I was just over 12

I was just over 12 when Dad died
Ms. Lapotan, my teacher, said
“So someone you thought would
always be there, won’t be there”

How callus was the king who
upon hearing of a favorite son’s
death in battle said,
“I never thought he was immortal?”

Like a key that hides
in the depths of my mind
as fickle as pleasure
as startling as sadness

all love, like everything else,
leads to farewell
like a name that’s forgotten
when everything I do to bring it back fails

On the road, Joel used to cut off Mack trucks
to hear their angry drivers blow their horns
The sound of Mack truck horns transformed
for him the ordinary into brute aesthetics

After all we’d done to each other
I’d welcome her back for sex
“I didn’t expect to be
turned down,” she said

Pleasures don’t last but
their echoes still sound
in fickle bits that oppress,
taunt and tempt

In a scene of parting it’s always
the person who is not in love that
makes the pretty speeches because
love can’t show itself in speeches

We who think deeply about life
know a great deal but we
never seem to get how anticipated
losses will actually feel

The best way, they say, to be
sought after is to withhold yourself
Try that cold-hearted bluff,
I dare you, when it matters

We don’t much emerge from ourselves
What we know of others we know
through ourselves and what we know
doesn’t always help

Prescient, she could sense the end
like a tangible tale,
like a diamond-like stream
that no one but she could see




-September 11, 2016-