Skip to main content

The Finality of Goodbye- Vandalism Publication


The Finality of Goodbye

Brought to his knees,
He slumped,
Sinking lower onto
The overused,
Overturned table.
Gasping for air,
Sobs snuck past his lips.
6’4 reduced
To a wide eyed boy
Clutching
For a hand
Yearning
For a mom’s attention.

She might’ve seen him,
I can’t say for sure.
For her eyes remained shut
And her mouth solemn.
As he waited
Tears spilled slowly
From a grown man’s eye
And a child’s heart.

His counterpart 
Stands at full mast
Stock-still
Stone-faced.
The days of toothy grins
And mock-arm wrestling
Left behind,
Locked away.
His biggest fan
And first coach
Has left him
Without a plan
Or play at hand.

She’s still cheering,
I’m almost certain.
On some days,
If you listen real well
And stay real quiet,
The sounds of her buoyant
Cheers float up
Echoes meeting our ears.

The nightgown
Rests so softly upon
Her brittle collar bone.
The light lilac
Bringing out the skin tone
I’d envied for ages.
So warm, freckled,
Sun-filled,
So many hot afternoons at the ballpark.

Breaking through the barrier
I cross the threshold,
Covering the floor between
Me and her.
A regular exchange
I’d done so many times
As I left
For the night
For school
For work
A simple see you later.

I stiffly ease into the area .
Mechanically, I look down.
Peace.
My mind at war with my body.
I reach for her.
Lips pressing upon her icy cheek,
Choked, cold,
Foreign.

This is new.

Goodbye, mom.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Kitchen

         The phone would ring, and off would go my mother, around the corner, leaving a trail of flour dust as she waltzed towards the future conversation. Knowing fair well that my mother was a talker, I had it down to a science of how many drive-by’s I could fit in before I’d get caught, as I swept the kitchen for potential hazards on my way to the cookie dough. One, massive, partially melted, white plastic bowl contained the goods, and as a child, it was my duty to get a taste. My mother, being the retired Seattle Police detective that she was, must have had eyes in the back of her head, and probably the sides too, for how quickly she sensed a disturbance. So, between my young, light feet, and her eagle eyes, we had a friendly competition of family cops and robbers anytime cookies were in the making.             The counter laid strewn with various sizes of bowls, measuring cups, teaspoons, tablespoons...

One Day It Might Not Be Us Anymore

One Day It Might Not Be Us Anymore   The rampant ash storm That had been stirring for well over a week   Finally settled onto their cheeks Merging with the dirt of days past They now existed in a grey-scale of told time. Sodden skin blended sweat and soot Shading faces Like smoke smothers the sun As the end to long days approach Smiles of vivacious white teeth erupt The only pieces left untarnished By the chaos that fire brings ------------------------------------------ ‘Fire is hot’ we joke on the line Something we’re all glaringly aware of But hope to never truly experience Our own form of hell Or feel the fear of   Last resort deployments   Gasping for air in hopes to hold our lungs over   Until the wall of flames that closes in finally passes by The charred countryside spit shrapnel At the crew scrambling past Chasing emerging embers   And strewn debris of molten wood Flames dance across r...