I hope you will be happy looking back at all the tears you never had to cry,
at all the pain you never had to feel, and all the love you chose to never share.
I hope it is somehow satisfying knowing that you were never truly hurt
because you were never truly vulnerable — always distant, never close,
never one to start — ever so afraid that having to say Goodbye
would break your fragile heart.
“Pain is good sometimes,” she said — this memory, this ghost inside my head –
this imprint of an old friend who has since ignored, forgotten, erased.
Pain is good sometimes, I say, surrounded by family and friends
creating immortal memories I cherish, wearing them with joy and honor,
like Auden’s rose on St. Cecilia’s Day long past the painful heartbreak
of having to say Goodbye.
Then what do you do when they forget about you — when you find yourself
preserving memories only you care to remember? Is your heart big enough
to hold the dark empty void left behind each time you gave a part
of yourself away? What happens when you vanish from their lives and
the vow you made to always remember turns into an eternal wish
that you could somehow forget?
Clicking and waiting
This is so embarrassing
Twelve hours for rice!
Formerly strangers,
as a token of friendship,
I gift you a cow
These cherry blossoms
at the edge of my small farm
are taking their time
Visiting your farm
fertilizing and feeding…
I’m not your damn bitch!
This game is pointless
I could be more productive
yet I am still here
I found a penguin!
No, I don’t want to share it,
I want to keep it!
Raspberries in two,
strawberries in four hours –
I am a loser
Billy Corgan sang
“Time is never time at all” –
T’was about Farmville
I saw a sad cow
on my way to a neighbor –
I have to refresh
Ten masked phantoms passed me by, each taking something
of myself — my youth, my health, my faith — swept in the whirlwind
of rushing ghosts. Two buildings and thousands of lives in New York,
The symbolic stadium in New Orleans — the floating bodies
and the unapologetic monsters they revealed. The dead of war –
parents who mourn their sons and daughters, many in languages I know not.
The paralyzing fear that made a nation surrender itself to a cowboy
for protection. The lust and greed that led to this economic catastrophe
Poverty, famine, disease. Scapegoating the foreigners. We chose change –
a victory based on a promise yet to be fulfilled. Ten masked phantoms
passed me by, each taking something of myself and when they left, arms full,
I was empty save for a novelty called “Hope.” I’m not comfortable with that.
We have War and Famine on speed dial
and occasionally exchange “wish you were here” e-mails
like old friends rarely gathered in one place these days.
We catch up with each other by watching Anderson Cooper
visit a town shortly after one or two of us have arrived.
This week, we’re stuck at home, quarantined
with some tamiflu and well-wishes by wire
far far far away from being who we are –
Plague and Pestilence should have been out
dancing the night away, doing our best impression
of politicians by shaking hands and kissing babies,
sharing God’s creation with the rest of God’s creation –
so what if this creation is named H1N1?
Let him cast this demonic possession back to the swine
’cause we’re getting better, we’re feeling fine
and life will go on until we are forgotten once more
and we’re in somebody else’s documentary special.
For now it’s Plague, Pestilence, and their cats
staring out the window at a fearful world –
the scythe too heavy to lift,
the weather too warm to bear,
and just considerate enough not to be ourselves.
Fred, my pet piranha, hates you –
He’s making grumpy faces every time you walk by
and it’s too bad because I think you’ve been a pretty good friend
and I don’t want you to die.
You’d think he’s mostly harmless being stuck in that tank
but you would be wrong
’cause Fred’s been taking classes and he’s very convincing
and you’ll dip your head in the water before long.
He’ll ask you to come over, even bribe you with cookies
and you won’t have a choice but to go
His mom was in marketing, his dad practiced law
and he won best-of-breed at a dog show.
Fred, my pet piranha, hates you –
and very much would like to eat you alive
so I guess it’s best that we just say goodbye
’cause Fred and I are going swimming at five.