Is greatness carved
from the desire for greatness?
Contained within some weighty block,
neither eager nor patient, obstinately set.
Is it cobbled and collaged,
years of sediment mounting and pressing
slowly amassing to some requisite threshold
Is it birthed as if from nothing,
emerging in an ostentatious flare,
the product of greater forces, shifting
What I’m really asking is,
should I flit between the flowers
and lie amongst the grass
while I still can?
(sept. 2022)
Consciousness peeling away from my body like sunburned skin;
Like dried glue and fidgety fingers, nervous from thoughts of what is to come
The crash of glasses and you,
Dinner simmering with a cloud of steam fogging the glass – an eyelid closing.
The walls that once felt drafty, now impenetrable.
There’s no use knocking now.
(09.12.22)
. . .
I had this feeling earlier today—at the thought of a memory, or an imagination—of my essence pulling away from myself, separating, hiding, floating, leaving. Watching this dissociation, this image of peeling apart came to me. This sensation I’ve felt many times, of being apart from my body when being in it is too much to handle.
I couldn’t decide, was this the feeling of splitting apart two things made of sameness, or removing a foreign substance from some base existence?
Then I couldn’t help but think of the nervous fidgeting that often pairs with these situations, in the waiting for the next time.
In the moments when a place with ways to see out and in, body and home, becomes foggy and clouded. Claustrophobic traps, hidden. Where no one can see your tears. Where outside hope feels unreachable and the promises beyond the glass, gone.
. . .
You’re reading my body
The stories of my scars and the writing of my wrinkles
But what does my skin say of the longing in my soul and the aching of my heart
If the tears carved canyons in my cheeks, how deep would they be? Would you climb them?
If the darkened cavern of my skull was filled with black ink swirling, would it be big enough for two?
(09.05.22)
sidewalk chalk, smudged
a van like his
The trees with severed limbs
still sending sap
to parts no longer there.
The sweetness clumps at the edges,
it can’t turn back.
The leaves fall like rain —
the sound of forgetting,
drowned by the hum of cicadas.
The scent of summer lingers,
I plug my nose and return home.
(09.05.22)
Today contains a yearning
and no balm to soothe it
The harsh light on this walk makes me feel lumpy;
the twice-stubbed toe, fumbling.
A tree covered with leaves like fans,
the intricacy of the patterns of the bark,
and the gentle breeze
almost overtook the moist oppressive heat
and the tree swing locked behind
the fence with gaps just large enough for glimpses.
Almost.
A snake slithered beneath the brush.
Does it know its tail still lingers on the sidewalk?
A child playing hide-and-seek
and a woman all too happy to play along
as they hide in plain sight.
Oh, to be so easily found.
The walk is over and I try another route
But as my eyes skim the final words
of a book both beautiful and sad
there is revealed yet another emptiness
looking up at me with hollow eyes
and open mouth.
I try another route
the pleasure ripples through my body
and a moan escapes.
I open my eyes,
eager,
but the dopamine dissipates
and the bed beside me
is an empty yawning chasm.
Today the sun is a bully,
harsh and taunting,
and the seduction of shopping,
with its a/c and endless supply of stuff
becomes all too alluring
as I sit in my indecision
unsure of what next to throw
into this insatiable hunger.
The emptiness rumbling within me
threatens like a thunderstorm,
a coiled tension with no release,
no balm to soothe it.
(August 2022)
“But all adults hate their jobs right? Even if they do something they used to love, once they have to do it every day in order to put food on the table, they all grow to resent it, right?”
“I don’t think that’s entirely true, Parch. My mom loves being a detective.” Xan was careful with her next words. “I can see how your dad might want you to think that though.”
Parch sighed, looking resigned. “Yeah, no kidding. It’s definitely in his best interest for us to think that being miserable is just the norm.”
“So here’s the thing though.” Xan shifted positions, extending her legs out in front of her. They were sitting under a tree in the park, waiting for their friend Caldra to finish up at the library. “Once you don’t live under his roof anymore you can do whatever you want, right? You don’t have to become an accountant. Or do anything related to the family business. Once you’re out you can decide for yourself if you want to go to music school. Or be a bartender. Or a lumberjack.”
Xan watched her friend’s face as she said this, hoping for a smile. Parch couldn’t help themself. They smiled. “Me? A lumberjack? You’re right. These muscles really do scream tree-cutting-extraordinaire.” They flexed their arms with mock bravado.
“Exactly!” Xan said. “Plus we both know how you feel about dirt and nature. And you’d look just fabulous in flannel.”
Parch let out a hearty laugh as this, as they thought about one of the last times the whole gang was together. Caldra had begged everyone to go exploring down by the creek and Parch didn’t realize until they got there just how much they appreciated the comforts of city-living. Paths to walk on, allergy-aggravating flowers contained to window boxes, spider webs kept to a minimum. Normally pretty go-with-the-flow, Parch definitely made their displeasure known that day and their friends teased them for weeks afterward because of it. Annoyed at first, they had grown used to the light-hearted jabs and Parch found this one to be genuinely humorous.
