Poetry

Two tributes

each to my past

both to my future.

The first is a remembrance of what still lies in my room

A token of childhood

a pile of anthropomorphic animals in outfits

It's been two years

Since I moved here

One year

Since I called it my home

Home is the place

With more dirt roads

Than paved

And the dirt roads

Carry the name

Of your friend's grandfather

Somewhere in the summer sun, 

Where dandelions dance and sing 

Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry, 

Alone, you’ll find me, lying there 

Between the grass seed and maple leaves, 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

A place turned blue and silver by the light 

That lingers well beyond the morning mist. 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

I feel the drumbeat.

I feel the pulse of the music,

Reverberating around my ears and brain,

Twisting into my heart.

I feel the bassline

With each hit of the sound

Pulsating your energy around you

Avaricious abundance, announcing

Blasphemous betrayals

Concertina cavorting cacophonous cadence

Depicting death-desired dread

Two days

Was all it took.

A day of rehearsals;

Discussing, analyzing, perfecting -

And then the day

We performed.

The day that changed everything.

I gave myself to the notes on the page,

Give me your tired, your poor, we say.

                            We will return them overworked and underpaid. 

What used to be my everything 

has now turned into what feels almost like a burden. 

What

is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—

What is

The rhythm of it all

stops

I hear

I feel

the world differently

it hurts in a way I can't describe

my mind scared of this abnormal occurrence

but happens relatively often.

I can't describe it

Remember

Even though the world is in a giant knot

Tightening and restricting 

Coiling and controlling

We still have flowers

We still have beaches

We still smile and laugh