Poems

Lazy River

I am a ghost

Drifting down an endless lazy river,

To frontiers unknown.

I bob and nod and list,

Moving slowly in the warm pool water,

Up and down and up again.

There are others with me in this lazy river, 

Other ghosts, in innertubes, 

Clutching sweating metal soda cans.

Ghosts lacking direction or destination.

They are blind to everything around them.

They stare out at nothing and no one.

Nothing and no one stops our journey 

To frontiers unknown.

I struggle to stay above the water.

To stay in the air.

To stay breathing.

To stay alive.

The bottom of the lazy river is impossibly low.

The floor can’t be reached.

There is no escape.

Up and down and up again.

I’m always swimming.

I’m always struggling.

To stay breathing.

To stay alive.

I want to get out.

I want to escape this lazy river.

I want to stand on solid ground.

I want to feel my feet on rough concrete.

I want to feel the water evaporating from my skin.

I want to leave the ghosts.

I want to be among real people.

I want to be among skin and eyes and ears.

I want to be in the sun.

I want to get away.

I want to get away.

But I can’t.

The walls of the lazy river are impossibly high.

The rim can’t be reached.

There is no escape.

Up and down and up again.

I’m always swimming.

I’m always struggling.

My pruned fingers reach for

The walls of the lazy river,

For the cool frosted blue tiles,

But I can’t get any traction.

There is no escape.

Up and down and up again.

I’m pushed forward, forward, forward,

Bumping into pool toys and empty floaties.

There is no escape.

Up and down and up again.

The other ghosts pay me no attention.

They are too focused on themselves,

On their own problems.

They’ve accepted that they cannot escape.

They don’t bother trying.

They’ve climbed into flotation devices,

Sacrificing the idea of escape

For the idea of survival.

They’ve lost their battles.

They’ll drift here forever.

They don’t care anymore.

I won’t be like them.

I can’t be like them.

But how else can I survive?

I can’t keep this up forever.

Eventually,

Seconds or minutes or hours or days or weeks or Months or years from now, 

I will sink into the water and never resurface.

Too strong to accept defeat,

Too weak to achieve victory.

But I must.

Eventually,

Seconds or minutes or hours or days or weeks or Months or years from now,

I will get out.

I will escape this lazy river.

I will stand on solid ground.

I will feel my feet on rough concrete.

I will feel the water evaporating from my skin.

I will leave the ghosts.

I will be among real people.

I will be among skin and eyes and ears.

I will be in the sun.

I will get away.

I will get away.

But I must.

Smashed 

Now and here as I write this, 

The night after the night after the night after

The night after the night after the night after Christmas,

(New Year's, that is)

I feel wholly and fully amiss.

Slashed.

Bashed.

Mashed.

Trashed.

Smashed

Like potatoes at the Thanksgiving dinner table

Next to a bowl of green beans.

Like the jack-o-lanterns sitting on your neighbor's porches

The mornings after Halloweens.

Like the pricey white-and-red vase you bumped into 

As a kid.

Like your priceless black-and-blue face after Dad saw

What you did.

Like the car your drunk cousin crashed (She survived).

Like the man your drunk cousin crashed into (He died).

Smashed.

I feel like that.

Something like that.

Something pretty close to that, at least.

Smashed.

Cross Roads

Somewhere on Earth,

Somewhere on land,

There’s a crossroads.

I’ve been there.

You don’t need to worry about it.

It is far from you,

Far from most people, actually.

You’ll probably never end up there.

But I’ve been there.

A simple dirt path

Divulging in many different directions.

No sign of human activity or society anywhere near.

I know this

Because I’ve been there.

Each road leads somewhere different (of course).

You have to choose which way to go (of course).

You can’t stay there forever (of course).

And I was there.

Which way did I go?

Which path did I ultimately choose?

I can’t tell you that.

Not unless you’ve been

To the same crossroads.

I’ve been there.

War-torn

Broken glass lines the streets.

No cars drive on it anyway.

Concrete and rubber and metal line the sidewalks.

No people walk on it anyway.

Most left.

Some died.

Few survived.

Those few, who survived, who stayed-

They couldn’t leave.

They couldn’t leave their homes.

They couldn’t leave their stuff.

They couldn’t leave their lives.

They couldn’t leave.

Those few stay inside.

From their windows, 

From their still-intact windows,

They look out at their city, at their county.

What had happened to their country, of all places?

Why had war come to their country, of all places?

War was for distant lands, for distant people.

Not for here. Not for them. 

When would things go back to normal?

When would things go back to the way they were?

When would their city, their country, be as it was?

Those Fifteen Minutes

It was her favorite part of the day.

Those fifteen minutes.

Picking her son up from school.

The time from his school to their home.

Those fifteen minutes.

When he was forced to interact with her.

When he couldn’t flee to headphones and homework.

She got to talk to him.

She got to talk to her son.

Those fifteen minutes.

She knew this wouldn’t last forever.

Those fifteen minutes.

One day he’d drive himself home from school.

She wouldn’t be needed anymore.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

She could still appreciate it.

Those fifteen minutes.

I am a ghost. I drift here forever. She drifts here forever. He drifts here forever. Nothing and no one can stop us. I am a ghost. I am a ghost.