floating and leaving no trace
this rain stops
time stops
the asphalt blooms
oil-black lakes
reflected headlights
stare back
from depths that disappear
with the wind’s breathing
but for now
hollow white eyes
gaze from nothing
heaven’s mirror
a hollow mass of gray wool
stretched overhead
So this is prose and rambly, and won’t be very skillfully put down.
Tonight my wife and I went to a local mall. If you live or have been to Southern California (or have ever watched one those news programs about malls and how much money they make at Christmas), you may have heard of South Coast Plaza. It’s been around for years and years, and has evolved apace with the unending passionate consumption South Orange County. When I was a kid, the had a Woolworth’s and my dad would take me to the lunch counter after church for lunch, usually greasy deep fried burritos.
I have no idea how or why Woolworth’s was selling these fake-a-ritos. I’m sure they were the Mexican analogue that Chun King chow mein in a can is to Chinese food. But to a kid, they were good.
That was over forty years ago. Woolworths is long gone. Many stores appeared and disappeared like capitalist fever dreams over the years. Sears has remained, maybe the one and only store to not change. That and the carousel.
Tonight though, my wife and I went to get her an early Christmas present. Spur of the moment thing, something she’s been wanting, but not really asking for. We are weird when it comes to presents for each other. We avoid waiting for birthdays and holidays, and if one of us really wants something, we just buy it and the gift is presented with a “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Birthday” even if those events a half a year away. So this was a little unusual, this trip so close to Christmas to buy a present. (Though to be be true to our own natures, there was no wrapping or waiting. She opened the gift when she got home.)
After buying her present, there was no need to rush home, so we walked around. And I discovered, that, without the pressure of having to be there, of needing to find the perfect present or toy without which Christmas would be ruined and our children would have to seek therapy later in life, without that hanging over my head, it was really kind of wonderful to walk around. To see people.
Yes, there were some, rushing, pinched, panicked faces, and I could relate because I have been where they were. But I wasn’t tonight. I enjoyed the happy people who were just enjoying themselves, the kids excited to see Santa, the kids screaming because they wanted to be anywhere else, the couples clinging to each in the crowds, the music, the bells, the lights, the lights, the lights.
The press of people, for once, didn’t bother me.
And for that, for being able to enjoy that time with my wife, I am grateful. And I wanted to say it.
Well, write it.
the fog makes ghosts
of the christmas lights
and our footsteps
step into the light
and everything about
you is
illuminated
the glow starts
in the blood
like a 50s sci-fi movie
about a man
with radioactive bones
who becomes incandescent when
angry
or
in love
everything is hard to look
at when you’re the sun
when you burn
in the pit of your stomach
the palms of your hands
and the sockets of your eyes
are fire
who hid the cloud
when the sun came out
it was here
just a second ago
keeping everything cool
and under a gray light
but now the shadows run
and shrink under our feet
and sweat runs down the
back of my neck
and the unrelenting blue
of the sky is like
a nightlight when
you’re trying to sleep
the rain sparkled
as it fell
lights dripping
out of the sky
miniature stars
and short-lived suns
that flashed
and were gone
before hitting the earth
the grass
the asphalt
we walked
through the dark woods
dark not just because of the canopy
of green and grey leaves
that hid the sky
whenever we came into a clearing
we looked up to find black clouds
and we could taste the metal
tang of rain wanting to happen
but one clearing blinded us
when we entered
we looked up but the clouds
hung black as before
thick and oily
in the center of the clearing
huddled the angel
wings folded over its shoulders
hiding its face
it trembled, racked with sobs
and the light came from a pool
of tears gathering at its sandaled feet
unbearable to behold
we moved on without speaking
either to the angel
or one another
what could drive an angel
to earth
to tears
and what human comfort
could stop those tears
everything starts as a seed
buried in the warmth of earth
buried in the dark of the earth
they say that we struggled out
of the sea
millions of years ago
that may be the truth
but it is much more true
that we break through the crust
of soil, climbing out of darkness
reaching for the yellow light
reaching for the heat
and gazing at the blue expanse
so impatient and greedy
for words
the reader clicks
and clicks and
clicks
and here they are
a few lines
meant for the hungry reader
lines etched in photons
that disappear
when the window closes
but leave their ghosts
trails on the backs of your eyelids
like fireflies
the night cannot hide
you could feel them
with your fingertips
if you could just
make
it
dark
enough
is this better?
sharp focus
clear lines between the letters
the card a sharp, painful white
so clear
you can see it all
or worse?
the room fuzzes over
instant caterpillarization
of letter forms
and lamp arms
and everything at arm’s reach
recedes
like a gel lens on a doris day
movie
how about now?
and the lights go off
and there’s nothing to see
except the afterimages
popping like fireworks
and your imagination
popping like fireworks
Words and Feathers 