Lisa was my fiance, she died on August 17, 2000, killed by a drunk driver.
Lisa’s Smile
Lisa’s smile was warm and kind. Her golden eyes sparkled and always shone. She loved the country, but liked the city too. We’d walk for miles on country paths where she named each secret place we found. Her kiss was electric, gentle yet firm. Her hands on my face, in my hair, on my shoulders. She’d hold me close and gently sway as we shared our hearts, our smiles and tears.
‘Always and forever,’ she’d say each day. She’d confide in me her thoughts and dreams. She told me once that she’d never thought a man like me existed in this world. How when we met, our eyes had locked and my smile had conveyed a world at peace. How I’d said a simple hello, and didn’t use a “line” on her to pick her up. I’d made a cunning joke, an observation of life, a conclusion she’d just reached herself as well. And then, she said, I listened and heard with unwavering gaze as she spoke. How she felt like the center of my universe and that I hung on her every word.
She’d looked at me when I first came through the door at her work, and thought, ‘ nope, not my type,’ but changed her mind quickly after we spoke. She confessed her heart untouched at first, but over time found her thoughts dwelling on my words and kindness. My size, my mass, at first to her a distraction, a disappointment. Then she’d learned that she could lean on me and feel secure in the solidness of my shoulders. I had become her rock, her anchor in a stormy sea of changing humanity.
She said too, that I’d shown her the nature of mankind, how everyone is so concerned about themselves and trying to make a good impression. How what we see is often enough an illusion colored by our own past experiences. She shared too, her wonder and awe at my forgiving nature, and contemplated deeply my assertion that anger and hate directed outward, has an equal weight inward that eats away our souls like a cancer.
We discussed the nature of God, and the difference between cats and dogs. She loved the small creatures of the forest and would try and rescue anything that she came across that was hurt or lost. She understood though too, that the way of nature included death and pain. That in the circle of life, one thing often had to die to make room for new life. And, in spite of my sorrow, she taught me this lesson well.
As she lived, she died. Actively seeking to help a fallen friend. Her kindness and love are sorely missed. No one since has touched me as she has. I knew her heart and cherished her love, and in her memory continue in kindness to all creatures. And where she now lies, new flowers grow and meadow birds nest and sing. There’s a fresh salt breeze of island seas, and the land she inhabits is now blessed. And I am blessed, be sure of this, for having known her so brief a time. For having lived and loved and for having been kissed by an angels lips.
Madness
I in madness spin and drink
green images of fall turned leaves
and the dog's brown bark
course and rough
and waxy leaves grow
and sprout from my goldfish
in his arid and sandy kennel
below me, the sky
and above, the ground, falling away.
Silver flames with blue and green
dance on the barren rocks, slate, I think.
I pick up a boulder, too big for my hand
and squeeze it into powder between my weak fingers.
A blue haired girl
winks at me with her yellow/blue eyes
and bares her teeth
between shapely thighs.
Random Thoughts
Thinking,
Life goes on,
It was a good day,
I think.
I like the rain,
the warmth.
Someone cut the cord,
My comfy womb,
it's closed to me now.
No longer can I hear that voice,
or feel the heartbeat,
My mother is gone.
New voices,
new faces and scents,
I am quiet and ponder this,
I learn the words.
Now I know,
Everything is explained,
but nothing really makes sense.
I ask the shining ones,
but they say nothing...
just point and nod.
My Father
I took my imagined son
to a farmhouse doorway
from where we watched
my father coax life from the land.
His sweaty glance beheld us there,
his son, and the dream proginy in repose.
I lift my hand to beckon,
and signal the readiness of lunch
and his empty cozy chair.
I speak to that unborn son.
"This is where your grandfather
wrestled life from the cool earth,
where his cattle lowed and crops grew."
We share laughter there, and dreams.
"This is where your grandfather prayed.
He travelled from that soil
into your arms,
and you will carry him thus
to your children, and they to theirs.
The scent of the earth was always heavy on him.
The scent of diesel and dust."
His lunch done, he would recline
and nap to gather strength
for his second foray into the long summer day.
So many mornings
I heard him rise before first light,
and the herded cattle would herald his passage
through that early morning darkness.
all this is passed now...
But I want you to remember.
He is a good man,
He worked hard on the land
and it bore fruit for him.
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