Ralph // September 13th 2017.
He was my best friend
and his worst nightmare.
He was unarmed and bent out of shape,
a figure of dark loose cannons
frozen in time, a capsule in glacier waters.
too hot to squeeze, too cool to consume
you were a heart of gold and smashed it into smithereens
the crumbs caked in the tomb and you left me there to dry
dry, dry as the dust of the earth,
I withered into the shell of your poor adolescent mind
the way I could not understand you were the ways I began to live.
You left me, a childhood home ransacked
yet I was still on the clothing line clipped, to bake in the sun.
weeds grew, moths picked at the fabric that is my being
tattered upon my soul I was left to be pulled down
– crumpled into a ball for the head of the homeless;
I was homeless
but homes don’t grow on trees
you were a home but immature on its own
you carved a hole that is the trunk of your heart
and you laid a pillow into it, as if to say
“come on then, lay in the rot
I am your shelter, the rolling stone may find peace
the splinters they dig deep but not intent for hurt,
I am just rotting, rotting, rotten to the core
there is a bed in this grave, it’s all I have but
I made it just for you.
My self neglect is your raft to haven.
the haven I cannot outgrow, placed permanently in my mind
but I have never touched foot upon said land –
I want this haven for you, my precious daughter.”
Yet this death of this tree
has been my demise
despite the growth I would never reached
sitting in the damp cellar that is decaying wood.
And here I am in this world,
step by step, breath by breath,
the rulers and the killers learn,
the lovers and the diggers yearn,
and the stitch that is my heart undos,
undoes. she is undone.
the knit comes unfurled and with this
I am hurled, into another platform,
a dimension unknown.
I am trying to make it on my own,