“Ah, yes. You know, you’ve convinced me. Lumberjack it is. You should probably change your path to go into career counseling,” they jabbed back, golden eyes sparkling in the sun.
“I’m always giving the most sound advice, it’s true. If only I could follow some of it myself…”
“Oh, speaking of which, did you decide what you’re doing about the auditions?”
“Nice try buddy, we’re talking about your life problems right now, not mine.”
Parch shrugged. “Worth a shot.” They continued, “You should go for it though. I think you’d be awesome as Imogen.”
“Imogen?! That’s the lead role! I can’t even…” her eyes narrowed as she caught herself falling for the diversion. “Nope! Not falling for it!” Xan’s bright blue hair swayed as she shook her head.
Parch smirked. They glanced over Xan’s shoulder, hoping to see Caldra walking toward them, but no such luck.
“Okay, okay. I see you looking for rescue. We can be done talking about it for now if you want to be. But one last thing. Maybe just think about having an exit strategy. Obviously we’ll all help you however we can, I mean, duh, we’re your friends. But even if you crash with one us for a bit while you’re figuring things out we can’t like, get you into music school.”
“Or pay for music school,” Parch said, back to being glum.
“Ya, unfortunately none of us are that loaded,” agreed Xan. “Well, Eb’s family might be, but that’s beside the point.” Xan trailed off and sat quietly in thought for a minute. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees overhead. A squirrel jumped between branches with an acorn in its mouth. Parch looked up. It really was a beautiful day out.
“What if we all got summer jobs?” Xan said suddenly. “Started saving up for all the stuff we want to do when we finally get to choose? We could apply to something simple that we could all do together, like serving sandwiches. Or you could see if any of the music shops are hiring and–”
“You know my dad would never let me do that.” Parch interrupted.
“—anddd, if you’d let me finish, your dad would let you do it because you’d tell him that you’re going to job shadow their accountant. For practice or experience or whatever.”
Parch didn’t look convinced but at least they looked intrigued. “And what do I do instead? While I’m lying to my father.”
“Whatever it is you do at music shops! Sell instruments. Clean instruments. Copy musical scores. Teach kids how to make less terrible noises on those things, I don’t know! You could even do something related to the bookkeeping if you really don’t want to lie to your dad. At least you’d have your foot in the door and could start making connections and stuff.”
Parch made a non-committal noise and stared off into the park where a kid was trying to throw pebbles into the fountain.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it?”
“But what if he says I should just ‘job shadow’ my aunt? She’s their current accountant so he would probably want me to learn the family’s way of doing things.”
“You could tell him that you wouldn’t want to slow her down by asking a bunch of questions. Orrr, you could tell him that you heard it’s good to get different types of experience because diversifying leads to… efficiency or something.”
“Diversifying…leads…to efficiency? I don’t think that’s a thing, Xan.”
“Well, maybe don’t say that exactly, but we’ll workshop it. We’ll figure something out.”
Parch looked at their friend with affection, feeling lucky to have her in their life. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Think about what?” A voice came from off to the side. They turned to see Caldra striding toward them, a stack of books in her arms, and one of her many quilted skirts hanging from her waist.
“Parch is going to be a musical lumberjack and the rest of us are going to apply to work at Drethro’s to make sandwiches this summer!”
Caldra laughed. “Perfect! I’m in! We all knew the musical lumberjack thing was going to come up sooner or later so I’m glad you finally decided on that.”
Parch shook their head as they tried to hide their grin.
To write straightforwardly,
comprehensibly,
is to know what it is you want to say
and that you want to say it.
We walk the circuitous path when
we don’t know where we are going,
how to get there,
or if we are
ready
ready
to finish our walk
go inside
and say those things
we’ve been dreading.
(09.03.22)
That song you said you hated
I’m listening to it on repeat.
When you told me your opinion
I stayed
what I thought to be suspiciously
silent
If you hate something I love
I feared
maybe we’re not as compatible
as I thought
Though what’s a song,
really,
compared to the rest.
Just
poetic sound
wrapped in emotion
mined from the soul
and shared on the waves
As light as air
As heavy as my heart
As meaningful as worrying
about our compatibility
apparently
(09.02.22)
Last night I was home, alone,
And there was a knocking at the door.
I went to open it
But no, I was mistaken,
it was only my heart.
Later, I was sitting with a cup of tea,
And there was again a pounding in my chest
(I went to open it)
But no, I was mistaken,
it was only the thunder.
This world is pulsing beating pounding,
wanting to be loosed heard unleashed,
And I with it.
(08.25.22)
abstract relations vi 