrill of gliding through the air. I glance down and see spectacular zebras running freely and a huge crowd of teenagers singing and dancing in the streets.
My alarm goes off playing “What a wonderful world.”