We hid under the Mulberry tree that had been scarred by the knives of Southern mischief two summers ago. He was seated across from me on a turquoise antique. The afternoon held its breath for us as he offered me his hand resting palm-up on my knee. And it unfolded slowly. His angled posture was straight, leaning forward to complete the missing half of my triangle. And his eyelids were partly drawn, set meditating on my forthcoming move. When I placed my hand upon his, for a moment, I was a child. I found safety in his comfort, but our love was a wildfire. The shade caressed the mood and from behind its veil of landscape, the sun eavesdropped and he sighed. Sweet molasses lacquered my heart and its beat bellowed baritone. He smiled. Then too abruptly I retrieved my hand from his to salvage a silkworm lost on his shirt. And with that, our moment became a memory  We lost grip of our hope. But removed from the chaos happening everywhere around us, we spent one stolen hiccup in time under a tree with each other. And it was perfect.

once a structure to Our Lady,

standing, watching those in Paris,

came down a flaming yesterday

it started during Mass,

it's lucky no one was hurt

even though the Mass was never completed

twas such a shame

they couldn't save the spire

and the forest roof of Notre Dame

at least the Crown of Thornes,

the twin bell towers,

and Emmanuelle, the main bell, was saved

I, for one, am glad I saw,

and walked, experienced, and lived,

the beautifulness of the Notre Dame Cathedral

your just a ghost

Another stranger

that haunts me

your just a another suitcase

I stored my sercrets in

Your just another poem

wanting to be penned

now your just ghost

A faint memory

dancing in the wind

that hush’s through the walls of this room

thats Whispers your name

theres an ident in the floorboard

where you keep your shoes

always running

chasing empty thoughts

every promise of forever

tastes like a funeral

your Sentences sound like a eugolgy

i keep the door open

i Have seen the way you chase the endless skies

And empty nights

i Don’t hold onto you

i put a period after every word you say

because you talk like a comma

like‘s there more to this adventure

i Catch glimpse of you in the shadows

in my dreams

your just A ghost

I stopped trying to read you

when your see through

your Just a ghost

theres a echo coming from my chest

I scooped the love I gave you and consumed it for myself

your just a ghost

floating aimless in the galaxy

I don’t dare ask you where you land

cause I don’t wanna know if you made some other girl your solar system

loving you Was death

I didnt belive I could die twice

until I met you

I fell from the sky

gravity prevents me from landing

I have seen love in the face of a different stranger

but I stay in orbit

your just a ghost

a mirage

invisble

Vanished like a vaper

i use to put my raincoat on to look for you out in the storm

like it was my job to bring you back home

i changed my address

i threw the key away threw it under your door

hoping you turn the lock

I forgetting your just a ghost

you been dead to me for awhile

something has died

I can taste the gravel and dirt on your tongue

the lies taste like an obituary

dont protect my heart

its been hidden away from you

you won’t scar it again

i got on the stage

looking down from heaven

I never imagined me bending down looking Over us

what a pity ,mortals who love was immortal

as you say like to say you’ll always love me

but your just a ghost

let me Rest In Peace

with every letter

I sent send

you disappered

your a ghost

tumbling in the tumbleweed

stay gone

I reach out to touch your soul

I don’t feel your spirit

I knew we died

I can feel the weight of the word lied

I throw it down like a sentence

your just a ghost

like a phantom

fading out from my grasp

i confuse the memories

i stop Asking the heavens to pen this one down

Your just a ghost

theirs a concave

imprint

in my hand

there you go

leaving traces of you

haunting

Memory lane

wont you stay gone

this Is grief

they say you can’t mourn a

living thing

i have Sat at the edge of my bed

swimming in an ocean

I no longer wish I swam into

but Heartbreaks taste like grief

if you replay the love in your head

slowed through a record player

your a ghost

I stand over our Grave

and I shake my head at you

here lies the boy

who couldn’t

love

the girl who was more soul than human ...

the universe said to destiny

O, I am fortune’s fool! . . .

Then I defy you, stars.

if only the planets could collide...

Signed oblivion

"Could you buy me those shoes?"

No "please."

No "...if I work...could you loan me..."

Just deep, dark green eyes that stare blankly though my own bright blue eyes. The chestnut brown hair that I so lovingly combed when he was a child falls across his forehead, matted under an old baseball cap.

His left hand instinctively moves toward the front pocket of his jeans. Jeans that are so tight that the outline of his ever present iPhone has worn a rectangular shape into them.

I shift and glance at my weary husband before I return my attention to the conversation at hand.

Is he going to answer that right now? In the middle of a conversation? Why?

