on
the anniversary of my death
which falls on an
uncertain date
yet to be determined
by accident or fate
i will arise
i will arise to
cloudy skies
dark and low and
threatening
pregnant with promise
of rain
that soon will fall
will fall on some
green lawn
that covers my mean
coffin
or over a rust-red
sandy plot
beside my mother
my mother who was too
soon gone
who's waited long, is
waiting still
for my sincere
apology
to hear me say
"i'm sorry"
i'm sorry too,
anticipating
that she'll give
grace for grace
acknowledge the heavy
times
we both were wrong
both were wrong and
knew it then
but could not speak
to ease the pain
nor knew how to
forgive the hurts
or better yet, forget
better yet, forget
the struggle
to be free from each
other, free
from the thousand
constraints
that bound us together
bound us by accident
or fate
by dna, by
bittersweet legacy
by choice, at times
by fear
and randomly, by love
by love, the fiercest
bond of all
that calls past
death, past life
reminds me i must
reconcile
now, before today
becomes
the anniversary of my
death
breakfast
of champions
two ribs and a
half-slice
of left-over carrot
cake
the tang of the first
bite
hickory smoked.
heavenly
then cream cheese
frosting
heavy with walnut
bits
a single piped icing
carrot
gracing what was left
of the cake
last night's feast is
today's breakfast
chased by cold milk,
not coffee
younger dreams flow
through me
reminding me - I'm a
champion
i
am riding a dead horse home
the horse, of course,
doesn't know
that he's dead, he's
so conditioned
to keep moving. that
rocking, constant
forward gallop is all
he knows
he doesn't sleep
anymore, or eat
doesn't remember or
think about
the last time he
stopped for water
for rest. has no idea
where he's going
doesn't care. he only
knows that his job
was to carry me where
i pointed
as fast and as
smoothly as possible
no tripping, no
trotting, no stopping
given a choice, i'd
swap him out
like a pony express
mount, leaving
the old and exhausted
behind
taking a fresh horse
ahead
but there are no
choices here
no alternates, no
replacements
i feel him fading
under the saddle
but he won't give up,
won't falter
so because i've
forgotten how
to dismount at full
speed
and he does not slow
down
i am riding a dead
horse home
colour
drought
i sat down in a small
cafe
off a numberless
highway
road heat and tan
dust
mixing in the sweat
on my back
"what'll it
be?" asked the waitress
hair and face and
dress
all faded shades of
grey
i answered "what
colour's the water?"
"most days it's
brown,
but we got a new
filter so
today it's sidewalk
grey."
"no," i
said, "no. that won't do
i need some colour.
red, blue
even yellow would be
good
anything but
drab"
"well," she
replied, "maybe
you haven't noticed,
but
there's a drought on
colour-
all the bright
stuff's gone.
dried up and blown
away.
even the coffee's
turned
khaki tan."
i knew then that cat
stevens
had been here before
me
which is why he wrote
"if my colours
all run dry..."
he saw this drought
coming
prophesied "i
won't have to cry
no more."
but that was the cat
with the music
and i'm just another
tired tourist
so thirsty for
brilliant colours
that i'm thinking of
trying
something from the
black market
if that hasn't gone
arid too
don't let me close my
eyes tonight
and dream again of
colourless horizons
scraping
the barrel's bottom
(to be read with a southern drawl)
i lowered my expectations
‘cause i was told
that happiness could
only be got
by asking less of
others
mind you, it was
horrible
watching things done
poorly
if at all, when with
a little effort
they coulda been done
proper, neat, and on
time
oh, it's a challenge
to watch
a task being done
half-fast
when full speed is
called for
and not jump in to
help
but i tell you, i've
learned
that taking on
another body's work
just because they
ain't doing it
only leads 'em to
think
they don't need to do
it at all
burned too many
times, i stopped
stepping in when i
felt the urge
when i couldn't stand
seeing a job
not done right, for
no good reason
i've also stopped
believing that
there's any peace to
be found
by wanting less than
the minimum
and so, by golly, i
have once more
upped my
expectations.
now up yours
j.lewis - (Jim Lewis) is an
internationally published poet, musician, nurse practitioner, and the editor of
Verse-Virtual, an online journal and community. When he is not otherwise
occupied, he is often on a kayak, exploring and photographing the waterways
near his home in California. He is the author of five full length collections,
plus eight chapbooks. Learn more at https://www.jlewisweb.com/books.asp
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