I Will Die at the Right Time
At this rate, there will be nothing left for my children. Too much
falling outside the body. A two-headed llama with no head
belonging to me.
all to them
unintentionally by them
Losing ability to see value by which aging matters. Watching
bone-slow deterioration. Using my frame to anchor relations.
Trying to deduce life’s meaning–endgame research.
Sowing seeds of pain in backward gardens planted with wrinkling flesh,
falling from porous skeletons.
fire, grace, motion, lightning
without remorse from each sunrise.
The silver-edge moon no longer sensual,
goading their last warm breaths.
Not doing this to my flesh and blood.
I will die at the right time.
acrylic painting done a few years ago
Raven Hall Pool
She tells me childhood stories as pool water laps our mouths. Her words grow flippers and soar to the steel beams above. A lifeguard duo with prismatic baby blues. Cerulean so clear, their angular faces disappear beneath water. Both brothers displaying the rock-hard swagger of overtaxed muscles. Gluteus sauntering along Raven Hall’s perimeter causes much chlorinated gulping. Mouth-to-mouth the prize.
I understand water is the best place for many reasons. Below the surface you imagine heaven. This pool is old. Its white edges gray. The ceiling is missing a few tiles where words can get trapped. If the roof spoke, it would have a lisp. Yet the water sparkles like her stories. Here all are weightless. I’m thankful the world is mostly water. In salt-aqua things older than the universe continue on. I’m sure she cherished Raven Hall Pool for the same reason. And those lifeguard brothers. She dated the younger and was infatuated with the older. Not difficult imagining two handsome lifeguards all the way down to their bulging confidence. And her first kiss.
The water temperature is perfect. Never over-chlorinated. I keep my eyes open while swimming beneath. No goggles or cap, not ready for those. When we lift our legs up the steel rungs, it’s with grateful exhaustion. Until the next time. And there will be more swimming sessions. Many more I pray. To hear stories and watch her words grow flippers. This pool is worn, but in the underwater silences a dream makes its best escape. The world is mostly water. Imagine, all those words swimming to the sky.
ghosted background photo you see is my gorgeous mother showing off that movie star smile of hers!❤️