I awoke this morning to fractured memories frozen together in a startling dream,
a dream so vivid my memory began to poke holes into the edges and seams of reality
cutting through with the precision of a watchmakers eye weaving delicate incisions exposing forgotten truth to veiled lies.
As the thread between my dreams and memories slowly begins to unravel flooding my mind with pictures of past photographs I suddenly begin to travel
so that the names of the faces I have forgotten appear on a “hello my name is” sticker,
and in the corner of my eye appears a light from a room underneath a door that flashes into a flicker.
I walk forward sensing that what lies behind was either my deepest pain or purest bliss but I was convinced;
there was nothing in this world at this time or this place that I needed to see more than this.
So I open the door, the light shines exposing emotions of pain I immediately knew I had never felt,
as if dreams were simply memories remembered, I step inside, to find a broken 9 year old version of myself.
Shrinking room, I reach in with trembling fingers and place this boy into the middle of my palm,
revealing truth so dangerously beautiful my words begin to transform crossword puzzles into Psalms,
and I look into his eyes and to connect my own quiet despair breathing helplessly into himself choking on the unmistakable silence that fills the air
I begin to breathe, because breathing is the only thing I know how to do, and I forget,
because I purposefully don’t ever want to remember.
It was the 19th day of the 91st year and the month was September.
It’s probably an understatement to acknowledge that a person changes when they watch someone they love die,
and please don’t try to tell me that grandpa’s in a better place cause that is all bullshit and lies,
look into grandma’s eyes, I assure you there is no way you can tell her,
because the place where grandpa is supposed to be is here, and we sure as hell don’t feel any better.
So I write a letter. Telling grandpa that I loved him only I never had the chance to say so,
and I thank him for teaching me as a child, all the grown up lessons I would ever need to know
by teaching me as a grown up, all the childish things I always need to remember.
Respect every woman, love your family till it hurts, believe in yourself unconditionally.
Express your feelings through words and feel your words through expression.
Fight back the deepest urges of violence with your creativity and imagination.
He instilled in me, the power to become anything that I ever wanted to be,
achieve anything I ever wanted to achieve
and to reach as high as I could for any dreams that I wanted to dream,
he believed in me,
especially when no one else did, and I remember the feeling of flying as he let go of the back seat of my bike as a 6 year old kid.
When I learned how to fly on my own, with his hand as my guide,
it was the confidence he spell-casted into existence as he let go I began to ride
and To this day I can still remember the feeling of the first time in my life that I ever felt so alive.
And then he died.
And my memory no longer seemed so much like a dream but a forgotten past,
and the cold clutch of fear lost itself to every moment as if it were my last,
But no longer my friend. allowing me to remember how to feel pain again,
giving me space to maybe learn to pray again
Break through death with life on the level that I would find words to SAY again.
And I’m saying them.