Memory in Cascades

You remember the year
a boy tried to keep you
alive without knowing
that was what he did

You remember talking to death.
Talking till silence was all
the peace you needed

You remember telling him
things you would never tell
anyone till this day

You remember him sit still
knowing your presence was enough

You remember the days
you waited to see him,
wanting more time. Or was it
for time to stop?

You remember taking
as many photographs as you could

You remember listening
to each other's music;
giving each other
the memory of your songs

You remember trying
to memorize his face

You remember holding
his hand when he reaches for yours

You remember hurting
and hiding the hurt
when he was in pain

You remember
how much he meant
to you

You remember
not saying a word
about it

You remember knowing,
knowing he felt the same,
though he never said it,
you never said it,
face-to-face

You remember he could not
love you back
the way you needed

You remember holding yourself
together, knowing it could not last
You could not last

You remember the day
you decided you could
no longer stay,
telling yourself to forget

You remember your happiness
flaming his misery

You remember these
as one of the best days
of your life

You remember it existed,
something you will never have
again--it existed.

You remember it's better
to actually live
than to just survive
day after day

You remember thinking
Agape is a lie; you die
with the unbearable knowledge
of being unloved

You remember
not saying a word

You remember how painful
it was to finally leave

You remember
not saying a word

You remember writing his name
on a page because you dread the thought
of slowly forgetting him

You remember
not saying a word

You remember hating the nights
wishing you never met him,
wondering if it's possible
to forget

You remember
not saying a word

You remember feeling angry
but not wanting to admit anger

You remember
not saying a word

You remember
to inflict pain
with your absence

You remember
to forget

You remember the memory
leaving. When pain was
the only thing left of him.

You remember finding the page
years later, tearing the proof apart,
angry that you recall everything

You remember
not saying a word...

But you remember writing it
in a letter. Sending it one night.

And you remember
the replies.

You remember now:
you should have been kinder
to yourself.

You remember to stop
hurting.

You remember
and the past catches up.

You remember to give
back to yourself.

You remember sunsets
You remember quiet afternoons in fields
You remember dreaming while awake
You remember to have a future
You remember to find your heart
You remember to go to the ocean
You remember how to sleep
You remember peace
You remember love
You remember being who you are
You remember being yourself
You remember
yourself.

An Animal's Death

1) My friend’s cat passed away yesterday. From this sentence, I’m not sure whether I want to talk about my friend, her cat, or simply what happened that day. My thoughts are in disarray, in need of release. I fell asleep sick, and I still do not know how to feel about them.

2) My friend’s cat passed away yesterday. She sent me a message at 3am, asking if I could meet her in the morning. When I replied “yes” at 6am, she broke the sad news. That day was my first time to go to a pet crematorium. We talked and had lunch until we finally got her young cat’s remains. I accompanied her throughout the afternoon.

3) My friend hasn’t been a very long friend of mine; I’ve known her for less than a year. She used to be my manager, and as luck would have it, I had a hard time being friends with her. It’s difficult to tell a friend from someone who makes you work your ass all the time.

4) My friend was hard on herself. When we worked together, she was hard on me too. And when she got transferred, I realized I didn’t enjoy working with people like her. I didn’t need someone so stern when I was already too hard on myself. We both have slightly impossible standards, but she made sure certain impossibilities were “met.” I do not know why she keeps pushing even when we’re spent.

5) My friend absolutely loves her cats. I know she loves them just as much as I love my dog. We never mentioned it, but we definitely preferred spending more time with “our animals” (another bad play at ownership: once you own something, you are deemed to lose it) than people. We trust non-humans more. For their lack of intelligible language, we love them more.

6) My friend trusts me, for some reason. Perhaps because I’ve left their company, or because she thinks I have the time for these things. Either way, I believe it’s because we’ve reached a level of understanding. I’d rather we’re good friends than work mates. For the record, I still do not want to work with her in any parallel universe, or the impending future.

7) My friend is different at work and outside of work. She can be an indifferent manager as she is sympathetic when she’s a friend. This is the same person, and I just had to see the entirety of it. For most of my life, I preferred seeing one side of a person. I thought it easier that way.

8) My friend makes no excuses for her actions. She knows her decisions, she holds herself responsible for the things she does and does not do. But there are limits to the things we know about our friends. Their light parts are just as important as the dark. To acknowledge goodness despite the dreadful, and the out pour of kindness where empathy lacks.

