The car slipped

down 95 south

at the eggshell break

of dusk.

 

I couldn’t stop screaming.

She kept driving,

pulling over often

so I could get out

and scream at the sun

because it wasn’t there;

so I could hunch over

into my pain

my belly.

 

And off we’d go again.

 

I punched at the windshield

with my lips

that were on fire

with the rest of me.

 

My father,

my dear sweet father,

half Army Colonel,

half angel,

met us at their apartment in Waltham.

 

The burning sun in my gut grew into a gruesome dawn.

 

He embraced me and off we were to Saint Elizabeth’s.

I didn’t know it was possible to scream so loud,

to hate your body so much,

to be so open to the lights above the barren trees…

 

Two Doctors. They are middle eastern

and I can’t answer them-

hell doesn’t have thin walls.

 

Finally, when I ached for the end,

for the center of me to finally stop spinning,

I found a softness in my mouth and said it.

 

“Thank You, Jesus, for healing me.”

I smiled, and the pain ran away.

 

One doctor stood there and stared at me for five wordless minutes.

 

The other? He shook his head and left the room to find my father.

And every time the burning apple in my center would start to flare,

I’d say those words again, and smile, knowing

 

that Jesus is carrying this cross for me.

 

I

I saw January

and the sleep around him

glowed like embers.

I think he lives at aisle ten,

at the Trader Joe’s

in Portland Maine.

He tries to keep things warm

but falls apart crying,

knowing he is who he is.

 

He smelled like apples waiting to be born.

 

I know a woman

who can’t escape June;

she bought her heart

at a thrift store

owned by a diminutive

Asian woman.

The Asian woman

smiles every time

Miss June leaves,

knowing her heart will break

because she will fall in love with Mister January.

 

And then there’s someone else I know

and I hate her.

She doesn’t understand that words

are just pointers,

that the Universe and the people in it

are described by words

but are not made of them.

 

She flings them

at you

like empty soda cans,

demanding her five cents

after she gives you her ten.

 

And I hate her.

 

I know nothing. And that’s the same I knew as when I was born

I’ve come home.

 

 

 

 

 

There is an order

and I am part of it

and I will always be a part of it,

no more or less than the Snickers

candy bar wrapper,

making love to the sidewalk

in it’s own way.

 

That is all I know.

 

 

 

And I have faith,
that my boots are worth wearin’.

And I have faith
that I’ve lived a life of carin’.

And I have faith.

And I have faith.

I’ve given more than taken.

And I have faith
that I’ve been forgiven,
not forgotten.

And I faith.
Oh, I have faith.

The hurts that I’ve caused
the scabs are gone,
no need for gauze.

and I have faith

That I’ve learned how to love.

I have faith,
I’ve been guided from above.

Oh……..

Oh………

And I have faith
that the sweet
face of the sky,
milky white and still
loved me in the beginning
and will carry me over the next hill.

I have faith,

faith

faith………

You know you can tell

your sister;

you always could tell her

the the things you hid under your bed

from your parents.

 

Still, you shake at the thought

of letting the words

jump from your lips.

 

You’d tell you’re dad

but, of course,

you know he couldn’t handle it.

 

You’d tell your mother

but she could always read you;

she already knows the truth.

 

It’s late July

and the window to your left

reveals a pumpkin red moon.

 

Your hand shakes

as you grip the phone-

the truth is sweating out of you.

 

The couch, you know the couch,

the thirty dollar one you let your

folks give you

is speaking to you.

 

“Just call her, this has to be done.

Sorry, had to throw in my two cents.”

 

You look under the couch seat

and find five dollars in quarters

and a handfull of memories.

 

Your fingers rebel

and you dial your sister’s number.

 

“How are hun?”

 

You pause, staring at the bleeding moon.

 

“I… I just… wanted you to know how much I love you.”

Standing by the sea,

I’d hear the wind

blow into itself

like a perfectly

wrapped gift.

 

Things would come so easily

to other kids who weren’t like me

and treated life

the way life treated them.

 

A certain current would

flow through their lives

while I stood alone,

behind a wall of ice

the ships off the shore-

well, who knows where

they’re goin’.

 

The college degrees,

the flashy romances,

kept their distance from me

despite my advances.

 

And the wind

seemed to know

more about

where to go

than I did.

 

I’d end up alone

on a tiny throne

in front of a t.v.

but what it’s showin’

can’t fix what I got.

 

I knew I was bright

with lofty ideas

but I wasn’t like the wind-

oh, where am I goin’?

 

My life became

an unkempt room

stuffed with sleep

I’d sleep til noon-

 

Dreams of cocaine

and the slow sad flow

of blood in my veins —

a one-colored

rainbow.

 

I envy the wind.

I envy the wind.

 

But I

am a pair of

untied shoes

bearing bad news

with each step.

 

I remember that gift

I felt as a child-

the wind blowing

into itself, so wild.

But at least…

it knows where it’s goin’.

 

Oh who, please tell me,

who can untie the wind?

some sucker like me,

who’s full of sin?

I just

wanna know…..

oh how to be guided.

 

So if I die

or if I live

at least I’ll know

how to give

and when.

 

so breeze,

so spirit,

so the almighty sky,

I submit to your orchestra

and here’s the reason why-

 

I’ve always been

a step behind

with nothing here

to lead this blind

man’s walkin’.

 

So on my knees

in  candlelight,

I whisper to you God,

I whisper to you Christ,

to take me.

 

Enfold me in

the winds of your love,

and do with me

as you would the wind.