Monday, November 6, 2017

After the fact

To the one who rolled over the darkness like dough,
But more importantly to the one who holds the flicker of light

24 hours earlier-O’hare 

Keep it light, the exchange of sugar for smiles
It doesn’t get darker at the stroke of midnight
pacing across black and white floors, a friend holds you up
like a woman giving birth,
you wait for it- take offs and landings
flooding a Windy City-

a headless heated hegemony

14th St, Washington

The curtains were green
Linen lined up against the light that falls on your forehead

bellow 14th features the tipper- tapper
movement and stores opening and shutting,

ripe executive jackets,
opening and shutting

a mild beginning of November-
three women-turned-girls wait by the crackle of a fireplace

but the limbs are heavy with worry
opening and shutting

from the window, an incredible stillness
this nightfall, your voice has already departed

opening and shutting
a height of pitching banshees, unexpected drumming

does the heart have a right to squander?

you feel it-

a gust of northern wind,
darkness’ daughter

mother covers all faults, yours, his, hers
but the lie remains a lie

amid rapid breath
friends-come-couples holding time like a shopping bag

this is what the death of love looks like
too many open bottles and a little left to drink

torn-out letters, river-side runs
time drained into micro-memory

this is what the death of love looks like
an opening and a shutting

three women-turned-girls waiting by the crackle of a fireplace
and a tap on your back, all this warmth

to stop the swan from belting its final song

two days later
44th Street, New York City

you open your eyes to immensity
competing for length

passersby, cars, sirens
light, even the night is different

even the weight placed on your feet
while you strain your neck to look up

light arrives to your hands
kinder this time even with ferocity

opening up a purse she gives you scrapes of her being,
a tale shared is a tale halved

glasses raised, toasts made,
promises to be kept- a shutting

streets navigated
by heart and instinct

three women, you, swallowed in a big city
there will be time to grieve later

8 months later
an open balcony in Jerusalem

The first sunrise after months of rain
is unforgettable

the remaining hours pass,
thick, quick like sand, stretched

ointment rubbed, you stand over your childhood
three crows call for morning

the sighs no longer sound the same
there’s a gentle humming

this is the aftermath of grief
color returning to earth and to your cheecks

you take out of yourself, bits,
old stars, long hair, bridged teeth

offer to the sun what remains behind
why do you offer when you can shut the doors

cower behind an old desk, stand straighter
when you dance?

but the swans’ old song is like morning
a first sunrise after months of rain

to remember is to select

to remember is to choose to forget
watch from an open balcony the sun rise

over the green fields and tracks ran
how time swishes like green curtains

a year after the fact. 

Photograph by author, taken with IPhone 5

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