Pen in Motion

Someone else’s memories 

are in my head – 

has to be theirs, 

can’t be mine. 

It’s like I found this 

strange channel 

out there 

in the airways 

and I’m invading 

another brain. 

Right? 

That has to be it. 

There’s no way that was me.

Was I really that 

sad, 

stupid, 

shy, 

simple?  

Did I really make all those mistakes?

No way.

Can’t be me.

Has to be someone else,

and I feel really bad for that person.

“Father” – 

only one letter away 

from “farther.” 

Seems especially fitting now 

since that’s where 

you are – farther – 

away. 

From me, from here, from life. 

It’s not like we’ve ever 

been close, 

even when you were on Earth. 

Sometimes it was okay, 

and sometimes it bugged me to not 

be the one 

who had all the “dad” memories. 

But you were still Dad. 

My dad, by blood, 

and that had to mean something – right?

Plus you were the only one 

I ever had. 

I had some stuff that 

kept me close — 

crooked smile, early gray hair, long legs, 

weird sense of humor, 

and also 52. 

Now you’re farther away than ever, 

but at least you have 

someone to keep you company. 

Father. 

Farther. 

But not always. 

Let’s just pretend 

that nothing ever happened, 

since nothing 

has officially happened anyway. 

At least not on your end. 

It’s all me. 

I’m the one who noticed you 

and let myself think 

about the possibility of anything 

more than this 

pre-friend thing we have 

right now. 

Sure I want the friend part, 

but I also want more. 

Looking at you 

makes me think about that 

and I can’t help it. 

But right now, 

I’m ready to just say uncle 

and be done – 

because it’s also reminding me 

of those old scars 

that I can usually not think about 

too much. 

I have enough of those 

and right now, 

I’m just a little too scared 

of accumulating more. 

I don’t even know how to start, 

or where to start,

or even if starting is the 

thing to do. 

People always say to begin 

at the beginning, 

but I’m still trying to find that first

set or tracks.

I know it sounds like I’m rambling, 

but maybe that’s how we 

work this stuff out. 

Maybe we have to unravel our brain 

to locate all the knots. 

Maybe we need to just pick a direction 

and follow to the bloody end. 

Or rather, 

bloody beginning. 

Sometimes we have to go backwards  

before we can move forward. 

So, where was I?

I don’t even know how to start, 

or where to start,

or even if starting is the 

thing to do. 

People always say to begin 

at the beginning, 

but I’m still trying to find that first

set or tracks.

I know it sounds like I’m rambling, 

but maybe that’s how we 

work this stuff out. 

Maybe we have to unravel our brain 

to locate all the knots. 

Maybe we need to just pick a direction 

and follow to the bloody end. 

Or rather, 

bloody beginning. 

Sometimes we have to go backwards  

before we can move forward. 

So, where was I?

What’s that I see – 

in the corner of the mirror, 

when I look just right, 

when the lights are turned down low 

and I’m not too busy thinking 

about how complicated my life is these days. 

If I don’t blink or squint, 

I can make it out – 

hunched and twisted, like maybe Rumpelstiltskin 

or some other creature 

lurking in the origins of old fairy tales.  

I can feel it sometimes, 

breathing on my neck, ready to pounce – 

but then, 

when I glance just so 

and don’t turn out all the lights, 

it shrinks back 

just enough, 

until I pass another mirror.

Sometimes things happen — 

that’s what we say when it’s too complicated, 

or painful, 

or petty, 

or messy to explain 

and we just want to shrug it off, 

even though 

we know that isn’t happening 

anytime soon. 

Because things happen — 

like when I married the wrong man 

who bullied me 

into 

       the 

             ground 

and never thought he spoke unkindly. 

Or when I let that person 

break my heart over and over 

and over, 

like I’m not china. 

Or when the first of two monsters 

took something from me and left only scars. 

But hey – things happen. 

Yep — things.

Dear old post,
I’m deleting you today –
as in no more,
all gone, gonzo, good-bye forever,
sending you into the abyss
with the others.
You can all commiserate together over
your doomed fate
while you give me the stink eye.
I want to say that it’s nothing personal, but it is.
I don’t want to see you pop up anymore.
No more reminders of memories I want to forget
in the first place.
I know you’re probably judging me,
thinking that I should
“own my words”.
Whoever came up with that jargon
either never said anything regrettable
or has made so many mistakes
that he/she turned bad lemons into worse lemonade.
Misery loves company.
But anywho –
I won’t say thanks because it wasn’t a good time,
then or now.
Enjoy Valhalla, or wherever you end up.