The Worst Pain

“On a scale
Of One to Ten,
How bad does it hurt?
One being no pain,
Ten being the worst pain
You’ve ever felt.”
“Seven,” she said,
As the nurse nodded.
“Seven? Hmm…”
As if that was an apt description.
As if the nurse
Could know
How bad the worst pain was.
Fancy words like “bullet wound”
And “broken heart”
Came to mind.
But honestly,
Ten was Streptococcus B.
Not as bad, she thought.
Different, she thought.

She had eyes that really look at you—
Eyes they wanted to look at them.
Pretty,
Beautiful legs
They always wanted to touch.
Smooth hands always reaching further…
Those pretty eyes cry now.
It doesn’t mean much.
It does not make
The bad dreams go away
“Stop that whining,” she said,
“Dry your face.”
Monsters
Where she once was.
Mirrors show something else:
Prescription labels in her eyes.
They reflect in other people’s
Hardened faces.
As if they could know
How bad her pain was.

The Breakdown

Sometimes it's all too much.
I can't give you what you want.

Run, run, run around.
Swim about but do not drown.

One heart broken, one lesson learned.
A broken heart goes on to break another in return.

Everyone gets a lesson in How To Not Get Hurt.
Really it's a lesson in How To Put You First.

Then learn to shed the bitterness.
Let someone in who might hurt less.

Get ready for the end.
Watch that someone comprehend

That it's an endless circle
With many different ends.

They Took Away The Dog

Davey was a cute kid. He had dimples and wide, alert eyes. His clothes were always simple. He followed directions well. And he didn't do much to draw attention to himself.

Like most boys his age he wore cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. When asked where they came from, the other boys would shrug, but Davey had a story for each one. They ranged from ordinary excuses like skateboarding or jumping off retaining walls to escape giraffes or high-speed chases. Davey had a good imagination.

Draper Street was home to many children, but only one lived in the gray house, and that was Davey. The gray house had missing shingles and grass that reached your knees. Behind the house was a metal chain-link pen that housed a dog. Davey's dog. Pepperjack.

Both Davey and Pepperjack were rarely at the gray house. They roamed Draper Street, aways together. Davey never used a leash. Pepperjack followed him closely wherever he went. When the other kids would pick at Davey's dingy t-shirts or take his skateboard from him, Pepperjack would growl and bare his teeth until Davey said, "Easy boy, it's okay. They're just playing" and laugh it off until the kids moved on and Pepperjack went back to wagging his tail. When the two were together, Davey's bruises seemed a little lighter.

The residents of Draper Street did not like the gray house. They would work for hours, manicuring their perfect green lawns so they could look down the road at the gray house and shake their heads in disapproval. When the fighting and yelling started at the gray house they would hush whatever guests had gathered for the holiday B.B.Q. and listen to the latest dispute. When the flashing lights sped down the road they would congregate at their mailboxes and discuss the details of the events at the exciting, yet still embarrassing, gray house. Davey and Pepperjack would sit on the curb with their heads bowed. Their opinions on the matter were seldom given and rarely asked for.

Often the screaming was accompanied by growls and yelps as Pepperjack was led back to his pen for a few hours. On one of these days Mr. Harper called the animal shelter and three days later the flashing lights took Pepperjack away.

As the summer came to a close the neighborhood saw less and less of Davey. And his smile, like Pepperjack, had gone completely. The marks on his arms and neck seemed to grow darker under the shadow of the small boy's eyes that once held such light.

Pepperjack's new owners called him Rex. Rexy. They had to bring him back a week later. They had a baby. They said every time they went to touch the child, Rexy would growl and stand in their way. He was such a good dog, they said. It's a shame, they said.

The last time the residents of Draper Street saw Davey they were standing in their driveways, leaning on their mailboxes, sitting on their stoops. They watched as the ambulance drove slowly by, carrying Davey along with it. They said it was a broken neck. Must have fallen down the stairs. He was a good boy, they said. It's a shame, they said.

for when your life is falling apart

when your life falls apart
can i fall to pieces beside you?
will we just lay down on the ground
and let the seasons cover us up?
let the fall leaves turn us to mulch
and the winter snow make us invisible.
the weeds will grow over our bodies
from other people's springtime gardens.
and we will live on in the bellies
of sparrows that ate our fruit.
the best flowers will bloom from our chests
in the prettiest colors
and the sweetest flavors.
whole trees will grow from our broken pieces
and they will be the strongest.
so gracefully our limbs would stretch to the heavens
like ballerina hands
reaching out to their partners.
so majestic our trunks would be
like capsules
holding time and rings and beating hearts.
our leaves would be so vibrant
like the spark that lit the fires that burned us up.
people will touch our bark
and they will swear they feel a pulse there.
and no one would ever cut us down.
when we lay on the ground
on what was once soft grass
will you hold my hand?
as our tears flow like rivers
down into our hair
spread out around us
like the petals of a flower,
will you be scared?
when your life falls apart mine will too.
and i'll grow with you from our delicate pieces
into something stronger
but just as beautiful.

Skipping Class

Sometimes
You have to stay in bed all day
And study the face of the person sleeping next to you.
As you watch the sun change the color
Of the room every hour,
You listen to footsteps on floorboards
Of the apartments upstairs
And to the right of you.
They remind you that the world out there is still turning
While in here
The only things turning are your bodies
Under bed covers.
You examine the caterpillars
Crawling on the brow ridges evolution gave him,
Observe how the signs of age are replaced by youth
As he sleeps.
Count the pores,
And the number of hairs
Growing on his chin.
Breathe out,
Breathe in,
Try to synchronize.
Your legs, your arms, your hands
Hold each other.
Try to become one.
Erase the lines.
It's good to skip your morning classes
Sometimes.

To My New Girlfriend

I never saw your handwriting
Before today.
I never even knew
You wrote poetry.
I like the careful curve
Of your "S"
I see beauty there
Like the curve
Of your hip.
And the boxy way
You make your "Y"s
They remind me
Of your perfect teeth.

The letter that
You left me,
It doesn't rhyme.
Not the way most
Love poems do.
You wrote of feeling lost
And seeing opportunities
In tree trunks
When you drive.
I never even knew.

Your poem was beautiful
Like your smile.
And when you said good-bye
It broke my heart.
Tomorrow
I'll bury the pieces with you,
And keep this letter in my chest
Instead.
I'm sorry that you felt this way
Like you couldn't share your poetry
With me.
Your handwriting was beautiful
Like you.

Hope: The Eighth Deadly Sin

I counted the number of times you left when you should have stayed
I kept a tally on my wrist
And each time you came back you had a different face
We all regarded you with hesitation
And wondered at the contents of your chest

Would the blood that ran fresh down my forearm
Be enough to pump your cancerous heart back to health?
I’m bigger now than I was when I was four

Could the three of us fill the void inside your ribcage?
Would we do more this time than we did that day
When the flashing lights took you away while we were sledding?

We perfected the art of knowing when you were about to leave
It’s a skill you’d think you were born with
But I have mastered what others call instinct

Like that time you left on Prom day, riding your motorcycle in the rain
They wouldn’t tell me until after
But in all the pictures my eyes reflect my mother’s pain

The thing about this game is, even when you win, you lose
Each time you left you took pieces of us with you
Tokens of our appreciation that we hoped you’d look back on with affection

Sometimes I felt as if you’d taken my whole heart
I sat on the bathroom floor
Trying to fill the hole with something else

The next time you walk away
I’ll be ready
Maybe it won’t hurt so much when I add another tally to my wrist
And when you’re gone we’ll never say it
But we’ll all hope that we’re missed.