Unremarkable

My birth was unremarkable
except for the fact I was born
with wings.
Perfectly formed, angelic
in every classical sense.
As I grew, they grew with me.
During adolescence
I gained enough strength
to be able to outstretch them
to their full expanse.
My parents were enthralled,
standing before me,
my wings in feathered white.
I could see tears
fall down the cheeks
of my Mother, my Father
was rapt in his attention.
I bowed my head
and my face flushed red
in embarrassment.
I arched my wings behind me
and let them flap forward
twice, not enough to gain
clearance from the Earth,
but enough to billow wind.
I thought of my childhood
and the embarrassment
of being found out
by other children,
inevitably leading
to showing my wings
to those who could
see, but not comprehend me.
I could no longer hide,
I had to show the world
my true self
even as I struggled
to understand myself.
Doctors were confounded
by me, almost as much
as I was. Theories were
posited, pictures published
in peer reviewed journals
theorizing on the necessary
musculature to make
the impossible possible.
I was always terrified
to attempt flight.
When my Father died
I grieved
and let sorrow fill me
until I was a well
overflowing
with the uncontainable tides.
My Mother cried into my chest
until she could no longer cry
and I held her until
I could no longer hold her.
When she submitted
to a grief filled slumber
I walked outside
to the tree where
my Father would push me
on the swing he made.
I sat until I could no longer sit
and stood beneathe
the beautiful white face
beaming upon me.
My wings stretched out
and grasped the wind.
I could feel them beating
and beating until
at last
the ground became
the world beneathe me
as I soared above it
as Icarus dreamed
but could not realize.
I kissed the moon
and came back home
to the grief
that was waiting.

Real Lives

are neater and more organized.

Real lives are more predictable and financially stable.

Real lives offer healthcare.

Real lives are serious.

Real lives don't have time to waste.

Real lives aren't dead ends.

Real lives are offer

spiritual, emotional, and physical fulfillment.

Real lives are had by others.

Real lives are had by people who are homeowners.

Real lives have marriages and kids.

Real lives don't worry about the rent

or mortgage.

Real lives have tidy gardens.

Real lives have vacations.

Real life? What have I been doing

for so long?

I am listening.

Passing Through

My phone began to ring, it was Will. We had been
pretty good friends through high school but had only
been in sporadic contact since he got married. He was
going to be in town on business for a few days and wanted
to know if we could meet for a drink the following night.
I suggested a bar in downtown called The Black Crow,
it never got so busy in there that you couldn't hear yourself
over other peoples conversations.

We agreed to meet at 8p.m. I arrived a few minutes early
just to make sure we'd get a good booth. The lamp above
the booth was dimmed to ensure there would be just enough
light to see each others faces and hardly anything else. I set
my jacket in the booth and walked over to the bar. "What'll
you be having?" said the bartender. I told him a gin & tonic
and to use something top-shelf. He set the fresh drink on
the counter and I set a ten dollar bill and walked away.

I was stirring my drink when I looked at my watch and
noticed that it was eight. Will walked in and began to scan
the room from the doorway. I raised my arm and he walked
right over. "Christ, it's been years!" he said. "Go get yourself
a drink and then we can catch up." I said. He came back
with a pint and a shot of whiskey, "To catching up," he said
as the stout shot glass and tumbler clinked.

We sat there emptying glasses and filling each other in on
the usual things men of our age have achieved. I told him
I was still single but had been dating around, and that if I
was lucky I was going to be getting a promotion at work
in the next couple of months. I asked him how things had
been with him and Nancy, "Funny you should bring her
up. Have you heard?" "No," I said, "about what?" He
lifted the pint glass and poured the last of its amber down
his throat.

It was strange hearing him say they were getting divorced,
I knew both of them when they first started dating in
high school. We would always hang out as a group with
our other friends. The two of them had always been the
center of that small group. After high school they moved
to the midwest and bought a home. They had their first child
shortly after.

"I let her have the house, it wasn't worth arguing about. I've
moved into an apartment on the other side of town, its actually
close to work for me. I can get there in half the time now."
By then, both of our glasses were empty. We could have
opened a glassware store with the collected empties. "Let me
get us another round," I said. He nodded his head at me as I
slid out of the booth.

I walked back with two pints and two shots of whiskey,
a little bit of the beer that had been peeking near the lip of the
glass spilled over and wet the table. He reached for the whiskey
and held it as steadily as he could. "To better days," I said.
"To better days," he said. "To better days."

Work

The car pulled out slowly 

from behind the off-white building. 

It was in no hurry.

The driver made sure to push

his former passenger

into a shaded corner 

of the back lot. 

The car pulled up to the first

stop sign and made a full stop.

He looked left, then right,

saw no one in either direction.

The speedometer moved up

and evened out at 35mph.

He tuned the radio

to the local country station,

it was the only one in town.

'Cocaine Blues' was on.

He rolled the window down

and enjoyed the breeze

across his face.

Where Falcons Roost

Her name is Claudia and we met

at the bar down the street.

She's German and has been living

here since she was twenty-one.

She knows enough Spanish to get by.

The music and conversations blared.

We leaned in to hear one another,

she squeeze my hand and said

I like you,

no, really

I do. 

She's forty-three.

I said, I hope I see you soon.

She tugged at my beard.

At the end of the day.

The sound of two boys running

echoed loudly through the room

of adults standing in line.

One woman worked the counter.

A mutual impatience filled our lungs.

The boys father told them

to sit down, be quiet.

They did no such thing.

His uniform was as exhausted

as his face. Only empty threats

remained as the children's voices

echoed farther and farther

into the minds of those listening.