Jacque's Toast

I harness power, at whose expense? Going here, there, I will rest my bones. We sing of Weeping willows, and we live weeping tears Uncertain of our future path, yet why not seizing it? I wonder if we delight in just imagining something greater Out there to make us feel Better about the present Truly the way My mind is Overrun, like streams flowing Together before streets were Paved and all just Ran in the street Floating beds floating heads come through me Consume me Breathe me for this is What is now Torch and burn But this is now Some want it darker, but not everyone. The flame will extinguish regardless But we don’t need to fuel the flame To hasten its death. A million candles burn to memorialize My shame, hineni hineni I’m not ready, my lord I have much work to do, please. Spare me on this go around, And I’ll come with peacefully next time. I’ll walk hand in hand, we Can whistle if you’d like. You’ve giv...

The Wooden Spoon Is there unspoken tension that simmers constantly On a low flame? The flame is so low that the sauce Barely needs a stir. The wooden spoon lays idly by, waiting for the chance To disrupt and soothe the simmering boils, But nobody speaks to it, nor of it. The spoon lays idly by knowing the inevitable. Either the flame goes out, or the sauce will burn.

Spotlight on the girl in the crosswalk walking quickly. The yellow streetlight washing her scarf and suitcase in cozy light, somehow still cozy despite the sub-freezing temperatures. The way she is walking will make her cross my path in around 20 seconds. Choose your own adventure, I chose mine. I choose to walk to my right more than I really had to. This way, we don’t have to cross paths.

I Cry I cry at my own death because I know I cannot see others cry for me.  I cry for the fatal car accident at the rainy intersection in front of the food emporium and gas station. I cry because now she cannot. I cry for the fires that burn burn and burn. The fires that rage and consume land by the thousand.  The son posting flyers with the face of his mother - has anyone seen her? The son cannot cry because he holds onto hope. So I cry for him.  Maybe if I break myself we can fit our broken edges together. But I know that even with the strongest glue, two broken shards fitted together is no match for one whole. So I cry for your death because I know you won’t be whole again. And your family won’t be whole again, and I won’t be whole again.

Pay attention to what's next. Look beyond your immediate satisfaction. Think past this morning, this evening, this night. Or don't. You don't have to. It's inconvenient, after all. Better to demand your needs are met immediately. Any solution that requires longer than immediately simply will not do. It's important, after all. It's important because you're important. And you're important because - wait hold on hold on hold on. Please hold. Every moment, every day of your life. This is not your life. I don't cry tears in the middle of the night because you are so important. I don't always think about my life because you are so important. Some day the sky will open up and shine the light onto your shadows. The light will shine onto the puddle of my tears, heating and steaming until they evaporate and my name will be called, before your name. I don't know if you can imagine this day. Because you are so important, after all. But I...

If I should die, let it be with song and with dance. Let the leaves swirl down, waltzing toward the waters. Let the rivers twirl, round round in welcome. If I should die, let it be with joy and with grace. Let those who love yearn to love deeper, let grief and anguish remain silent bystanders.  If I should die, let it be quietly and discreetly. Let the world continue to turn, let fires continue to burn. If I should die, let it be with life and with vigor. Let our lips melt as one in song, in dance, let our eyes lock in love, beauty, surrender. If I should die, let it be with praise and with thanks. Let me die from a life lived with wonders worth praising,  let me die from a life lived with hands worth holding.

Remember last night the house drafty and cold. You sat huddled in a coat Oh, remember last night before we were Old. Last night the candles stayed lit. Dancing twirling shadows on the wall Tickling with warmth, a deceiving glow dripping down in puddles of hot wax. Old fire burning and Gone. The house drafty and cold and I can’t help remembering last night, Before we were old. September 28 2018