Where the Rocks Kiss the Sea and Calm Waves Embrace All
Standing on rocky midnight shore, the sound of the Sound beckoned his return to where he began decades ago; his wish, to bookend his life where ancient kinship first drew breath.
He intended to breathe saltwater and snuff-out all that rotten progress.
He’d just wade into the frigid current until the chill melted into warmth, freeing him of the dread of empathy among the specter of cosmic apathy.
Inhaling brine should sever the unending sinewave bouncing between two extremes.
Knee-deep within numbing, moonlit, black-reflected muck, the cold needles through, forcing his breath shallow. Waist-deep, and the current beckons him forward to rejoin infinity and nothingness.
He begins surrendering to uncompromising fate he’s chosen when far away an interrupted cry of a drowning woman breaks him from indulgence. He summons reserve to drag her back to the rocks.
“You’re welcome,” smiled the mermaid he “saved”.
***
never understood her,
wish I could’ve felt I was
good-enough for her,
the most popular girl in school,
the top-of-the-class, with class to boot,
the most smartest, the biggest-hearted,
the most valedictorian-charted,
I valued her diction; her glory from afar,
like the twinkle of the stars in her eyes,
she spied me in the lower-brackets
perched in the basement of my thought-lint,
never meant to breathe the same air,
but she shared her atmosphere,
she grabbed my booty in the hallway
with a blue-wink,
she made me think that she was fruity
and all the way loony,
cause she was same age as me,
but she carried her energy
like a Motown boomer; like she’d sooner
rub elbows with Gladys, Ross, and ‘em,
and it was madness that she’d
waste her chi on me
you see, my bracket’s in the basement,
it consists of only me,
indeed, her tactics out-of-phase meant
insistence was her sweet-tea
but can’t you see? Her judgment’s clouded
like an imperfected diamond,
she thinks I’m a find, a rare beautiful kind
of boy deserving her time, that alone
among dissenting voices of mine
should disqualify her from sanity
and sound choices refined
you see, my bracket’s in the basement,
it consists of only me,
indeed, her tactics out-of-phase sent
persistence to how we be
my syndrome hooked right in-place;
I see her and stutter,
her skin tone looked like it
tasted like peanut butter,
I wish my vocabulary
could’ve carried verbs that varied
from “uhh” and “uhm”, but she
carried our conversing beyond the peepers
and pursed-lips of
bemused green-eyed gatekeepers
I never made a move from the basement,
but the placement of her groove made me
reassess the fallacy of classes
from behind coke-bottle glasses
where she said my eyes
were too pretty to be so sad
and her smiles evaporated fog,
eradicated smog, changed air currents,
and lent me change in perspective,
and her elective had one smile
specifically for me
you see, my bracket was in the basement,
it consisted of only me, but indeed,
her tactics, out-of-phase,
lent resistance to my reality
***
telling our kids
the kid-friendly parts
of our tale from the
puppet-show all the way
to their smiles, living
a lifetime of smiles
that would certainly had been
had my childish grip
on my fragile vulnerability
matched your Black Girl
Magical openness
within the moment
of you opening to me
in front of God,
blue sky, glaring sun,
and leering bystanders.
But we both know that
rehearsal and reality
live two separate lives.
That’s not how it went down.
Oh, I did scoff though.
It’s what I did best when
looking for coiled demons
and ghouls hunting for
a pound of free flesh.
In every corner
of every heart,
I found shadows
of cynical weather
whether under blue sky
or not.
Pinning down demons
I thought I saw,
I scoffed and told you
it depended on if
you could tell me
what kind of fool you thought I was,
turning on my heel
to the sound of whoops and ahhs,
content at ripping out your heart
in front of our peers
before you had access to mine.
But as I peeked over my shoulder,
expecting your smirking derision,
instead, there was only the specter
of sincere aftermath, and tears
willing themselves not to fall.
That was ages ago,
but even now,
when I think of you,
I wish I hadn’t blocked
the gift you’d given us.
I wish I said the lines
and kissed you
like I so desperately
wanted.
I wish our last moments
together
were so much more than that;
more than just one of many
terrible rehearsals.
***
You’re a pain in my ass; sassy so-and-so.
Atypical opening as odes go, I know.
But your fiery spirit serves you well thus far,
and as far as you’ve come,
who the hell knows where you’ll go?
I’m going to level with you here, dearest one;
this wasn’t supposed to have rhyme or meter.
In fact, I almost wrote another clichéd line
– about catching the stars, as if!
I mean, I know, right? – but
you’ve been earthbound
for a quarter-century now,
so no more fairy tales.
You’re as tough as I raised you, tougher
than I envisioned, and I’m relieved for it.
You’re tempered for a cruel world, and yet
you refuse to let it make you unkind.
And while I’d love to take all the credit,
like I knew the masterpiece of you
was hidden in the marble all along,
you are the artist of your destiny;
I’m just pleased to see who you are
and who you will become.
I say again, as it is a good catchphrase;
you’re a pain in my ass; sassy so-and-so,
and I’m lucky to have you around, I know,
wherever you go, I’ll be with you always.
Oh, and please rinse your dishes.
I’m your dad; I’m not your maid.
***
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 