on loss
there is a crack.
it was never there before
it was not there yesterday
yesterday, I was whole
today, there is a hole
a gap
where once there was togetherness
now there are sides
this side, over here.
that side, over there.
in the middle, part is missing.
imagined differences become reality
defined by absence
absence, separation, cracks.
as we leave each other, we redefine ourselves anew
becoming less than what we were together
and yet
more than what we were before.
our memories become Kintsugi lacquer,
healing our broken cracks, making us stronger, and beautiful.
you may not return
(that side, over there)
and yet
your golden memories fill the cracks in me
making me beautiful
and stronger.
Warm, Bright Big Sister and Pale, Dark Onee-Sama (by Dusk ShAde)
Big Sister and Onee-Sama are different.
Big Sister's eyes are brown.
Warm, Bright Brown.
Brown like savored chocolates.
Brown like the logs in the fireplace.
Brown like a wooden cottage by the seaside beside a beloved forest, where fond memories are made.
Onee-Sama's eyes are green.
Pale, Dark Green.
Green so dark it could be mistaken for grey, or even white.
Green like spearmints on chilly day.
Green like distant glaciers made from antiseptic.
Big Sister’s hair is red.
Warm, Bright Red.
Red like the roaring fireplace.
Red like the glowing sunrise.
Red like blushing cheeks.
Onee-Sama’s hair is brown.
Pale, Dark Brown.
Brown like the trees of the dark forest.
Brown like rusting bloodstains.
Brown like the cover of a book.
Big Sister likes chocolate.
Warm, Bright Chocolate.
Chocolate like Valentine’s Day.
Chocolate that brightens your mood.
Chocolate that warms you inside.
Onee-Sama likes mint.
Pale, Dark Mint.
Mint that chills your mouth.
Mint that overpowers your nose and makes your eyes water.
Mint like an approaching blizzard.
Big Sister feels warm.
Warm, Bright Warmth.
Warm like the cozy rug in front of the fireplace.
Warm like hot chocolate after playing in the snow.
Warm like a loving embrace.
Onee-Sama feels cold.
Pale, Dark Cold.
Cold like a steel blade at your throat.
Cold like a corpse hidden within a blizzard.
Cold like the dark space between stars.
Big Sister is smart.
Warm, Bright Smarts.
Smart like the top student.
Smart like a role model.
Smart like the tutor who helps you every step of the way.
Onee-Sama is intelligent.
Pale, Dark Intelligence.
Intelligent like the military commander.
Intelligent like the tyrant who has studied both Machieavelli and Vetinari.
Intelligent like a machine, a machine that learns, incorporates, and applies within seconds.
Big Sister is pretty.
Warm, Bright Pretty.
Pretty like a sunset along the beach.
Pretty like a full moon on a starry night.
Pretty like fireworks among city lights.
Onee-Sama is beautiful.
Pale, Dark Beauty.
Beautiful like exploding stars reflected by the approaching glacier.
Beautiful like the ornate, but still deadly blade lunging for your throat.
Beautiful like the minty hurricane, headed straight for you.
Big Sister is energetic.
Warm, Bright Energy.
Energetic like the child in a candy store.
Energetic like the peppy grade-school teacher, ready for her students.
Energetic like the exuberant party-goer.
Onee-Sama is calm.
Pale, Dark Calm.
Calm like the coiled serpent.
Calm like the courtroom judge.
Calm like the hangman.
Big Sister has lots of friends.
Warm, Bright Friends.
Friends that laugh along with her.
Friends that invite her to their parties.
Friends that always want to hang out with her, as though they have nothing else they would rather do.
Onee-Sama has a few friends.
Pale, Dark Friends.
Friends that fight with her.
Friends that have other things to do.
Friends that always have her back.
Big Sister is peaceful.
Warm, Bright Peace.
Peace that begets itself.
Peace that smiles and cheers “Let’s be friends!”.
Peaceful like drinking chocolate flavoured tea.
Onee-Sama is violent.
Pale, Dark Violence.
Violence, not for its own sake, but for the sake of peace.
Violence of honour and reason, of law and order.
Violence like the hangman’s noose.
Big Sister is kind.
Warm, Bright Kindness.
Kind like the other cheek.
Kind like the outstretched hand.
Kind like the offered band-aid.
Onee-Sama is just.
Pale, Dark Justice.
Just like the judge in the courtroom.
Just like the verdict of Guilty or Not Guilty.
Just like the hangman’s noose.
