Déjà Vu
Hidden deep in my mind
Buried secrets of few
Are they past or future
Fleeing moments I view?
Split seconds in time
Fractured, open wide
Where a memory and a moment
Destined, then collide
The former and present
I straddle the look
Time folds on itself
Like page in a book
Have I been here before
Or, has before been?
How do I know
What is suddenly wakened?
I pass through myself
Through the moment before
Where the memory remembered
Is hidden no more
Wishes
The snowflake landed on her nose. All I wanted to do at that point was kiss her. She stood there staring up in wonder at the timeless grey sky, smiling to herself out of habit. Winter brought life to her face, like no other season could, enriching every conversation, plan and habit we shared. I reached out to her then and she took my hand, letting her face turn to me, the snowflake now nothing more than a wet drip on her upper lip. Her smile never wavered as she pulled me in and leaned against me, watching the snow continue to fall. I kissed her cheek and I could feel her head turn towards mine as she kissed my chin. Our lips met for a brief moment before we turned again to the snow.
Slowly, as I stood there my heart full, her warmth faded away, her hand slipping away from mine as I woke to a world of bright autumn sun.
Wishing the dream back was no use as I already felt the sinking in my chest. The all too familiar feeling of loss. How fondly I remembered her, how deeply I wished to be beside her.
To watch the the snowflakes fall with her. Sometimes wishes are nothing more than scattered memories.
Dreams unearthed
Ghosts of beauty dance behind my eyes.
Whispered assurances of worth, slip between my ears.
I lay still while my minds eye follows my form
Laying underneath the warmth of loving arms
I remember the faintest kisses on my lips, the whisper of passion yet found
Waking I feel empty and confused
For should I dream of such beauty and wish for my dreams to come true
To love fully, plainly and honestly
When I know I can barely love in my waking life?
r e p l a c e m e n t s
my body is now only touched by the rain
my replacement for your hands
my face is now only kissed by the sun
my replacement for your lips
my mind is now only naked for the moon
my replacement for your ears
i am replacing you
with the sweet earth
that runs mix-matched with my blood
you thought
i would cling to your air
forever
but here i am
breathing on my
own
love(d)
We glance(d) at each other from across the room.
I look(ed) down at the floor.
You snicker(ed) at my shyness.
We head(ed) towards the door.
I accept(ed) your flirtatious offer.
We snuggle(d), grab(bed) a few drinks.
A few years went by like nothing.
A marriage on the brink.
We elope(d) out of nowhere.
Scary, yet exhilarating fun.
I figure(d) this euphoria could last forever.
You seem(ed) to be the one.
...
But she also seemed to be the one.
The one who won over me.
The days that once felt so alive
Are now ancient history.
And now I’m alone in this empty room.
When we met, what we felt was true.
But I guess someone else caught your eye.
But I still really, really, love(d) you.
The Thanksgiving Reality Check
I struggle with the imagery associated with Thanksgiving. From preschool through high school we are taught that the Pilgrims and Native Americans came together and broke bread at the first Thanksgiving in a moment of brotherhood. Fine. It's true in a round about way.
What bothers me is that the reason to give thanks was short lived for the Native Americans. The tragic reality is that the meal was a brief interlude in a genocide that was already well underway. Estimates vary as to the numbers of Native American lives lost, but it is generally agreed that Europes arrival in the New World led to the decimation of anywhere between seventy-five and ninety percent of the Native American population.
I can only wonder what might have been if that shared meal had become the standard for relations between Native Americans and Europeans. Sadly, wondering is all the brutal truth of history allows. The tragic reality is the white man had no intention of embracing a spirit of brotherhood with those who called this land home first. Instead, Europeans in the name of Christianity and Manefest Destiny robbed the native peoples of their lands, compromised their intricate culture and belief systems, introduced illnesses that would kill them by the thousands, and created treaties that were not honored by politicians or land hungry settlers.
Though the injustices experienced by Native Americans have become part of the history taught in American schools, these injustices are often viewed through a lense that puts the systematic genocide and robbery of the First Peoples in the darkness of the past. Sadly, the injustices continue today. Of course, the crimes against these former stewards of the land have become more subtle. Politicians, industrial interests, and other groups complicent in the continued suffering of Native Americans now hire PR firms to spin the plight of the Native Peoples into something that is portrayed as being self-inflicted. Thanks to brilliant advertising provided by the hired professional damage controlers, the sterotyped welfare, alcoholism, crime, and violence that are portrayed as being part of the current Native American culture is conveniently placed in the laps of the tribal leaders and not the circumstances the tribes are forced to endure. If that doesn't work, the professional media manipulators are quick to remind the viewing audience that the Natives could always open a casino to better their circumstances.
What often doesn't get told is that unemployment, high school drop out rates, poverty, suicide, and instances of mental illness are exponentially higher in Native American communities than those experienced in almost every other minority group in the country. Of course, these circumstances are difficult to remedy when the reservations are often geographically isolated and forced to exist in a perpetual state of economic crisis. This makes it nearly impossible for the First People to access mental heath services, find jobs, and send their children to the quality schools that only those who reside in suburbs can access. The problems suffered by Native Americans can hardly be placed in their laps when they have been forced to live in conditions that would require Herculian effort to even contemplate overcoming.
So, I struggle with Thanksgiving knowing that the heroes of the first have been so inhumanely treated. We gather around the table in homes that we, "own" to give thanks and to celebate attaining the American dream. Yet, we forget that in all likelihood, the land our homes are built upon was stolen from its rightful owners generations ago. I can't help but think that we are the ones who belong on reservations, subject to those who were here first. Somehow, I have a feeling that they would treat us better than we have treated them.
The Outsider
What's a like
What's to like
Why must you be liked?
Asks the outsider
I don't need
Anything
Me is all I need
I don't care because
Like's a reinforcement
Not the core
Why wait and check
Why watch and count
Why do the numbers matter?
Asks the outsider
It doesn't
I don't
Why don't you understand?
I'm not waiting, I'm just wondering
Numbers don't mean anything to me
The outsider listens
To your fumbling ramblings
And watches you check
Every notification
And sees you bleed for
Likes and follows
And listens to you count
Every number
Why is this important?
Asks the outsider
And you look up at the mirror's
Blank
Stare
like the flower you are
if he really loves you
he’ll tend to each of your petals
and make sure the sun shines
in your heart
he’ll love your vibrant colors
and watch you grow
without ever plucking you
for his own selfish desires
if he really loves you
he’ll help you weather every season
and protect you from the jealous insects that try to eat at your beauty
he’ll support you when you begin to wilt and remind you of your strength
as you flower into
who you are meant to be
but most of all,
if he really loves you
he’ll let you blossom and
bloom freely
as you grow to meet a limitless sky.