24

Mar

2014

in thought

I will the world to vanish
To up and dissapear
Erase itself from reality
Leaving me right here

I dismiss it with a wave
Then turn my gaze away
Back to contemplation
No world for me today

08

Jul

2013

the last days

Death is an inevitability.
You know that, I know that.
Even when it is your grandmother.

There are there only two things that change,
The tears in your eyes and sadness in your heart.
Because she happens to be your grandmother.

You have seen here her before,
She stared death down and dismissed him.
But this time you know she will not walk away.

She’s had a wonderful life – you reassure yourself,
She might be old enough – you try and reason through this.
It still hurts; no one wants to lose their grandmother.

If it wasn’t this, it would be something else, some other time.
It’s an inescapable inevitability for everyone you have ever met.
Knowing all of this does very little good; she’s your grandmother.

And as much as it bothers you, as much as it hurts you,
You can hardly imagine what your own mother feels.
Or how your grandfather can sit there without constantly sobbing.

Because your grandmother is her only mother.
And your grandmother happens to be the very love of his life.
As personal as it feels, this is hardly about how you feel at all.

There is absolutely nothing anyone can do,
Even you, who often has so many of the answers,
You can only make her last days more comfortable.

So, you make her a pie. You kiss her when you see her.
More than anything, you let her know you love her.
Yes, because she is your grandmother, but also because…

In fact, she was so much to so many.
That’s exactly why it hurts so terribly.
You make the very most of those last days.

That is all you can do.

27

Oct

2012

marble mirrors

presented a block of marble
accompanied by this plan:
I was to take my chisel
and carve myself a man.

A subtractive process
something I had never done
I took up the task
thinking it might be fun.

I tapped upon the stone
I chipped the block away
every blow was thoughtful
deciding what could stay

it took me near a lifetime
I finished my man of stone
what I saw then startled me
I had made the man my own

I had chiseled my own image
I had carved myself exact
I beheld a marble mirror
my every detail there intact

every line upon his face
all the hairs upon his head
the soul within his eyes
all were mine instead

I realize now, my marble man
he and I are bound as one
we each make each other
and no blow can be undone

the block of marble is my life
the chisel is my choice
I am left with what I make
knowing it lacks a voice

it can not explain itself
all will see it as it is
every man, he has this task
the marble man is his