Marvel at the moon. It doesn’t matter how.
Sit on any porch. The moon, it always watches back.
Take a sip of moonlight, touch it to your lips.
Let your knees find soiled ground and raise your eyes-
I admire the moon for having lack of contact.
I admire the moon for being consistent.
I admire the moon because it admires
each of us who are looking back.
Every dusky evening, until it hides, but not on purpose.
It’s too aware to be gone without warning.
We all need to understand being gone before being back again.
Marvel at the moon. It doesn’t matter how.
It lent its shadow, all the way to me-
and while it removed my disbelief I saw the moon dance.
I marvel at the moon because it found its way.
Thank you for reading
Writing is my time to talk. I loved writing this short story. If you aren’t familiar with any of my short stories, this is a good place to start.
Two boys go on a night time adventure looking for ghosts. In the basement of a Church.
Please, check it out.
My brother called a month ago to ask if I’d like to be his best man. This will be the fourth time I will be the best man in a wedding. I’m not sure how this keeps happening.
My younger brother has always been my soft spot. He was my saving grace.
He asked if I would do an old-fashioned best man’s speech.
He said, “With how you are with your words I’d like to hear what you have to say. Just please include the memory when I threw the rock through your window at 3 AM because I locked my keys inside.” He was outside drunk. Alone. Happy.
While my brother was talking about the wedding I tried to stay in the moment. I’ll admit I did drift.
With everything that’s happened in the past few months, including nearly losing my wife due to an internal rupture, and internal bleeding, I drifted. I started to imagine myself at my brother’s wedding. Me going into the old systematic fold that I’ve always used when I’m around many people. No one knows. People will tell me it’s great to see me and I’ll think something along the lines of, ‘We gain too much knowledge and we die.’ I’ll shake their hand and observe how much time I think they might have left. Some people seem to have a harder time absorbing knowledge than others. They’ll ask me a direct question and I’ll answer them very quickly. And we’ll head to the bar.
All the legends of writing that I care about. Fuck em.
I still love them. Ben Franklin ran away from his wife and stood in front of windows feeling for wind. How many quotes should I read.
Hem, my favorite.
Buk, you old fucker, finally being known, talking about creating, always creating no matter what, baby.
Em..oh Em. You stood at the top of your stairs. You wrote your heart out.
You did’t pay for shit. You disregarded everything but yourself and had nothing more to do than think yourself into words.
I’ve been to your home. I lived near you. I see how they think.
Faulkner. Steinbeck. Let’s reach back and pull a bone,. None of you bastards talk about raising a child. None of you. As much as I think you are all brilliant. You are weak.
Take the trash out. The one filled with shit diapers.
Smelling while you walk. Hoping you can make it to the dumpster before they wake up.
Wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t fall asleep. Fever. Screaming while you hold your cell phone in front of you thumbing your way to, create baby, create. Fuck you Buk. I know I could kick your ass. Walk on all the glass you want. You’ve become the same annoyance you complained Hem was.
The every day happening of an infant turning into a young child, cared for by a man is dispersed into feminist hatred.
We father’s who take care of our children will be forgotten. None of you are willing to write about us.
My about is in need of more.
I’d like your opinion on what more would be.
Here’s my about link-
we never wrote when they asked us to-
we didn’t draw
we didn’t let our pencil wander-
Their eyes were too Purple
we left our paper blank
the other world was what they wanted
and they will not have it
The thinker is often punished for thinking.
Anxiety had me up early this morning. Megan took the day off. I went downstairs, made coffee, ignored my chest, thought about my chest, picked up the living room where Gavin stores all of his toys, vacuumed, started the dish washer, did 131 jumping jacks, stretched, and indoor walked for 30 fucking minutes.
Anxiety has no schedule. I try and manage it by putting it back into its place by staying busy and thinking. I try not to think because that’s the problem. So half my plan is solid nearly all the time. All joking aside, I haven’t dealt with this serious of an anxiety attack in a long, long while. Megan took the day off for a follow up appointment with the doctor. When I found Megan bleeding to death on the bathroom floor I was flat lined emotionally. I have been for weeks. Unfortunately emotion has a way of unfolding itself if you’ve kept it hidden.
So I’m vacuuming this morning and I’m indoor walking and I’m drinking my coffee and I’m thinking when I realized what’s really the root of this particular anxiety attack. I’m going to miss Megan. She leaves on Sunday morning. Super Bowl Sunday Morning. We are both football fans. Football Sunday is a big family day for us. She’s leaving in the morning and will be gone until the following Sunday. Megan works her ass off and has created an amazing career and at times, needs to be gone. Gavin sometimes walks to the door and tries to open the door asking for Mommy. Try that one on for size knowing he nearly lost her for ever.
Today I am well
Last night I was not
It helped to hear from
someone I don’t know
who understands the same
complexities because they live
in much the same way that I do
only, I think they are now doing it better
And that makes me smile
when a child doesn’t move and it isn’t their choice. they remove hurt with a pillow missing. cross their heart with thought. don’t tell that child what is. scraping winds picking up their tears. we’ll live again. sink now. the missing pillow gave way. it was never their fault.
Have we seen the sun today
Even a blank view reveals-
A memory just broke the silence