lost in the moment

free from the fighting and arguments of shattered domestic bliss

a dawning awareness of landscapes and myself

I sleep alone and cramped

 

snow and fire, cold and warmth, in equal measure

a decade gone, a fathers face mostly forgotten

how can it be so long since i was last at my childhood home?

my family has aged in my absence.

 

christmas

the first family holiday in so long

i have a niece now

and my brothers have grown into gradual men

no more little boys

lost in pirate games

dusty childrens books alone and forgotten

 

there is chocolate and coffee

my mothers cranberry bread

i knew so well and missed

cigars and port

a warm fire, and handels messiah

and faces i once knew

but gradually forgot

 

I could get used to this life

quiet and sleepy and slow

a warm fire, to gradually creep into my bones

much like the memories of childhood

but i'd miss the bookstores

how can one live without books?

and why?

 

the dog that i once carried

home as a pup is fading

grizzled and old

she forgot me

this is a house of death

all who are in it long for unmaking

 

i start to cook again

gourmet and strange to their tongue

the perfect hollandaise

 

the same quiet and soft touch

the same gentle voice

but my mothers face has aged, and with it her hair

now flecked with snow

just as this barren landscape

she still prays for me each night

 

still lost in fancy

no malice, for one who has known so much grief

and lived for so long with only what she needed

but mostly, needed more

 

she is content in piety

content with her ducks and chickens

stinging nettles and leeks

summer beans and winter squash

 

I long for the ocean

I long for the mountains

I long for foreign foods and spice

intoxicating beverages made of rare fruits

 

my father cried a bit when i came home

the only other time i saw him cry

was a long time ago

the suicide of his brother

i was just a boy

 

my father hugged me

such an alien feeling

but one i'd wanted for years

 

my father looks pained most of the time

he has lost most of his teeth

and suffered little strokes

but refuses to seek modern medicine

he still waits for the end

longs for the end

craves the end of it all

late night talk radio

prophets of doom and destruction

conspiracy and misunderstanding

self imposed soothsayers for anyone

that will listen

words and literature

psychobabble

fire and punishment

I wonder as I watch his face

the years and emotions forming a plaster cast

showing the history of the past

and all the little moments of grief and worry

plainly revealing the marks of one who has tried and been beaten

broken by mistakes and regrets

the eyes that only speak in whisper

albeit powerful longing whispers

I wonder if I will one day be him

stuck in his perpetual cup of January

 

i want to live happily free

with the wind on my face

and a smile

i find my gods in the trees

in music and laughter

food and wine

and my lover

rising and falling with me

in the sunlights caress

and in the endless deep waters

 

we talk of divorce

my father has bullet holes in his chest

from his divorce

i have only bitter ashes and regret

a few weeks later i learn my ex-wife has a new lover

i cry softy in the shower

the first time in so long

broken and hopeless

i make focaccia bread

parmesan and roasted garlic

green onions and sundried tomato

i try not to think

i dream of rotten teeth and amputation

i hide myself away

 

 

 

i make my father steak

gorgonzola crisps and browns under the heat

the fat sizzles and fills the room

exciting the primal hunter in me

i stalk deer in the frozen dawn

but i'm never swift enough

 

we drink moonshine in the woods

and smoke awful tobacco the shaved leaf

always on my tongue

i spit the parings into the piss soaked snow

my hands grow numb

we drink moonshine in the woods

 

life is but a measure of instants

the heartbeat of here and now

the memories are what make us

the form of our fathers

and we must wake and work

tirelessly toiling for the dream

the dream of those that have yet to dream

to make a better life

to die, loved and remembered

 

 

winter is now on the cusp of spring

one day i walk out of the house

i had forgot what sunlight felt like

and i build dams in the creek for the ducks

i slowly shape and mold the stream

a gradual malleability

and change its course forever

icy water on my bare, tender feet

the ducks follow me

i find insects and small crustaceans for them

 

I can smell the changes in the air

The birds are now eager

And he hills are touched with tender life

A gradual soft green

 

i take a new lover

she wants to make a new life with me

but i am an apostate

and thus pure sin

her heart is breaking but I see no god in her books

we move on

 

 

the call of the west whispers

and i have to return

a long for dark beer and rain

for late night coffee shops and streetlights

and late night food carts

the anonymity of crowds

 

i am torn between leaving for the life i loved

and getting to know my family again

but i cant stay here

there is nothing but the doctrine of death

and the fear of men in suits with guns

 

i say goodbye

look back once

and fade into the crowded airport

i have new shoes