in your absence
there is nothing but silence
i wait for your return
but the dead air is thick
choking back the guilt
that bubbles up
with work done
nothing left to do but wait
you will pour in
a waterfall cacophony of sound
take every waking moment
to be your exuberant selves
and i will feel a Saturday
that belongs to us
not me
i sent the words
(there were clicks–
not yours)
i spent the time
(there were chips–
dark chocolate)
you didn’t respond
you couldn’t read
the words too thick
the chips already melted
you left them there for me
and i placed new words
under the light
words they shared in your absence
it was strange
having you walk in like that
not quite sure
if you should use your own words
or listen to ours
you waited
i wrote
(i always do)
you flipped off the light
that let them see
what i had written
in your usual manner
you ad-libbed
they laughed their usual laughs
but i managed to
feel less small
knowing they shared words with me
you stood in the back
video on
asking me a favor
(the chocolate
sitting in a back room
unrequested)
i took your center cut
put it in the microwave
and melted it for a perfect sundae
you won’t say a word
you will never know
just how warm
how perfectly cold
it tasted as i took my words
and swallowed them
handwritten prices
on the grocery list
categorizing ingredients,
a spouse’s scrupulous pen
(cocoa: $2.76
chocolate chips: $2.38
it goes on)
several summer nightmares,
a bitter blog post,
and the hollowness
that can only come
with the absence of words
their bright faces
and innocent remarks,
the commentary carried
down the corridor,
begging for more
the bland baked cakes
from someone’s mix
hand in hand with
Friday’s sacred sweet desire
all the times
that can’t be added up
with calculators
of when they made a day,
saved a life,
or satisfied a fix
the small hands
that crack the eggs,
the small voice
that recites the recipe,
reminding me
once again
that from first bite
to last,
i am giving a taste
of chocolate
with an immeasurable price.
if words could work
i could buy the right food
food to feed them
food to nurture the Earth
rather than strip her of
her natural beauty
if words would work
we could respond yes
throw our three-dollar-dinner
into the wastebasket
and forget the one week and
ten dollars left till payday
if words could cure
the tears would be smiles
and they could have
the ice cream cones of their dreams
instead of the cheap flavorless popsicles
that melt before they can get a taste
of the world with my words.
with closed eyes we see the world
blanketed by senseless screens
absent of real words
imagery we can’t understand
with closed eyes the world sees us
hidden behind doors
lost from human contact
connections we can’t define
with closed eyes we see the world
painted with desire
immersed in ourselves
love we cannot celebrate
it could be the Spanish-English mix
from the nanny’s mouth as we sat in the zoo,
my thoughts of the last day of summer
slipping from my hands
quicker than the tears
my baby cried to sleep with,
or the anger inside
that someone would pay another
for everything i love the most.
it could be the defriending,
his cold absence of words in my presence,
or her emphatic insistence
that eight months is enough
time with her baby
when a thousand years
would not satiate me.
it could be the story i love
coming to a bittersweet end,
or the small voices
absent from my home
on the one day when
i need them most.
but i will never be quite able
to define what haunts me.
the rain beats down
as we stand in hushed surprise
rush to the endless line of cars
where we wait wait wait
always an adventure
the stars beat down
on a tent without poles
dirt as thick as cream on skins
fires that won’t start
always an adventure
the sun beats down
on a misnavigating device
streets clogged with crowds
underground cracks of hellish heat
always an adventure
my soul beats down
on two jobs, three kids
bills piling like paper mountains
parents who miss what i have:
always an adventure
you will never say
the words that would pop
right out like a sucker gone sour
from the bitterness of my mouth.
instead you click shut the phone,
slide it into your pocket
of quiet reservations,
and tell him
with all the ease of a southern gentleman,
You’re coming home with us
and before the dawn has crept in,
before you’ve taken the girls to swimming,
even before balloon animals conjure
Spanish vocabulary from their mouths,
you remind me again
why
in so few words
yet so many gallant reactions
you are mine,
i am yours.
just like the balloon animals
you have hidden in your suitcase
to the enthralled delight
of three learning-Spanish girls,
you are a rainbow of surprises
whose colors we cannot wait to discover.
you are in the audience
blinded by spotlights
unable to see or hear
the shuffling of feet
the building of sets
the sewing of costumes
the work behind
darkly hidden velvet
if you could blink
if you could block out the light
you might for one moment
see the tiny fingers
working so hard
wrapping around the rope
pulling the curtain back
for a show incomparable
to the one on stage.
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