Moments

We travel down most of our life with a broken compass; not sure of what turns we are taking, which pit-stops are actually destinations, and sometimes, what is north or south.

After time passes us by, we look back at the map we left of our footprints, our loves and losses, and we can clearly see the directions we have walked in, and even which forks led us to where we currently reside.

There are those few rare moments, though, when time bends and flows around you; two separate lifetimes raging on either side of a single decision. You resist moving to extend this single moment, knowing that you must abandon the sights and sounds of one trail absolutely, to experience whatever awaits down your chosen path. And so you hold on. Tight. Maybe you try not to breath.

Until you can't out-wait time any longer, and the weight of what you already know you will do carries you into the current of your future, leaving you only a memory of what might have danced and sang and touched you along your untraveled life.

My Favorite Chef

I was joyful when
He walked in—weeks after he disappeared
looking older than I remembered,
pasty,
swollen,
yet smiling like usual

then he shrugged off help
Declaring he came back for pay day,
"Need some cash," followed by
a flippant gesture,
a rough laugh,
and a sticking out tongue,
I couldn’t help but find an empty room
to cry.

Good ole John
loving and talented
kind and funny,
and dealing with
"personal problems"

I know addiction when I see it.

"He’s fine"—
"He’s a big boy"—
"He’s made it this far…"—
"Its just a binge"—

Sure,

But I know some big boy binges don’t end til the grave
So I give him a hug before he walks out the door again.

luck,
lots of love
and wishes,
that's all I could give good ole John.

(written August 16, 2011)

Treadmill

The thumping of my feet in my 5-finger shoes

would’ve embarrassed me if I didn’t have Brand New

drowning out the gym, my feet, the patrons

All but my thoughts it muffled

Those padded along with my feet

This general frustration with life

I can’t seem to shake

I don’t handle the time between change well

I realized while breathing harder

I fight it

but I can’t win

unless I learn patience,

It hasn’t gone well for me in the past,

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, too fast?

Maybe

I surpass the two stopping points I had decided on

in my head

but I’m still not satisfied, not proud of my results

I want my legs to burn hotter

my lungs to strain more, that 170 bpm heart to push harder

Burst?

Maybe

I want more sweat dripping off

my hair, down my forehead

I want to work off this mental discomfort

I haven’t been able to shake with writing, working, thinking

But I stop at 1 point something miles anyway.

It feels good to feel drained

and hot while I stretch my

nose to my knee

But not good enough.

Nothing has felt good enough in awhile now

And I don’t really know why

Or where I went. In between change.

(written August 6, 2011)