to Daniel with care

to Daniel with care

I finished my journal-

a year of thought in a back pocket.

Its end is the dusting of February flakes.

I leave footprints.

In this and the next,

both bound in black and seeped with blue.

Blue so dark it's mismatched black.

Because I stare out windows

to diamonds covered in snow.

I welcome the cold.

It's familiar and comforting,

but I want you to see.

We are but manifested emotions

and I am most assuredly freezing.

Support

Support

to Bill

the shaking of fingers over obsidian keys

reminds me of my inadequacies

my caffeinated jitter is not the result of the soda,

but of the jolt of emotion I felt when my phone vibrated six times.

his call to me was a heightened emotion

that gave credence to the bull ring attached unnaturally to his nose.

Reds surrounding, my steam was all but visible when I began to sob.

You were a hug.

You were blurred jade eyes full of unwarranted  concern.

You were not understanding but understanding I need.

I need, when bloodshot eyes confuse city lights for fireflies,

to feel something is still solid- the proper combination of atoms

making mass. That something is solid, and carrying

me through the mess.

my heart tapped me on my shoulder and whispered in my ear

which is how the night started

in a room across from home.

The K's tried to win a round

from a stance of plain unknowing,

which meant nothing to the seriousness

of their opponents calm throwing.

I cared not to play

save for Daniel's carefree dancing

and E and B were just a fit

of amusing teammate fighting.

Fighting. I am fighting

an undefined category of more adult feeling.

I know that I am not unhappy,

but I do not know, concer to Spanish,

the feeling that we define as happy.

But if this is what it is,

feeling free to display feeling.

Then, I think I can do happy.

I think I can live happily.

When a world of bright lights

on curtained hardwood stages

is vacillating between being safe and tumbling

the scintilla of hope contained

in my uncategorized responses

is supported only by friends

who are closer than I imagined.

I gave effort to looking

straight into Bill's eyes,

but entropic tears blurred

already clouded sight.

Fingers trembled in inch long hair

and then he hugged me.

Apoyar- to support.

Amor is to love,

Romantic in Spanish.

In English to love

is being fully supported.

SBST '10 (her eyes make the stars look dull)

It was Tuesday.

We ran outside. The stars

were bright in the crisp Wyoming air.

Friday came.

She was sad.

He was angry.

We were disappointed.

She checked out.

I don't know what happened,

but an eagle flew by as we drove out,

carrying our prayers to heaven.

Dear God, can we make it?

SBST '10 (Hydrate, man)

Hydrate, man

Hydrate, man.

Fill your emptiness with cheap thrills

and easy girls- guys too if you want it.

Hydrate, man.

Let yourself be so full of your

own thought and of your convictions.

Hydrate, man.

Fill your time with fake conversation

and superficial friends.

Hydrate, man,

but when you want to be fulfilled

remember to pour yourself out.

SBST '10 (4)

There was feeling tonight.

They say that you cannot forget

your first love, but I don't know

if that is true. I have yet to love.

But I have lived.

In living I have felt

and there was so much to feel tonight.

I felt them close to tears,

and I remembered the warmth

of salted water on my cheeks.

I felt their joy

and I lost myself to tribal music,

drums leading my feet.

I felt their smug attitude

and ignored it to supplement my mood-

pensive but not notably so.

I felt his agitation,

it reminded me that we all feel.

Then I remembered that I hate feeling.

I hate feeling vulnerable.

I hate feeling open.

I hate feeling judged,

but I need to be judged to love.

SBST '10 (3)

there's an aura about her

akin to the glow that surrounds a candle.

It starts bright and moves to illuminate

all those around it.

I think it starts in her eyes-

sincere emotion thinly veiled behind green,

she reaches out to touch everyone near her.

She is a ripple in a pond.

We are a disturbance too.

Everything we do will move.

We are an action; there will be a reaction.

SBST '10 (diamond)

We sit in a diamond and

a diamond is a person-

the center, the heart.

We sit in a square

because we care. In this place

this group is my drum.

It beats. We beat.

Each thought, each word,

is a pulse, a pull

at my heart.

Meaning that I care and

for this week, this time,

this group is family.

SBST '10

this post and the next 5 are all results of my service trip

Marty rests on a couch too short

for his body. It's a noble sacrifice

that almost makes up for his fall.

The others are close to sleep.

I know it's not yet time to dream.

I opt for animal crackers instead.

Snacks reminiscent of days past,

when hikes were commonplace

and adventure was my backyard.

I think I'll find that again.

Here, where mountains stand

majestically lining a tundra painting.

