I failed my math test today

Non-homogeneous Diffy Q

Using undetermined coefficients

And variation of parameters

Of course I did my best!

Last night, in therapy

I advised a switch from

Interactional to behavioral

The session went long

Long past my bedtime

I received a red phone for Christmas

And an old Radio Shack 300 in 1 kit

Now I have a hotline to the Kremlin

Vladimir calls nightly to chat

He doesn’t understands boundaries or time zones

My older sister’s boyfriend is named Sam

He writes love poetry about a house

He writes dirty poetry about her blouse

He should change his meter from Geisel to Ghazal

Then he could beautifully write about her bra

So I walk the halls awake with worry

Crisis and calamities keep me so blurry

The one thing I so hate

Is being a minute so late

So in 3rd grade, I learn to hurry

Perhaps, I want to remember that which I lost.

I didn’t forget my life. I only forgot who stole it and when and how.

Perhaps the thief discovered a secret coven of investors desiring of what I accomplished or how I accomplished, auctioned in part, or in whole. The purchase price would determine my life’s value. I would be portioned, metered, packaged, and presented.

All without me knowing the final outcome.

Perhaps, I could confront my quandary with an appearance to the exact location of the auction.

Perhaps, I could participate in the repurchase of my life.

I could bid vigorously for the complete set of missing years. I have the finances for such an endeavor. My only real expense would be the time it took to complete such an activity.

Yet, what if another life, adorned with sexy details, came up for bid first?

What if I stretched the value of my resources to invest heavily in the latter, and not the former? Would I have buyer’s remorse in the morning? Would the memories of my “new” old life find a compatible fit among the dusty (and now empty) bookshelves of my previous existence?

How do I even know if even one of my choices includes my previous existence?

At this point, would I even care if it didn’t?

Perhaps, I want to remember that which I lost.

Perhaps not.

I'm not quite sure,

When those varied hues

And that gleaming purity

Became obscure

And faded away;

As fast as the day,

Fades to shade.

I can't seem to remember

A brilliant day.

Heather, Oh Heather

The worst waitress ever

Whenever will you come back to me?

I sit here forever

No service is rendered

And never do ever complain

Heather, Oh Heather

It’s so hard to remember

And it’s easy as pie to forget

With so many orders

And Special de Jours

If only you could find your pen

Heather, Oh Heather

It sez here in the paper

That people are where they eat

Together, they’ll find us

Alone in the diners

Apart from the lives we lead

Heather, Oh Heather

The worst waitress ever

The service was splendored today

We’ll take us together

Away and forever

And never will ever complain

grief hangs on the clothesline

drenched in rainwater

ring it out with weary hands

and weepy eyes

unhook the clothespins and grasp fabric

picking dead fruit from the vine

and shoving it in a plastic basket

repeat the cycle, set to delicates

the countdown begins

on the shuddering machine

pull out warmth and fold sentimentality

in silky rags

The face I see

Doesn't see me back.

My arms reach out to touch her

But the cool air is their only welcome.

I see her trying to reach me too,

Her confusion mimics myown.

Why is she so close,

But so far away.

I swear I knew her once

Now a stranger stands before me.

She used to be young and carefree

Hopelessness now fills her eyes like a pool starving for water,

Sucking her into a void she can't return from.

Like a whirlpool swirling down into the darkness.

Shoulders slumped

Defeated

Tired

I try to remind her of all the happiness she once had, and for a moment I see a flicker of hope in the twitch of her mouth

But it's gone as fast as it came.

"You can do this, you can do this"

I repeat the words to her

Again, and again

She says them with me

Trying to convince herself that I'm right

Even though I'm not really sure she can.

She looks so dejected

Depressed

Lost.

I steady my focus on her

Determined now, to make her believe what I believe

That she is a strong

warrior

Fighter.

"You CAN do this, You Fucking CAN!"

Her countenance changes.

Then

Light shines on her face almost blinding me,

Hope, resonates in that glow

Her spine straighter.

Her mouth resolute.

I did it.

Triumphant

So now, I gaze longer

At my reflection.

I will never forget the day

I first noticed,

The jagged white lines,

Etched unto the surfaces of your skin.

I was young,

Still in primary school, perhaps…

And in my youthful innocence I asked,

What were they? How did you get them?

And you spun me a story of how you were working in a building,

Whilst leaning upon a glass frame, your arms fell through and with it so did you,

And the shards tore the tissue in your arms

And left you with those permanent scars..

I noticed the glimmer in your eye as you spoke -

The forming of a tear,

Reflecting the bronze glow of the sun as it peered through your windowsill,

Casting rays of gold upon the blank walls and faces..

I will never forget

The way those scars looked through the eyes of a younger self -

The way they danced, like the scales of a koi fish,

Twirling amidst a sea of light,

Silver, shimmering rays,

Like slug trails -

Reminiscent of "kintsugi",

The Japanese art of repairing that which is broken,

With a golden glue,

As to admire the fragile nature

Of things, so beautiful.

Yours were sown silver,

Delicate white threads that spoke of a time you were hurting,

And in pain,

But survived.

They are signs of your victory,

Trails of the trials put through.

I could see that,

I can feel that.

Those silver hues,

You survived.

They say every cloud has a silver lining, and

Yours were sewn into skin.

Out like a Mouse... Cute but, held by the tail, with concern about eventual Smell. In the Garbage pail. Oh, my where to put It? in the Toilet? maybe, too big? in the decorative Ceramic planter, packed out back? Won't fit in the fill. Oh, what a dilemma for sure, now. They'll have to worry 'bout disinfecting the half brush and shovel!

I'd like to eliminate all these problems of artifice. I am pained to think Anyone should be forced into Bedside manner. No matter how Heartfelt, the weight would be sooner or later a Burden, I confide to myself. And yet, I've cared for the dying, and it's Not like that. I never wished to "Hurry it Up already!" Or, if the Thought crept up, it was with sincere Regard for one who really was in midst of Suffering.

Nevertheless, for myself I hold nonesuch Devotion. If perceived my Time was coming, I would most certainly be Hurrying it. It would not be worth the Clinging, to prevent others from going about Life.

So yeah, maybe not like a mouse in a glue Trap... but more final. I'd take my Day like a Rat. And then Cremation, paid in advance. Do what you will with the Dust and finger prints.