Big Sister’s smiles are bright.
Warm, Bright Brightness.
Bright like innocence.
Bright like naiveté.
Bright like children’s laughter in the sunshine.
Onee-Sama’s smiles are tired.
Pale, Dark Tiredness.
Tired like the honest hangman, knowing full well what they’re doing and enjoying none of it.
Tired like the soldier, who’s only wish is for the fighting to stop.
Tired like the father, who knows their child must one day grow up.
Big Sister likes to hug me.
Warm, Bright Hugs.
Hugs in times of joy.
Hugs in times of sadness.
Hugs in times of fright.
Onee-Sama likes to hug me.
Pale, Dark Hugs.
Hugs when I’ve done a good job.
Hugs when I’ve had a bad day.
Hugs whenever she feels like hugging me.
Big Sister loves me.
Warm, Bright Love.
Love for a favoured sibling.
Love for life, and for the happiness of others.
Love for my laughter.
Onee-Sama loves me.
Pale, Dark Love.
Love from a mother to a child.
Love for life, and it's ending.
Love for my smile.
My favourite flavour is mint-chocolate, because it reminds me both of Big Sister and of Onee-Sama.
I love my Warm, Bright Big Sister and my Pale, Dark Onee-Sama.
peak time
I've seen these hills before, in memories of tales and half-remembered dreams of ages gone.
A snow-capped snippet of a textbook childhood, immensely tall from shouldered vantage, urging my father faster, higher.
The son becomes the father, but we arrive too late for mine to ride my shoulders. The mountains do not care.
The lives of men flash like ants upon their upthrust shoulders, the full moon strobing eons as these rocks ascend the vault of heaven.
I gaze upon these mountains now, my soul upthrust as any jagged crag. My eyes take in each perfect peak, freckled here and there with snow.
To reach the top! To touch those peaks! My heartbeat pounds as fast as moons by mountain time. Surely, to ascend such beauty must be to caress the crinkled edge of heaven.
Don’t Eat Me, Big Dinosaurus!
Way, way back in the Jurassic day,
all the dinosaurs would come out and play!
But when they get hungry, if you're in their way,
You have to yell really loud as you bravely say:
Don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
I don't want to be punctured and porous!
I'll take my bones and hide in the forest
so you don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
The biggest teeth has the tyrannosaurus,
He'll eat you up with a gigantic roar-us
unless you sing him a rousing chorus
of don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
Don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
I don't want to be punctured and porous!
I'll take my bones and hide in the forest
so you don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
The velociraptor is fast and fierce,
with tongue to taste and teeth to pierce!
She'll eat up your lips and your nose and your earce
unless you sing with great jumps and jeers:
Don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
I don't want to be punctured and porous!
I'll take my bones and hide in the forest
so you don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
Another big mouth is the Allosaur,
no fun at parties, he's a terrible bore!
but when you go to sleep you'd better not snore
or he'll hear and he'll eat you - unless you can roar:
Don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
I don't want to be punctured and porous!
I'll take my bones and hide in the forest
so you don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
The Stegosaur is an herbivore,
and Triceratops loves belly flops!
With great big beaks and their chubby cheeks
We sing them ballads about salads!
Don't eat me, big herbivore!
I'm not a leafy green vegetable store!
I'll hide my bones and you'll hear me roar:
Don't eat me, big herbivore!
Yeah, don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
I don't want to be punctured and porous!
I'll take my bones and hide in the forest
so you don't eat me, big dinosaurus!
Moon Blooms
Sunlight, brilliant bright, is staggering to see,
The moonlight, though, is just enough - after all, there's only me.
The sun's reflection like a mirror, so cold and pale and full,
the moon hangs heavy, like the snow. I can't resist its pull.
Out here, the snow is crisp and cold, the night's a starry dance!
My feet are freezing, though, and I wish I'd worn my pants.
The moonlight shining on the snow makes glitter diamond gems
And the shadows of the trees are huge, just branches and bent stems.
The leaves are gone, the trees are bare, as naked as can be -
Something that I never thought I'd have in common with a tree!
Mom and Dad might yell and shout if they saw my empty bed...
"Good night, my love, and stay inside," was the last thing that they said.
Snow angels are just crazy eights while laying on the ground.
They keep me warm while working out, and I don't make a sound.
But I'm chilly now and really should, I guess, get back to bed.
I've heard the cold can make you sleep, and sleep until you're dead.
But all these angels! I've made art! Oh hey - I need to pee.
