Boosha

My clock reads 4:01 AM.
Six hours before the Honda
arrives, bearing my father
With the difficulty of seeing his mother
Difficult not because of who she is
But because she has been for so long
And he doesn't want it to end
One could sing her praises
And ignore the faults
But she wouldn't let you
One could feel that she felt her 90th
Was such a fuss, at first
Before the waves of love
Wore down her long built defenses
But her heart has room for us all
Even down here, two generations away
She loves even the ones, like me, who arrived
Not at birth, like most, but through marriage
She loves us all, even though
none of us had a picture perfect life
and neither did she
She was in grade school when the war ended
Her kids were at the end of the boom
She's seen men on the moon
She's seen the nation change around her
She's been addicted, and cured
And known pain as an old friend
She's seen
A husband shoot himself
A son lost
And still, she refused to quit
Because we needed her
And she needed us

Gonna Walk

Eight years I ran
Full tilt
Nose to stone,
Brain taxed, straining
Through breakups and falls
It was the paper that mattered
The program
Then, that spring came
More than a hundred and twenty earned
And that at a three
Married
In debt
Sick, incurably
Still made it to the finish line
Waiting in line, standing
Hot, sweating in black
Square hat holding in the heat
Halfway in, I stumbled and fell
But I was gonna walk
Even if I had to crawl
I made it sound like a joke
But, I was serious
I would have crossed the stage
With legs and hands bleeding
Eighteen years since my last chance
I was not missing this one
Nothing ans no one
would have stopped me

I think you knew
I think you felt the same
You earned it as much as I had
And I was proud to be there with you

Hiding away

A year has gone by, almost
Trying to hide
Like a child in a game
Breathing quiet in a stuffy closet
Friends racing around
Hoping both to be found
and not
The only sound the blood rushing
Trying not to laugh
not to cry out
not to give away where one is
Yet craving the moment the door opens
And 'It' is standing there, laughing
Saying, "Found you!"
But this is a different game
We are adults now, with lives
And I am not hiding
from my friends, or my love
I am not in a closet, under a table, behind the bed
I am not crouched, waiting to be discovered
Because I am hiding
not from others
but from the world itself
and myself

Tugboat

Sometimes, I need a tugboat.

I am a cruise ship,
One prop dead, dragging in the water,
other at no more than half speed
So many docks, so many rocks

Snarl

A pup, brought up to value love
Fed on seeing it in the eyes
Watered with the tenderness inherent
Bedded down and comfortable

Yet when the pup grew strong and tall,
Going out to seek the familiar warmth
Found one after another
Spiked collar, tight against the skin

Inward curling spikes to train the pup
Food infested with worms
Foul water
And a cold bed

Over time, the pup
Began to become accustomed
to the evil world
Living in it, but not becoming it

A snarl on the lips
Even bared teeth from time to time
But never a bite.
Never a rip to the throat

Until, one day, after so many abuses
One found the pup, skinny
tired
with a snarl upon his lips

She present him with good food
clean water
warm bedding
and more

After so much abuse
The pup did not recognize
the feast before him
Seeing worms where there were no worms

Even in the face of kindness,
secretly feared the spiked collar
he knew would come
But hope had not be beaten from him

And so, he existed on the knifes edge
Waiting to fall to abuse or to the desperate hope
of love and kindness
Seeing the stink of the first, and the aroma of the second

Years upon years
Good food, good water
Yet, the fear remained
The snarl softened, but did not leave

A sickness grew
Within him
And the kindness she showed
He finally let the snarl fade

Even now, the fear echos
Through his mind
But, for once,
His heart does not want to run.

Frozen

Being frozen can be comfortable, if cold
Being aware of the outside flowing past
Can't touch, don't want to
Safe and static

Until the fingers ache again to move, to do
The muscles beg to move again, despite the cold comfort

Oh, but the inertia, moving and not
Punch a hole or an immovable post

Peacemaker

The peacemaker stands
With all the various ribbons from all the various directions
They tug and pull, some with sharp edges
his hands seep with wounds, some fresh, some not
the ribbons are metal and silk

Sometimes, the peacemaker
is held steady by the pull
And sometimes
he has to pull back to keep from falling over

But what of the ribbons he lets go?