Things I would like to tell you

i admit, i was hurried
tumbled into,
and now, i am terrified of
the eyes that look into mine. eyes that were mine
o mine.

grandma's favorite rocking chair
light cherrywood, stiff bindings. i was five then,
we were once all so small. but i was elsewhere,
a different country, and my uncles they said that
i could not possibly finish the beer in the flask.
i admit, i wanted to prove them wrong.

when the world tells you things you are not,
all the more frustrating when you become
so close, to these things.

i became drunk, drunk on the pride of having
drunk, their o so intimate jeers, i was so hurried,
and i was so small lying in grandma's rocking chair,
while the world rocked away. the grape vine outside never looked
more beautiful, or the cherry blossoms, like the ducks, were all
talking, about the beer, about me; so gullible, so weak.
One says, like in a lulluby, "i am not. i am not."

taking a chance never felt so close to this, being,
this now. i felt there was structure, that if i fell off that
chair, it would hurt. i never knew
there would only be falling.

©hRj2007

Graspings #7

at many times i wanted to say no to him, with his hands cupped...
sooner or later the water will leak through the cracks between his fingers,
so i watch it slowly vanish
and thank him
for the gesture.

at this time in the morning i often feel an ache; somewhere, someone is calling me.
in my dreams, always, there is adventure. a friend dreamt i was with child.
what sort of wicked adventure is this? i find myself
watching her sleep and
wondering if the years had repeated itself,
if that old dream repositioned her bright translucent skin to
glance at me from another body.

my tenants' floors are filled with human waste. there are
unfamiliar names with unfamiliar arms. "mister Sparxx told us to call you m'am"
and little children's voices in the background. that life seems
to elude me. some sort of groveling, maybe glorious experience.
i pray you lord, some times i do
feel so far away.

life is a waiting game, and ive never been good at that, nor
have i had the courage to lay all the chips on the table. maybe
im just the same, but
from a different, muddier corner. maybe, all that crying
was me, with the babies, trying to hold
all that water with my hands,
offering it to you, to you, and you.

And you refusing, you, hesitating...

©hRj2007