Lightning Flash

You used to eat everything with your fingers.

It grossed me out,

and now it is one of the things I remember most about you.

I’ve often thought, since you’ve been gone,

that your inner rebel led you everywhere

with no heed for how you ended up.

I hated her and loved her at the same time.

She was hard and dangerous and mean.

She was funny, adventurous and loyal.

I never knew if we became friends because you liked me,

or because your rebel recognized that no one else did.

That day in the hallway of my new reservation high school,

I was caught in transition, so lost I could barely speak,

and you stepped up, told your friend to leave me alone,

after she started lobbing insults my way from her comfortable spot on the rez, in her school, surrounded by her buddies.

Maybe you did that because you felt bad for me

or maybe you did it simply because no one thought you would.

I didn’t care, I was glad to be left alone.

You still didn’t speak to me for a year after that.

And then for two years you almost killed me every other day

with your promise to be my friend forever.

That night we left Montana….

the biggest thunderstorm I’d ever seen slashed lightning across the sky,

exposing miles of prairie in brilliant flashes

surrounding our tiny car pulled over into a ditch.

The hail pelted the windshield

and as we raced to cover it with a blanket

For a moment, after that clap of thunder that was so loud I felt it in my rain soaked bones,

we looked across at each other’s young faces

and each of us felt strong enough to leave,

to weather the storm.

The day I heard you died,

I sat in the glare of the August sun

sobbing while my husband cut my hair.

That inner rebel, with her natural tendency to resist

took you places you could never come back from

and I miss hearing you laugh.

 

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This is my submission for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night 114, a place where poetry is shared and enjoyed by people from all over the world!  Stop by and submit or read!

 

Dreams

My dreams are full of the same things.

Winding roads that lead from town to an old familiar spot in the woods.

Rivers or streams that cut into the earth alongside our path,

sometimes under because we are soaring.

Always, there is water and we don’t like to feel so small in the lakes or oceans where

we can’t even fathom a depth but we know SOMETHING is down there.

We don’t talk about the time that SOMETHING grabbed our ankle, pulled us slowly and silently down, down, down….

and we knew we were dying while the light shrank to darkness

but not even bubbles came out when we opened our mouths to scream.

The real terror was that everything was just so calm and quiet.

We seem to be always travelling for a reason that evades exact definition.

Urgency usually prevails and sometimes it’s not only urgent, but a panic.

It seems that always we are DOING, always trying.

Elevators are stuck,

or they are not and we’re up and down the levels

of a building that is a hotel with a pool, a school, a house for haunting or all three.

And we’ve always been there before, even if we haven’t.

Playgrounds of my home town

in my dreams, they are empty,

but still there,

in all the places they’re supposed to be

and hadn’t ever been.

And always, there is more than just me.

I am never alone.

There is always we.

Beginning of an End or Vice Versa

There really wasn’t ever a chance.

And when we ask why,

there is never really any answer.

There wasn’t any template to follow.

No procedure

or policy.

No administrative remedy.

No established protocol.

Nothing arrived in the form of a well thought out plan.

Everything just happened.

And the ramparts they fell

And they’re falling still.

Consequences are always there,

lying heavily on shoulders.

Heaped in dark corners.

Current and ancient at the same time.

Consequences are obscure shifts in the light,

only caught in the corners of some people’s eyes,

where they are trapped and draw bags

onto  faces of those who hold them so dear.

And some people say

the answer is to measure and weigh.

Carefully consider.

Mark the outcome.

Here,

and there,

and there,

and here.

Still the questions persist.

What does it mean when?

How does it change if?

Why do we not know?

When all the while,

there’s a consequence,

under a veil that can never be lifted.

But we insist

on having an end

before we’ve even started.