So before I go I'll sign my name. That way they'll know that it was me.
Forever@Always.Love
Back in 1997, my wife grew tired of my bashing her country music tastes and challenged me to pen a country song myself, if I thought it was so easy. I apologize for the results. I still hear it as a duet with Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton.
I turned on my computer just like I do every day -
Kick-start to the power and the video display.
I'm waiting for an e-mail from my baby in LA,
Hoping that her little message finds its way.
I logged in and checked my mail -
This waiting had my heart in jail;
I sure hoped we'd be together soon.
My server said I had new stuff -
I couldn’t download fast enough -
But what I read there made me sadder than a loon:
She wrote:
Do you really need me underneath the Texas moon?
Do you really need me later? Do you really need me soon?
Mister, I must tell you, before to Texas I do roam,
I need to know where your love's coming from.
My heart skipped a mighty beat
I was glued right to my seat
and I felt there, as I read that, I could cry.
My fingers flew right to the keys
to put her nervous heart at ease
and I typed out, through my tears, this swift reply:
I wrote:
I don't wish for you on every star - just the ones up in the sky
I don't need you every day - just the ones that end in 'Y'
My heart burns for you like stars in Heaven up above
And I'm sending you this e-mail from: Forever@always.love!
Forever@always.love!
You're the one girl that I'm dreaming of!
No virtual girlfriends,
No diamonds and pearl friends,
Do for me what you do, my Love.
Well that’s pretty much just how it went,
and I felt much better when it was sent,
and sure to check reply return receipt.
So I knew she’d read it right away,
and I wondered what her reply would say,
and more, what she would say, when next we’d meet.
She wrote:
Our hearts are both like stars above, they burn with equal heat,
And since you really need me, I’ll be moving from my street,
I’ll pack up my computer, and off from LA I will shove,
I’ll see you very soon, my dear: Forever@always.love!
Forever@always.love!
You're the only one I'm dreaming of!
No diamonds and pearl friends,
No Wide Web and World friends,
Do for me what you do, my Love.
You know I really need you underneath this Texas moon!
I really need you now my love; I really need you soon!
My heart burns for you like stars in Heaven up above!
I’ll see you very soon, my dear: Forever@always.love!
Forever@always.love!
You're the only one I'm dreaming of!
No diamonds and pearl friends,
No Wide Web and World friends,
Do for me what you do, my Love.
Forever@always.love!
Right Now Once More
When she was young, she'd listen to the radio
Waitin' for her favorite song
When it played, she'd sing along.
When I was young, I'd listen to the radio
Waitin' to hear her
When she came on, I'd sing along
Just like she did.
In your youth, a few weeks ago, you've never had to wait
to hear your favorite song
to hear your favorite artist
to sing along
It's never yesterday.
It's not even today.
It's always Right Now.
And Right Now Once More.
And once more after that.
Right. Fucking. Now.
We're doing 75 miles an hour down the highway and a song pops into your head. You, Digital Native, are only a few clicks of your radio dial away from every song ever recorded.
"What's a radio? Why do they call it a dial?"
That's when we get to the part
Where you're breakin' my heart.
Shooby doo lang lay, kid.
Shooby doo lang lay.
A Walk in the Morning
The sunrise is muted, subdued, as if the day is embarrassed about dawning.
A patch of purple-blue there, a patch up of almost-pink here.
Through a sky studded with bruises, the sun makes its slow way to the horizon.
The frogs and crickets have no shame, but the birds are oddly silent, as though they know some unholy secret about the morning. With their silence, they become complicit in its guilt.
As I pause, I realize that my steps have been careful, deliberate, making as little noise as I can. I, too, am guilty. I would rather not discuss it, this black and blue sky, this oh-god-it's-you-again dawn. I'd rather turn away, talk about something else.
The crickets are without blame; the frogs have no cause to hide from the sun's justice.
The birds hold their song, unwilling to pipe up the dawn a moment before they have to.
A dog barks, and I think my god, what have we done?
open to interpretation
Yes.
But
then again,
No.
I mean, perhaps, on Saturday, if it's fine.
But it probably won't be.
Soon, though. Very soon. Promise.
And no phones this time. For once. For me? Thank you.
Everything tastes like metal. Joy, pain, despair, delight - all acrid, chewing tinfoil with iron teeth, a mercurial tongue clucking its disappointment in my choices.
So, yeah, sure, why not? Yes.
Ish...
But probably no.