Waiting

From the peak of the grey slanted rooftop,
she watched every day as he walked on by--
From behind dirty blue flowered curtains,
she watched every night as he traced his steps.
Day in and day out, she watched him grow old,
looking solely for a peek at his life.
Seasons change, months and years of watching,
waiting, for one day-she would pique his interest.
One day, he would notice her one more time.
He was growing, he was changing too;
one day soon, it would be he who would watch
from the peak of the grey slanted rooftop,
watching every day as his child walked by.
From behind dirty blue flowered curtains--
he would watch every night as she came home.
Day in, day out; he would watch her grow up,
hoping solely for a peek at her life.
Seasons would change, months and years he would watch,
waiting, for one day, he would pique her interest.
One day, his daughter would wait as well.

Anew

We, as we are unaccustomed to courage
have become used to holding ourselves in,
hiding behind all that is familiar,
burrowing into our own small comforts.

We collect and hoard away all that we are,
letting the weeds creep in, the dust pile up.
Trapped beneath all that we call our own;
hiding under the things we choose to show.

Change can never settle within the dust
that we leave lying in familiarity.
Happiness can't be found in the attic,
nor will it be found in boxes or trunks
stashed away in the basement or tool shed.
Happiness cannot be tricked into coming
to visit, or held hostage at gunpoint.

Fear is not acceptable, discomfort
is never an excuse to hide away.
For we avoid the struggle we all need,
the struggle that will stir up all we know.

Now happiness must be found once again,
he ran away, he's lost among the rubble.
Today I have begun again, my search--
Clearing out the dust, opening the door.

Before I wake

Everything seemed so much simpler when seen through her large, soft, round eyes--she was always looking and searching--studying his face, the noisy clock, the large, colorful bird on the wall, yes, but for her there was also always an answer, a definite conclusion that always satisfied her interrogations, that he with his hard, nut-like eyes never seemed to come close to cracking no matter how hard he tried or how many countless nights he stayed awake devotedly praying and watching while she soundly slept; he needed to watch her every breath, her every movement and quiver of eyelid, and he always felt the urgent need to keep her safe while she slept because he wanted to be there in case her simplicity scared her awake, but most of all needed to be there in case it didn't.

Summer

Boroughs are resurrected pure at dawn-
the night, such a rebellious child, smoked
relentlessly, laughed and trembled, breathless.
She exhaled scorched breaths through yellowed teeth and gums,
and stained glasses with thick, honey-colored rings.
Downpour arrives fast, he breaks up the party;
takes all the houses hostage, locked inside
their own thickets, and fences, and city.
He shakes teapots, spills the coffee brimmed in mugs.
Quiet pealed through the abandoned hallways,
alleyways and pavement soaked down to bone-
yet the smell is all I can remember.

Food, Groceries and Religion

Today a lady came into the store and sat her groceries down, and I began to ring them up, as usual. She then stopped me halfway through, saying that she didn't want to have certain groceries put on "her" tab. Without question, I went on to ask about each remaining item, asking, "Is this hers? What about this? This?," never realizing, or even thinking, that I didn't know who "her" was. And I still don't. But the woman paid two separate bills with her own money. And "she" never showed up. And the groceries were all bagged together. I wonder if there really was another person, or if the woman was just trying to have some fun with her shopping. And if there were another person, where was she? And why were all the groceries bagged together and paid for with the same money? They only needed to be put on two separate bills?
I find it amazing how some people color coordinate their groceries. An elderly couple came in the other day and bought orange soda, Uncle Ben's instant rice in an orange box, and an orange. And they seem to do all of this without noticing- I think. The lady was wearing an orange sweater. The man, a light orange clip-on tie. Suspicious? Maybe.
Another lady came into the store, and she was so happy. While I was ringing up her groceries we had a conversation about a few things, and I just couldn't believe how happy she was. Almost everything she talked about was how she wished these nice things would happen to other people. Then she went on to say that her husband wasn't feeling too well, so she told him to go and relax out in the car while she finished their shopping. I replied, "Oh, that was nice of you. I hope he doesn't have that new flu that's going around." She then told me that he just found out he has pancreatic cancer, with no cure nor chance of survival. They just got back from bringing him to get an operation in Boston. This woman had lived her whole life loving this man, and she just found out she was going to lose him. Yet she said that she wasn't sad, because she knew he had lived a good life, and they loved each other. They spent as much time together as they could, and now it was his time to go. She said she didn't want to lose him, but they are both satisfied with their lives. She then said there was nothing to do but pray, and left with a smile. I don't believe in god, but I prayed for them that night.
At work the other day, I was talking to this man who was checking out. As he pulled out his wallet to pay for his groceries, I saw that he had pictures of Jesus where his family pictures would have been. I knew the man had a family, because he had just been talking about his wife and kids. Yet he put pictures of Jesus in his wallet.