…let
Time be gentle, this miracle event,
our treasured ideal: our souls observing, our half human hearts, our sincere
artistry: wrappings and boxes, tears and grit, such expense and justice: that
captive smile, our inherited sentiments, our emotional head-fire: as women
gunning, this life so determined, our hassles with deep magnets: at electrical
sockets, this fair majesty, to adore something so little: palming pine trees,
flickering candy-canes, our eldest pictured at distance: this need for
feelings, this want for bonding, as certain sentiments drift into appraisals:
at mother gently, at father jesting, at friends comparing riches: as trying
desperately or dying casually, to sip more than juice: at one pill, or one
disaster, or one bless-ed curse: at black science, at black existence, just
hoping for a brighter future: our aches for Love, our years at Love,
descriptive of attributes: that inner consensus, our outer realities, our
mental barriers: at bipolar 1, or bipolar 2, or something like deep, dark,
expressions: our hearts running, our grannies schizophrenic, or plain feeling
goodness: those moon kisses, those fragile proclivities, our mothers speaking
with force: at patience and courage, responding to subsurface(s), while molding
little Jenny: this playful creature, at times to mercy, while reminding
concerning intentionality: our Buddhist Insistence, fragile and reserved, a bit
withdrawn from spaces….
…watching
our dynasties, consumed with rightness, while cooking a decadent ham: this
thing with pork, so unclean so sweet, our minds rummaging our experiences: this year is better, we’ve purchased
something delicate, we’ve given joy to young Bruce: such adult tension,
needing to give passion, and needing to witness something innocent: our souls
flying, our children a bit sensitive, our Aunts dabbing turkeys: a bit too
much, this oiled reality, or that flight to islands: if but such essence,
pictured in mystic airwaves, forever put to persistence….
…northern
dry winds, eastern sentiments, raspy, ashy flesh: those seconds to insanity,
this soul trying harder, our rewards mostly internal: or fair this beast, as
dying this swimming, at murky, turbid waters: our tadpoles, our leaping
frenzies, our miracle existence: to sense damages, in mere an instance, as so
many possess character quirks: at psychs thinking, if but those skills, while
holding back a great deal: a little Irish tea, a Danish pastry, or an Idaho
chip: at dice in grass, at turns in traffic, at skies our Pacific Coast: at
magazines gazing, at reality pulling tickets, at brochures planning
excitements: our Pete’s Coffee, our hospitality, at eggs with cheese: those
butterflies, those ladybugs, or that hummingbird: to receive a text, something akin
to gentility, a future mother feeling sadness: those beautiful dreams, and needing
marriage, and needing something to believe into: those fragile alliances, so
rich in obligation, where freedom seems to suffocate us: those white flakes,
trickling our carpets, our souls unraveled, unwrapped, and exhausted…in passion
or deaths, those sprawling tendencies, this inching into conversation—our
carols wafting, or Gregorian Chants, or thoughts peering into media beauty: our
screaming patience, our bottom lips, our hanging, dependent, inter-social
expectations: at perfect performance, gazing and driving, or pausing in Malibu:
our intimate Shrine, our seconds at books or beads or trinkets: our deep
remembrance, those favored souls, as now departed: at cocoa and marshmallows, at
cookies with frosting, at little Anny’s attitude: as grandpa evaluates, nudging
grandma, where both are sharing an observation: those petit fires, extinguished
daily, when absent something feels unusual: those families feeling existence,
those fathers feeling proud, where mothers are acting in sequences: those
reliable habits, that reliable confidence, or those sporadic pepper shakers….
