and the frame had pink gloved hands, green and pink (white 70's) sneakers chewed at the toes,
mangled and majestic,
it stood stooped and clumsy awkward,
but still supporting itself proudly with tribute to the endowment stored within.
and inside its sweet iconic embrace was the little boy, bald head and Dumbo ears,
cupcake icing smudged across his boyish lips,
goofy and half mischievous glee scrolled across tender features-
like the undercurrent of colorful candy shops with unicorn horn rainbow swirl lollipops-
complemented by the buffalo t-shirt.
and the eyes were the same,
still penetrating at such a young age.
Later, there are eyes like Bibles in the ancient ruins, converging and manifesting origin as she swears she will not let him lose faith in himself, ever. Stale popcorn like simple pleasures, the blood of Christ like living room floor promises, thriving in the light of your spirit and the life of your essence.
"Issachar is one tough donkey
crouching beneath the corrals,
When he saw how good the place was,
how pleasant the country,
He gave up his freedom
and went to work as a slave.
I wait in hope of your salvation, God.
Gad will be attacked by bandits,
but he will trip them up.
Asher will become famous for rich foods,
candies and sweets fit for kings.
Naphtali is a deer running free
that gives birth to lovely fawns.
May the blessings of your father
exceed the blessings of the ancient mountains,
surpass the delights of the eternal hills,
May they rest on the head of Joseph,
on the brow of the one consecrated among his brothers.
Benjamin is a ravenous wolf,
all day he gorges on his kill,
at evening divides what's left over....
Joseph threw himself on his father, wept over him, and kissed him."
Genesis 49.16-50
It's funny, the things we forget when we become too proud.
And
(No use crying over)
wine spilled...
(but they still did)
Over her,
and suddenly it was upon him as well,
and the pages were rolling with the waves of the purity of past moments
that are held balanced between two palms outstretched, exposed and naked,
there is nothing secular about the way your lips seek mine out in reverence, between shadows and the sun's last fading rays.
Two slots in the ice cube try were replete with watery sustenance, and there are gunshot fireworks on the horizon, like bombs falling in the distance, as the little girl with pigtails and the young boy in denim suspenders held hands and walked until the end of the earth was upon them. His heart was heavy and hers was thump-thumping furiously as she suddenly sensed his hidden tribulation, as the earth shattered from its outskirts inwards, explosives descending to splinter fate as they lit the hillsides with broken yet newly blossomed faith and highlighted the small children's darkening, freckled skin...devotion bleeding shard-bits of the allegiance it had been simmering in. The passing cars were whispering hints of street rain like they did in the early summer when porch lights were still meaningful enough to remember, when the warm oil-soaked strands of Yucca branches called out across the foreign lands to lure in strangers from the past. Sirens squalled in the far-off as God spoke through her for the first time. They cried together, and they loved one another, and the Universe collapsed inwards as the lights of the city skyline sizzled and fizzled out, disappearing with puff-puff-puffs of air (breathing in, and out, slow and steady). And yet, in the darkness, their eyes still sparkled.
Frozen wine bottles and giving trees were not quite enough for me,
but I will hold your hand no matter how dim the candles flicker,
and when all else ceases mobility I will swallow the disquiet until I begin to tremble and cannot contain the movement of your soul,
then I will explode and scatter (fear existing but abating)
all over and upon your every waking moment
like the realization that clouds can burst while still propagating.
And when the morning comes the sickness will be in her, stout, having sucked it from the martyr's skin while he slept and subconsciously slipped out of, shed the sloughed shell of struggle.
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