still is the written word

Tag: love

I’m sick with time

I'm sick with time
dragged over jagged rocks, the current
leaving bits of me on the shore

this time this quanta this bit before the other bit
one by one an unyielding chain
forcing the gears of my undoing
fragrant as a house fire
billowing into the light of the sunset

part of me is there
the rest of me is here, stretched taught,
the veils of time fall year after year,
invisible snowfall
blanket of no return

yellow rose

a world that could have been
like the world of music lost in this broken dream of keys
time's veil falls gently every year
i can no longer remember your scent

all that remains is the wind swishing our rose tree
so here -- a yellow gift to your memory

trauma

ghosts don't exist but hauntings are real, more real than this
reality, these
tears every day

relentless nothings, a voice
from an empty room
a scent in the shower
dream of a curve, the small of your back

or that lost sister, because i was so young
driving the coast highway with mom, till she pulled off
and we face the ocean
face… i'm too young to know what this is
i only remember the egg was hard-boiled
i would not eat it
spoiled little shit, now
she's gone

or Beth, the little redhead
like she was, fierce facing life
not the bloated monster the doctors made before her end

or father, that old bull
wanting your end so the struggle would cease
guilt spreading like a bloodstain
wanting, so watching the struggle would cease

or brother, my brother
Triumph Bay, 183 magnetic
fate an old Greek God, big and merciless as a
mountain
knocked you from the sky, a modern-day Icarus

or that terrified old lady begging for water
broke my back

"Are you thinking of hurting yourself" they ask
desperate mortal eyes, thinking:
maybe if we don't look at the monster in the closet
it won't see us

but seeing you is all it does
a schadenfreude Universe

"Of course" I answer,
every day is slow-speed torture
every night my lost love says "I love you"
my niece roars her laugh
sister makes the perfect egg
dad says something encouraging
brother, oh brother, soars into the sunset
and mom sips a glass of lemonade
each day, each night, each moment -- can't you see them?

ghosts don't exist but hauntings are real, more real than this

© 2020 kim aaron