birthday candles

this poem was written at the end of july 2016, shortly after my dad's 59th birthday. at the time I didn't know that it really would be his last.

His hair is white and withering away
his wrinkles are quite defined
his muscle tone is fading
sometimes his voice shakes
and he cries a lot more than he used to

But he still smiles like he's building something.

Every word he speaks tells a story
always past and present tense
and I can't remember the last time I heard him utter the word "future"

Every statement he makes is a sermon;
he speaks less loudly but more boldly

And every time he says the words "thank you"
it feels like an introduction to goodbye

it's July 14th
So we gather around
singing the same old happy birthday song

And I start to count the candles

57, 58, 59...

59....

59...?

With no sign of 60 anywhere to be found.

The numbness I feel makes time slow down
and I listen to the words of the song
I look at him, smiling, happy
and I wonder what he's thinking

Is he wondering the same thing?
Does this birthday chorus not sound haunting?

A light-hearted song has never made me feel so hollow
A candle light has never looked so dim
The future has never felt this blurry

I'm trying to celebrate his life
but it's hard when I have so much fear... about his...

I just want to see candle #60.
And 61, 62, 63, 64.

Maybe I hate birthday candles
because sometimes they are tricks
Or because sometimes they go out before you get the chance to blow them--
before you get the chance to make your wish
before you get the chance to hope that it might actually come true

But maybe the reason I hate birthday candles this year

Is because a birthday wish should never be an

anything-but-death 

wish

show your work or you won't get credit

I don't know if I should ask math about us
but I know we don't make sense

8 months of lasting impressions + 1 kiss - 1 foot
& 4 inches + ~20 hours of you & I  - 2 months of
confusion - 2 months of distance + 4 months of falling
into place - 18 months to potentially fall apart

I think this is a math problem because somehow
you made this equation = those 3 words

I don't know how you got there.
and I'm going to need you to show your work
because I'm not sure you know what you're doing
How can you be sure?

3 words with 3 capital letters, tacked on the front of my name
(followed by an exclamation point) as if you really meant it.
It's as if you know that the black ink in your pen is permanent

And that's the image I can't get out of my head.

somewhere beneath

i wish i could tell you what it's like

9.9.16

to watch the person you love become
consumed
swallowed up
trapped
suffocated by their own body
a body that no longer belongs to them
but a body that they belong to

i wish i could tell you what it's like

to look at the person you love
and have to search for them in their eyes
to sort through gasping breaths & worried glances

i wish i could tell you what it's like
when you can't find them anymore.


he's in there somewhere, and i think that's the hardest part.


somewhere beneath the oxygen tubes
the heavy, pale skin
the slowing speech
the rattling chest

somewhere beneath the cancer

there is my dad.

the man who taught me
faith in all things
kindness to all
aggression in sports
balance in riding a bike
balance in life
courage in choosing the harder way
stability to stand tall

he's there

somewhere beneath the pain

he is there


i squeezed his hand three times like I always have
and he squeezed back four times like he always has
"i
love
you
too"


i wish i could tell you what it's like

to wish he wasn't there
to wish that he could be released
to wish that he could find relief
to wish that he could finally be at peace
to wish that he would leave me

i wish i could tell you what it's like

hurricane.

my whole life i've been searching for sky, 
but in your eyes i found the sea

some nights i fall asleep with you in my lungs 
my chest rising and falling
my thoughts creating tidal waves
for your silent tsunami

No life guard on duty at this hour,
No raft to save me from the riptide,
and i'm not scuba certified
to feel a love this deep
and maintain my ability to breathe

so for now i think


and i sink



(and it's always in that order)

this is not a poem

this isn't an "I love you" poem,

an "I miss you" poem,

a "do you love me?" poem,

a "did you ever love me?" poem,

a goodbye poem,

an "I want you back" poem,

an "I forgive you" poem,

an "I don't forgive you" poem,

a heartbreak poem,

a sleepless night poem,

a reminiscing poem,

a love struck poem,

a hurt poem,

an "I'm healing" poem,

a rant poem,

a fragile poem,

a strong poem,

a head-over-heels poem,

an "I'll wait for you" poem,

an "I'm over you" poem,

an "I think you might actually love me back" poem,

a giddy poem,

a bitter poem--

I don't know what kind of poem this is

but it works

because I don't know what we are either

run-on

I have nothing left

no more tears to cry

just salt stains on my hands & cheeks

exhausted, tired eyes

fears of the uncertainties

remind me this is not a dream

although every night when I fall asleep

I pray to God it will be

trivial worries

trivial words

suddenly everything lacks depth

everything lacks purpose

nothing is motivating

nothing seems worth it

because life is just a death sentence--

a run-on we try to make sense of--

and sometimes punctuation comes along

before we've had the chance to understand it

His eyes are growing tired comma

He paces comma

He doesn't sleep comma

He winces in pain when he thinks no one can see comma

People speak to him in a language of goodbyes comma

His words have all become sermons comma

Preaching to the choir that doesn't know how to carry on a melody without him comma

He observes everything so quietly comma

He breathes heavily comma

He kisses my mother comma

He holds her a bit tighter now comma

He holds her a bit longer now comma

He says "I love you" a little bit louder now comma

And I watch it all comma

Just praying that the punctuation comma

Continues to be a comma 

comma

And not a period

comma

Because I need there to be more commas.

There are lessons for him to teach me,

Guys I'll date that he will need to interrogate,

Taxes I need him to teach me how to do...

I need him to see me walk at graduation, for him to say 

"you did it kiddo, I'm proud of you."

I need him to dance with me at my wedding,

and see how happy I am on the day that I marry the man who will always remind me of him...

I need him to meet his grandchildren,

to be able to see into their little eyes 

and hold their tiny hands--

to kiss them and make them smile...

I need him to put me in line when I'm being selfish,

I need him to counsel me when it's time to correct the course,

I need him to push me when I don't know how to move forward,

I need him to be there to remind me what's most important,

I need more commas

I pray that God isn't particular about grammar,

That He'll allow me more commas than I'm likely to get,

That this life sentence can run-on longer than science says it can,

But no matter how many commas you give me,

God, 

I promise I will thank you

for each and every one

stress relief

Do Not Touch
Please do not
feed the feelings
false senses of hope.

sometimes my heart feels claustrophobic

and transparent all at the same time 

like its surrounded by a chainlink fence

and they poke it with sticks to see if it still beats for them

and they throw rocks at it to see if it will continue to contract & release & forgive 

and they stare at it amazed that even with all the stitches and scars, it could burst at the seams with all the love it still wants to give

they like to unstitch the red thread that has taken years to sew onto my sleeve

they sit back in complacency

and watch as it unravels me
every emotion of mine in full transparency

they like to pick up my heart and put it in their hands

testing the pressure points somewhere between loving me and hurting me

but my heart is more than a stress ball that they play with when they're bored

so that's why I built the chainlink fence

held together by lock and key

(both of which are carried by me)

because I don't owe them heartbeats,

and I've never believed that heart races are meant to have winners--

sometimes you're just meant to feel things

but you should know that my heart is not your stress ball 

and I am worth so much more 

than the apathetic way you love me when you're bored.