I See You

I See You

Sitting atop the wobbly table
afraid of the shadows that don’t leave
after the angry door said it again
those words frozen in the slam
fashioned like a cartoon balloon
with expletives and small cold birds
they hover above the jam shivering
you say into the leftover darkness
“But it’s never ‘for good.’”

I See You

Unaware that your kindness—
the smallest act: the bowl of red berries or
fresh eggs, or the clean cotton socks
or the simple reminder that the rain will subside—
can renovate a dim day. You increase its value
provide possibilities for next, you sprinkle them
like brown sugar on hot buttered toast
you put a solid face on ‘neighbor’
and hope is a commodity
re-shelved from the pantry.

I See You

Withering. Wondering why words can freeze
or melt a moment when they are just air
pushed over tongues, tapping a tooth, tangoing
across lips or tumbling over cavities
getting all comfy on the mouth’s floor
where it’s easy to hide from the flapping
and out of control uvula. Or they crash
like icicles on concrete fourteen stories below.
All that gravity released.
A sigh strong enough
to shape teeth.

I See You

Celebrating your breath. Filling your lungs
like a champagne flute and releasing bubbles.
Tossing the confetti, throwing a party
take one more, you tell yourself and another
after that. Screaming ‘I will breathe’ at the top
of your sullied day, again
on the roof of an abandoned building
and again until even sadness
can no longer get
in the way
of your
oxygen.

Photo by David Werbrouck on Unsplash