We were here


Wrapped in swelling summer heat listening to the hum of a fan. We are finding stars above… up..way up.. past the speed of light and into other lives.

I am torn in two halves. The smell of you lingers, the feel of you mixes with breath and blood, bone and soul. The grass has eyes and ears, feet and folly. The tree is giggling. The sky is breathing through the chest of the two young Robins picking up their feet prancing toward the sprinkler. Everyone is thirsty, the vine and the worm, the child and the calf, you and I. I am in love with you, every piece of your dirt and drama.

We all miss our mothers and long for her touch, her sound, that way she made us sleepy.

We are longing for kindness. You smother me in grief.

I see her face now. She stands defiant, feet bound, eyes an ancient yellow green radiating the light of thousands of years and she is gazing past. She will be buried alive. They say she tastes better when she dies that way. She does not choose how she lives or dies only how she feels about it. I  am singing to her; soon it will be over and she will rest with me in this bed of love and longing. We are crying for some sacred sweetness.

The dirt is cracked and broken. The seeds once hopeful for arrival are dead now, hardened kernels. Water is everywhere in bottles but none for the soil. Water and food have a price growing more dear and remote. There are so many silent witnesses. I curl them around me and through me.. I can still feel them. They have no words because none will do. 

Can you remember the day you counted ants all afternoon and felt the fish swimming past your ankles? Do you ever think about the time you discovered you and I and all of the living are made of stardust and you stood under the night sky with awe shining through you begging it to pull you to the moon for a long night kiss? You wondered what the birds felt when they flew?

That was all before you went to church and swallowed that wine that made you cry with its bitterness and taught you to let your brothers and sisters fend for themselves, taught you that you had to use your power over those you once loved. Now you cry and can’t remember why.

You don’t want to hear the tears–it’s just too depressing.

The Afghan mother stirs it black and dabs the opium. She will stop crying soon now. The child will die. This is a shorter road than the long bloat and blindness of starvation. She will be buried like the bird, dead like the seed of hope in a dry Earth.

My bed is full now, the birds are prancing, the grass is living, the seeds are growing and the mother and child are nestled together beside me. We are breathing sky and watering the world in tears and the blood of mothers and grandmothers, babies and birds and all the living now gone. 

We don’t give a damn about your money. It’s water we want and food we need. It’s life, just life and nothing more we are dreaming of.

We all miss our mothers. We are longing for kindness…we are dying for it.

I am torn in two halves stitched together. The fan is humming, the stars are sliding away. How long can love hold us here? I will go with you wherever it takes us. I will dry up and drown in the joy and pain of loving you.

One day even the sky will forget us but we were still here.



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