they bring their stories incomplete
the tattered chapters
reading urgent pages voices straining
desperate for perspective
searching for conclusions
and beginnings
asking that I listen well
and answer better
more than echoing their sound
to add a something needed
making sense of this confusion
sharing sight
my looking through small windows
sometimes open often broken
for a wider view and clues
among the cluttered jumble landscapes
what comes next? or could
that leads to hope repaired
they leave their stories incomplete
I carry them uncensored
samples of the night
the almost blind man tells me bravely
braille is hard to see but quick to touch
the missing pieces stick to skin
Hurt
she stiffly sits across the table
sipping water endlessly
since medication dries her mouth
but doesn't taste and hardly swallows
sips and sighs indifferently
and trusting me at last enough
she talks in blunted sentences
about the pain and her depression
pain she says that never fades
but stays like awful buzzing noise
obliterating by its grinding
resting moving feeling life
each day destroying more of her
exhausting hope and even tears
depression follows just a coward
just an ugly hungry shadow
just a vulture hollow eyed
she sets her water on the table
leaves it like a lifeless friend
and sits in silence as I note
the glass half-full half-empty now
and say for fear of saying more
the obvious and weak cliche
to which she whispers I'm not thirsty
then repeats as if deciding
I'm not thirsty anymore
the waiting glass remains untouched
the conversation stops to die
Emigrant
compelled by pain to trust a stranger
need ignoring tight ambivalence
you cross a threshold
step from splintered dock to rolling deck
to this unique peculiar space
this little boat
accepting these distinctive roles
of seeking self
with baggage bundles burdens
for the journey's work
of expert other
weathered by experience
with eyes expecting faith
and you attempting dignity
in spite of disarray
and fear of drowning
hoping for safe passage
partnered for the voyage
through the sorting tides and currents
now embark
Lumps
head down eyes lowered shuffling wearily
>from one to next necessity
he found them on the ground
two stones unpolished course and drab
he stopped he stared he kneeled
he took them with him in dry pockets
riding privately against his thigh
and clicking humbly each beside the other
when he stumbled
now he holds them out to me
and tells me leaning forward
(trusting I might understand or try at least)
yes I have problems
everybody does but won't admit it
I have mine and will
I picked these up admitting I have problems
I can hold them in my hand and see and feel
how rough and hard they are
or if I put them in my shoes
they hurt my feet with every hobbled step
of crying why why why
or if I put them in my mouth
to taste their bitterness
I hesitate to chew I fear to swallow sure to die
or if I crush them in my fist
and curse them still they never break
they only bruise my hand
or if I leave them here with you
and try to walk away
I know that wouldn't work
they'd just be rocks to you
and problems don't forget
they'd wait for me outside
but look if I can look and you can look
and no one's thinking someone's crazy
maybe maybe maybe this can help