Depression
Perhaps he felt alone or trapped,
life saver deflating,
sails full of holes
white capped memoirs cresting well over his head,
adrift on an endless journey,
too painful to live.
Imagine the maelstrom.
Whirlpool of confusions,
his shattered heart slowing
brain wildly spinning out of control,
regretful rodent - tunneling
the cavities of his mind,
bloated, ringing, pounding
a great migraine of tortured sounds.
No escape. No escape.
The musty suffocation of a matted down pillow
cramming duck feathers inside his throat.
Silly, actually,
to think about him at all,
with the body there,
disfigured, stiff, twitching aftershocks
loosely swinging from the rattle, rattle, snap chain
each time the garage door went up.
And for a moment's blink I saw him,
sweaty mess, limp,
purple ligature cut deep into his throat,
left sneaker barely clinging
to the last stitch of black cotton sock,
a great soggy pendulum of wasted hours
come resting to one final tick-tock.
I can almost hear the chimes.
First Day
Squeezed into a plastic chair,
built for an inquisition billed as higher learning,
pensively gnawing on a HB pencil,
sudden chill of air-conditioning
like the remnant cool of a snow cone
slides down my spine,
each vertebrae tensing, shifting,
fidgety feet keeping tempo with the tick-tick-tock
minutes edging towards the rim of start up.
The prof enters.
She looks pleasant enough.
Arms officiously swinging,
wisdom bursting forth from a oversized leather handbag,
fingers reaching for the security of a podium
and course notes that divide us.
She's new at this too.
That's comforting.
Or is it?
To know that the lump in my dry throat,
swells twice as round in hers.
Eyes dart, sweaty forehead,
a momentary frenzy plagues the room,
that subtle quaver as she begins,
"Let's start with attendance."
.and why not?
Once we get to know one another,
it's all down hill from there.
Heirlooms & Sawdust
In the musty half shadow of attic light,
next to that weather beaten
rocking horse that grand dad carved,
the years lay dormant,
beholding to no one,
their rich history discarded
beneath layers of sawdust.
A yellowed letter hints at romance,
now swollen with mold,
its edges parched by the afternoon
stretching each hour
to spread its golden malaise on to twilight.
A cross and chain that grandma always wore,
clings to the matted, tear stained fur
of a sad-eyed teddy bear.
Only he remembers the storefront of dreams,
and scant desire to escape into the night,
the hope that new tomorrows would arrive
faster than each forgotten yesterday.
He sits atop a pile of linens,
scented in moth balls and even now,
the subtle hint of peppermint
from Christmases as old as Father Time.
A prom dress, a picture frame,
some nylons from the war,
their rigid stripes a wrinkled mess,
dated knickers and one varsity pin
that grand dad pricked through grandma soft lace collar
behind the old cider mill after school.
A life time twice removed from the hours,
that no one cares to remember any more,
or tip their hats, nod and smile and wink
in cotton candied delight,
for these simpler moments
caught under cords of buckling wood,
and the shriek of a wrecking ball.
I suppose the goodbyes have already been said.
She & The Sea
She sat cross-legged on a white wicker couch,
the bewitching spray of sea salt tickling her nose,
and could almost realize his strong silhouette
against the kaleidoscope of sunset,
darting from the velvet beach head;
young and full of male pride,
turning in haughty stride to wave her goodbye,
and a "see you later, after my swim."
But that was long ago,
before she knew that he wasn't coming home.
One thunderous moan from that ancient tide,
fastening the clasp on her memory box.
For it was too painful to think of him even now,
wrapped in her luring tides,
and happily so at first,
before clawing into a sandy bottom with bloody fingers,
and airless gasps,
praying, dreaming, pleading for the chance
to glean one last flicker of light from her kitchen window.
Damn it all! She hated the sea.
Death of a Scientist
One low gasp -
then two,
alerted him to the attack.
Wheezing thrash,
unable to draw breath in,
between half swallows
of slow congealing phlegm.
Twin pedestals,
buckling at the knee,
a thunderous timber,
split in two lightning thrusts.
Eyes drooping,
lips tinted Robin-egg blue,
rosy-cheeked bloom
swept to chalk,
panic distilled in echoes.
"Help! Somebody!
Is there no one to help my husband?!"
He veered off into heaven,
beckoning Galileo's swoop from the stars,
but saw only coal and the devil,
and died - a broken man,
with one eternal reminder,
and the cold dead hand of the universe,
closing his heart to her forever.