Imperceptible; the feeling that tore him away from his demand, but I could feel it.

I knew the phone would go off.

Just as it had countless times before.

When we had been arguing. When he told me that his father and I were the worst, that we were ruining his life. That he couldn’t stand us. That we were nothing to him.

But that doesn’t happen anymore; the screaming matches.

He has once again retreated into that screen. The world of likes, shares, and controlled emotions on display.

A glimpse of white, and the slightest hint of a chuckle escape from my son. My attention toward him falters, and I look to his father who too has perked up at the sound of our only son’s first display of happiness since the accident.

He’s on the mend, I think to myself. Good. I’m glad. It’s time for us to both move on.

But just as quickly as it came, the smile disappeared and my son looked up from his phone and tucked it into the same spot in the same pocket without a second thought. He looked to my husband. My husband quickly withdrew his wallet from a similarly worn back pocket and handed it to our son without a word.

My husband clung to his wallet like my son clings to his phone.

A wallet is a different sort of crutch for the suburban man who had grown up in the rural south. A man whose calluses from working on his family’s farm caused him to have trouble completing his school assignments on his mother’s beat up type writer as child. A man who had received a scholarship that funded his collegial education— a man who decided that his wife and child would not want for anything.

As he watches our son walk into the store to spend an obscene amount of money on sneakers that he doesn’t need, and will only wear with matching t-shirts, I look at the bags under his eyes and my gaze falls to the haphazardly tucked in shirt that now has an abundance of room for the belly that is no longer there. The belly which I had previously encouraged him to exercise away for so many years.

Now he was becoming gaunt. The accident was slowly killing him.

I can do nothing but watch him wither.

Our son walks slowly back to where we both wait for him. The cell phone in his right hand, stealing all of his attention. He wordlessly carries his bag and my husband’s wallet in his left hand. When he gets near to his father he wordlessly hands the wallet to my husband without taking his eyes of his screen.

The two turn swiftly and pass through me as though I am not even there. And as far as they know I am not there. As far as they are concerned I am drifting at the bottom of the lake which they have to pass over each day. On the way to work, on the way to school, even on the way to this mall.

Each day they have to pass over the bridge with the mismatched concrete where my car broke through.

The memory of my accident haunts them daily…no wonder they have changed so much.

Lust is conditional. It has limits.

Lust is always one sided not thinking about what the other person wants or feels.

Lust desires to obtain the object it wants at the moment, then after it gets what it desires, it throws it away like trash.

Lust only lives in the second.

Love behaves very different.

Love is unconditional and has no limits is never one sided and always thinks first of the other person before it's own wants or feelings.

Love is all encompassing, all enduring and infinite. With great Love one can do anything.

Love is your past, present and future.

No idea why

I chose to write this

to you, my friend,

long gone, far away

up this coast

across the shore

I wish we could be

together, like how

we wish over text

how we joke over Skype

how we roleplay situations

with the characters that represent

that "us" we wish to be

that "us" that could have been

that time, that tension

I feel-- you feel it, too

we should fix that, that day

we meet each other, I'll suffocate you

in hugs and kisses, I wanna give

I wish I could,

and so do you.

©SelfTitled, 2017

Grandma Rose had asked me to clean out the attic for her, and I knew she was too frail to climb up here anymore, so the decision wasn’t hard. Neither was the choice to read the old letter that had fallen out of the envelope I picked up.

“September 15, 1964,

My Dearest Rosemary,

     I’m writing this as I sit and wait for the next plane. I know that you don’t believe in this war, but I hope you understand that this is something I just have to do.

     It’s not going to be that bad, I think. Vietnam is a small country and after all, how long can they hold out against the pride of the United States? I’m thinking the whole thing will be over and done long before the baby is born, and we can maybe buy that house in Seattle.

     Give the dogs a hug from me, and tell your brother to send me a gift box of his “special” brownies, ha ha ha. I love you with all my heart and soul - both of you,

Hugs and kisses,

Pvt. Harold Landers”

It was signed with a flourish, but the ink on the yellowed paper was spread in blotches, from what could only have been the many tears that were shed while reading it, time and again.

I wiped the tears from my own eyes, carefully folded the letter, and put it back in its envelope. Mom had told me the story about Grandpa Harry, a man she never got to meet, but who always inspired her.

He now inspired me.

I deploy in two weeks for Iraq, but I know it can’t be as bad as that awful mess in Vietnam was. It'll be over much quicker.

When darkness shrouds 

The world in a clinch

A secret world of lights 

Comes alive in the woods 

The pretty little fireflies 

With their joyous dance

Adds a sparkling edge 

To the twinkling sky!!!