Stinson Beach (working title)

I’m on my way to Nick’s with Maggi. The sun is out after a few days of rain, so I let her off the leash. She darts in and out of the water with the waves, despite the fifty degree weather. You would think that Stinson Beach would provide some nicer weather for February, but California gets cold too. I like to see Maggi run free. There’s something noble about the way her shadow stretches in the purples of a dusk sun. She is a rescue puppy, Maggi, from the shelter just off of Shoreline and Del Piños. I wouldn’t have even seen her if not for Nick. Puma was getting old and he wanted a new cat in the house, so he made me go to the shelter with him. Maggi was a tiny mix of black lab and shepherd that whimpered as soon as I walked in the door. I didn’t think I could afford a dog then, but I couldn’t ignore her.

Nick invited me to dinner to celebrate Ground Hog’s Day. We grew up together, Nick and I. We didn’t have much money back in those days, so it doesn’t surprise me that Nick spends his as freely as he does now. I think tonight he just wanted me to get to know Pam. They had been dating for a while now, but I’d only met her once before at Zio’s. She ordered pepperoni but picked off the ones that weren’t whole. She was cooking for us tonight. She said it would be a pasta dish, but she would make sure to include some meat for Maggi. I stop by the stairs to wait for Maggi, and as she shakes off the water I put on my shoes.

Nick opens the door before I can knock. His house has a wall made completely of glass so that he can watch the sunsets. I guess he saw me walking up the stairs. Maggi pounces on him before I have the chance to hold her back, but Nick likes the attention. When she’s done, I get to give him a hug.

“Roger’s here,” Nick calls out to Pam. She walks out of the kitchen in a skinny black dress that draws attention to her dancer’s calves. Over it is a tickle-me-pink apron with oven mitts tucked into the front pocket.

“Hello, Roger. I’m glad you could make it.” She’s interrupted by Maggi’s eager calls for food. I laugh a thanks while I move past her to grab Maggi a treat. From the kitchen I can hear Pam talking to Nick as I grab the Beggin treats from the cabinet above the fridge.

“Roger, I forgot to pick up some oregano from the market earlier. I’m going to run and get some, but I trust you can keep Nicholas in line.”

“You bet, Pam.”

The door shuts and Nick leads the way back into the den. He grabs a beer from the mini-fridge there and throws me a crème soda. I’ve never been one for alcohol. I ask Nick if there’s a bowl I can use for Maggi while he searches through his floor to ceiling album rack. He loves technology, but Nick has always had a soft spot for vinyl records.

“Yeah, the one you used last week is still by the back door.”

By the time I get back he has The Black Keys jeopardizing the cleanliness of his wood floors with the way the sound is rattling his Sam Adam’s. I smile at him and he winks back.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Aw c’mon, Nick. You can’t have anything mischievous planned yet.”

He smirks and runs out of the room. I can’t hear his footsteps because of the music, but I figure he’s gone to his room.

“You can still play, right?”

He hands me a battered black case, and I can tell he is serious.

“Yeah, I can still play Nick.”

“Well then, play!”

I pull out the saxophone and put it together while he takes his Fender off the wall.

“Just like the good ole days, hey Rog?”

The saxophone isn’t tuned and we’re both rusty, but we manage to play along to the bluesy tunes. It doesn’t seem like we have been playing for long when I notice a patrol car pull up in Nick’s driveway. Nick runs to the door and I turn off the stereo system. I hear the door open from the den.

“Evening, is this Nicholas Garrett’s residence?”

“Yes, I’m Nick.”

“We’ve received a complaint about the loud music. I’m going to have to ask you keep it down, alright sir?”

I hear Nick laugh and mumble a response. I’m not worried. Nick’s smile has gotten us out of worse situations in the past. I sit down on the brown suede couch and continue to drink my pop. Nick is giggling when he gets back into the room.

“Looks like we still have it, eh Rog.”

“Have what? The ability to be idiots or the charm to get out of trouble?”

He only laughed as he sat down next to me.

“Nick”

“Yeah, Rog”

“Why do you have that old picture still up?”

“The cowboy? It reminds me of home, ya know?”

“I thought you hated New York.”

“No, Rog. I hated being poor. I loved New York.”

“Then, why do we still live here?”

“California’s warmer. Besides, we wouldn’t want to move Maggi, would we?”

“Yeah…” my nervous chuckle earns me a concerned look.

“Roger, what’s bugging you?”

“Nick…Nicholas. Do you remember Vivian?”

“Of course, you two were perfect together.”

“Yeah, and Theresa?”

“Mmmhmm”

“Nick, I think I’m gay.”

“I know Rog.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, since Bridget’s party in 9^th grade.”

“Oh.”

The sound of Pam’s tires crunching gravel in the driveway filled the silence left in the wake of our reminiscent jam session.

“Nick, are we still friends?”

He didn’t answer, but he winked at me before he got up to grab another beer.