taking care

alone. in my truck.
i watch the rain collect on the windshield
distorting the view into a kaleidoscope of muted hues.
more beautiful than drab
but more drab than a crystal clear windshield
on a sunny day at the park.

and then i think.
of course.
that sunny days at the park do happen
but not often. and not without their own issues.
like bee stings and sunburns
or smiling so hard your face hurts.

and then i think.
what it would mean to take care of myself.
and instantly i feel not understood
and isolated. because i can't give up
the one comfort i have.
the few links i have to my past
and the sunny days that get my by.

i'll never feel her arms around me again and i'll never see her eyes
and i'll never get good advise, or bad advise, or advise i don't want to hear
because she's gone.
and its not her fault. and it's not mine. but she is still gone.

and the memories are not gone
of us sneaking away together
to eat at wendy's buffet
or her making me try the surprisingly good combo
of tortilla chips and butterscotch pudding.

and payday candy bars
and york peppermint patties
and la choy out of the can
and shamrock shakes
but not so often...
and chocolate chips on a spoon with peanut butter
more often than not.

and i don't know how
to take care of myself
despite my infinite knowledge of
calories and fat grams and carbohydrates
and how the body works
and why I'm so fucking fat.
despite my knowledge that food is fuel
and eating to live is different than living to eat

despite my overwhelmingly excellent
memory when it comes to how many calories and fat grams
are in any given item
like and ounce of stilton with lemon zest
weighing in at only 95 calories and 6 grams of fat

i don't know how because
nothing else brings me as close to her
or other hers
who left me before.

So I sacrifice one part of me to save another.
And I could lie, but I know I'll do it again, and again, and again.
Because there's only one sense left that I can still connect with
and even the fear of heart disease, diabetes & stroke
doesn't come close to the fear
of leaving their love behind.

the rain is falling down
and today i don't feel like eating
and my tears roll down my face again
and i remember last night
and how sweet it felt
when she understood my pain
if nothing else

thanksgiving

i don't suppose we were ever the type of family
who held hands and said grace while dad carved the turkey
but then maybe we were, but without saying grace
and usually with only mom carving the meat
but still the contrast between then and now is glaring and cold
because the we did sit at a table, and pass everything around
not buffet style with the meijer sticker still on the pie
now it's just a bunch of us
family, i guess, but so awkwardly coming together
because we have to twice a year
turkey once, ham twice, & pie all around
no prayers or matching sweaters, no fine wine or slabs of brie
but theres faygo and doritos and lots of other things
for us to eat on paper plates
scarfing while perched on the couch arm
or standing in the doorway
we try to chat, or reconnect, or mingle
one attempt after another falling just a tad flat
everyone a little uncomfortable and waiting for it to be over
we draw names for Christmas, eat, eat, eat a little more
stuff it all in
and pretend to be thankful for it all

sneaking pumkin pie
out onto the back porch
so I can eat it all alone
i see my nephew there with an empty coolwhip bowl
and coolwhip on his face
and i pretend once again
that it's normal to be hiding while you eat something bad
and it's no big deal that he's gonna catch up with me
if he doesn't stop, before he's 12
but his pain is the same and i get it
i can see it in his tiny eyes
so akward. so hungry. so not ok.
i get this, so... i say "hey dude, whats up" and let it go
as he dropps the bowl behind the deck and I eat
my slice of pie
'hows school?" i ask, and he shrugs
while a moment of silence hangs in the air
"its okay" he says finally "we had cookies yesterday"
"yeah," i said "So did we.. at work I mean."
he smiles, laughs
and then we both walk back inside

bright as light

maybe
just maybe
little shit doesn't matter
like socks on the floor or the fruit flies that just won't die
maybe everythign really is okay
maybe its fine to feel lost and alone sometimes, and warm and cozy sometimes, too
maybe television and movies and billboards
have warped us into believing that life should be retouced
all blemishes removied, and saturation increased til it pops just right
shot from an angle to fool the eye
blown out images of flawless faces & and perfect pink lips
that don't really exsist
maybe life isn't suppose to be as bright as light all the time
maybe we're suppose to notice the beauty in the shadows

Serenade for change.

Last week there was the warm and windy day. It was one unexpected day that stood out against all the others. I don't know which one it was but I know that the sky was a perfect sort of blue, and that I'll never forget the goodness of the sweet-tempered wind. It was blowing softly out of the southwest, and I can still feel it on my skin, ruffling my hair, and caressing me into a calm and easy stillness. Sitting in my truck in the parking lot, I watched first as it gently coaxed the last yellow leaves off my favorite tree. There was a tenderness not often seen in a wind. It would tug a little on the leaves and the tree would hold tight, fighting against the force. Once the wind would die down, the tree would let go, releasing the leaves to float to the ground. Nestling down for a quick lunch time nap, it came to me much like it came to the tree. It rushed over me all at once, like a long forgotten memory, "let your leaves drop, let them gooo" it whispered as it soothed, "once again the spring will come." Over and over It whispered it's song to me, a hundred times in a perfect melody.