9) My friend’s cat remains dead today. We still crave clarity even when it’s useless. My friend took her ashes home for the last time. By now, I think it’s possible to feel too much and nothing at all. Yet, some regrets become apparent with death. An animal dies, teaches us how to be human, or nothing at all. 

You Occupy a Vast Room In My Mind

I still believe when you sang,

"Though your garden's gray, 
I know all your graces will flower 
In a sweet sunshower." 

Rest easy, Chris Cornell. You'll never know how many people found solace and comfort in your music. You could have kept all of these to yourself, but you gladly gave them away to the world. Thank you for sharing your life.




***

On a cobweb afternoon
In a room full of emptiness
By a freeway I confess
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good, we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go

In your house I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone
I'll wait for you there
Alone..

On my deathbed I will pray
To the gods and the angels
Like a pagan to anyone
Who will take me to heaven
To a place I recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The wine was bled
And there you led me on

In your house I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone
I'll wait for you there
Alone, alone.

And on I read
Until the day was gone
And I sat in regret
Of all the things I've done
For all that I've blessed
And all that I've wronged
In dreams until my death
I will wander on

In your house I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone
I'll wait for you there
Alone, alone.

--Audioslave

Emptying the Importance of Approximations

"I don't need therapy
I don't need an overhaul
Or lessons in geography...
To find my way back
Ask me to stay

I don't need therapy
And I don't need closure
Or lessons of your history...
To find my way back
Ask me to stay."

--We Are Imaginary


 

Armed, Luminous

About sacrifice, I am not

so sure now. A river falls or rises

according to what leaves

or enters it.

But sacrifice is not the river. Compassion

is not what leaves. For what enters,

I have many names - I’d decide if I could,

if I were meant to. There’s an instinct

that is rare but does occur in humans,

the ones who themselves feel

no different - it’s any hour,

forgettable - as they turn toward the work

whose power will break them

eventually, and make their name.

I turn everywhere,

I see shapes by which

a holiness declares itself more

and more, as if to be noticed

were all it wants of me. The body,

for example, in a cloud

of mayflies stalled briefly in a light

that passes: now the moon -

now the stars appearing, choir-like,

with a choir’s tendency to make

the soloist at once seem lonelier,

and more complete. I’m not reckless.

I’d comply, if I could. In dream,

there’s a choice: precious freight,

or the barge that carries it,

or the water without which a barge

can at first seem nothing. I choose the water,

I choose with a wisdom that looks effortless

because it is. It’s that kind of dream.

--Carl Phillips

The Life We’ve Made

                                         
                                            See things do come around,

                                            and make sense eventually,

                                            Things do come around,

                                            but some things trouble me

                                                           -Ghost, Kid Cudi

Because tears are a sign of weakness:
we fawn at the sea turtle for shedding
her tears as she buries her eggs to hatch.

How brave, we say, as she drags her body
 across the sand. How lovely
to show warmth in a cold, sad world

 full of death, full of violence.
But the body knows when its about to die.
The body acknowledges when it is the end

and death circles you in small amounts of coziness
until you accept your fate. In a story about passing:
 I found myself standing on the edge of a grave –

 the stale smell of orchids, the metallic scent
of crushed grass, and the sight of a body
encased in a refined wooden box.

 Here, I tell myself
 grief is an ocean we must return to.


--Dominique C. Santos

Life on Loop

Armed with the knowledge that we knew nothing,

we braved the world hopeful; lost but not yet unhappy.

After a midnight drive, we’d have a bottle or six,

with two or three doses or more. We’d sit on the hood

of the truck and whistle until the sun finally rose,

celebrating thoughtless daze—O what I’d give

to relive them again. Like a warning, one day

Jericho said: “Alienation, the point where a human

bonds with anything to make existence bearable—

man’s failure to connect.” He was studying Psychology

in college and was torn between taking medicine or law.

I heard he’s a doctor now specializing in neurology,

and married somewhere in Baltimore. He did alright,

I thought, and I’ll probably never get out of here.

The truth is I go up the hill often. You see, it’s difficult

to want to come down when you’re high up there

all the time. Like an endless loop, in my mind Jericho

is still speeding and I am about to disappear into light.

In my hands I hold the only solace that pacifies

my listless days. I hear nothing. All the rest is noise.