When I See Him
Is it possible to love someone who hardly know? Not their body, but their spirit? If so, this is something that I achieved. His spirit is ever so vibrant. It is as if the area within a mile of him glows with his bubbly energy. It is an energy that I could so easily lose myself in. Each time I see him, I wonder if he notices how close I am to staring at him with longing. I wonder if he even sees me. I see him every week, standing with the confidence of youth and dreams and hidden experiences. Within our common club there is no chance for conversation. This is for the best. Were I to have to speak to him, were I to make direct eye contact, I would betray myself. Or maybe I would let myself fall into his eyes and never find myself again. Each time our paths come near, I wonder how close they came to crossing. I wonder if they ever will.
Home. Patty drove me.
Home is a place I always thought I'd miss.
Until I learned one simple fact:
A home and a house are not one in the same.
After years confusing the two, I know now
That though I love the people that share my address
(And many more beside)
I have yet to find a home -
A place I can truly reside.
Patty, my friend showed me photos today.
Of the house she is looking is buy.
To see how she glowed,
Talking of her future home,
I felt a twinge of jealousy.
I have never wanted for a house,
But always for a home.
Drove by an elders' home today.
Just got me to thinking
How their lives have changed.
Before their independence
Became almost total reliance,
Had they found their homes,
Some beautiful places to stay?
Or could they take 'home' with them
To bring comfort in a strange place?
Me, I may never find my home.
I do not know where to look.
People say that you "just know the feeling"
But they never tell you where inside,
Nor can they ever describe the emotion.
Perhaps one day I'll find my answer.
Unless before then, my hope all but dies.
A Letter From A Woman You Love
“I miss you.”
The first line of her letter reads.
You pause before reading on
In order to blink away a tear.
“All the laughs we used to share.
The silly things we did together.”
This time the tear escapes before you catch it.
It falls on the page, smudging a few letters.
“I miss the ice creams in Summer,
The snow angels of Winter.”
More tears creep past your closed eyes.
To save the letter you hold it higher, toward the light.
“I miss the days when we trusted each other.
When we had no secrets between us.”
You breathe out swiftly
As if her words wound themselves around your chest.
“I love the way you used to look at me.
If only I could see that look again.”
You had missed her expressions, too.
All these years you had longed for them.
“But I wrote this letter to tell you
That though I miss you, I think I’ve moved on.”
The letter drifts slowly to the floor
You hold your head as if to stop your heart from breaking.
It is then that you see on the back of her page:
“I am sending you my love.”
At last the tears slow to a halt.
You pick up a pen and a paper and begin.
“I miss you, too.”
A Few Questions, If I May
1. What is you preferred animal? Rabbit.
2. Do volunteer anywhere? Yes.
3. Do you shave? No.
4. Do you do any art other than smithing words? Yes.
5. Do you like to write prose or poetry better? Depends on the day, usually poetry.
6. Do you sleep with a blanket on no matter how hot it is? Yes.
7. Have you ever traveled out of country? Yes.
8. Do you enjoy running? No.
9. Cooking or baking? Baking, but cooking isn’t horrid.
10. Do you have any pets? Yes!
11. Do you enjoy maths? Yes, but not for courses. I just like learning the concepts for fun.
12. Do you enjoy cloud-gazing? Yes.
13. What is your preferred season? Spring.
14. Are dolls creepy? Yes.
15. Have you ever had a mani/pedi? No.
16. A massage? Yes.
17. Do you have an online streaming subscription (Netflix, Hulu, etc)? No.
18. Do you eat meat? No.
19. Are you afraid of spiders? Not really. Unless they pop out of nowhere.
20. Do you prefer roses or tulips? Roses.
A Poem As Yet With No Title
The white men came.
They offered blankets as gifts,
And clothes.
But as gifts these were not meant.
They were a double edged blade.
The white men, smiling,
Handed over disease.
In the winter nights,
The people burrowed in,
Glad for the warmth the white men gave.
Mere days later, no one was left.
Boils appeared on their skins,
They could not get warm enough
Or else cool down.
There was no energy to hunt,
Nor to pick fruits nor to cook.
A few mustered the strength for a fire,
Though soon they ran out of wood.
No one spoke, they had no voices left.
Those that could,
Spoke with their hands,
The motions feeble as with age.
The Great Spirit took the most of them, but
No one was left to bury the dead.
Though the leader of the group
Tried to raise their souls to the Great One,
Tried to unite their bodies with the Earth,
He could not get them all.
And now those who travel by
Best not rest there at night.
For unreleased spirits roam this earth
Seeking those who may unlock their cells.
But that art was all but lost,
And these souls must wait
An eternity for their release.
To: The Man Whose Name I Know Not
Dear Sir,
I know you don’t remember me, you probably didn’t think me to be any different than anyone else. But you were the man who changed my life, in a small way. You are the man who pierced my ears on cold Thursday night, mere hours before the start of February. I never looked you in the eyes, never raised my gaze to reach your face. The most I remember about how you look is your tattooed arm and the back of your head as I darted back to leave a measly $3 tip.
I’d never seen you before, and probably never will again. Most likely that is the best thing. Because as you brushed my hair away from my ear, something in my heart melted and I fell in love with the gentleness of your touch. Not for any physical reasons, but because of the spirit that is usually behind that gesture. You didn’t chat, but you made sure I saw you open the packages, sanitize your hands and work area, safely dispose of the needles. You told me when to breathe in and prepare for the poking, after making sure I liked the placement of the earrings. But outside of these professional routines, you never said a thing.
You never asked my name, why I was getting pierced, why I waited two hours for a procedure that took all of ten minutes. But you didn’t need to. I was nothing new to you, simply another client, another person wanting to do something different. Through writing this I realize, I didn’t only fall for your touch, but far more so I fell for your professional manner. The way you knew I was just another person tossing away money for the sake of self-expression.
So sir, I must cease to write. But I thank you for your service and for your professionalism.
May the stars watch over you,
A client who never asked your name