sacrifice

Knighthood

Meaning, and purpose. Why?

Sunbreak. Starfire.
Endless.

Some seek the fat of the land
to fill the table,
and some seek the horizon.
Did I tell you the one
about the warrior
who fell for the angel?

Yet on this small sphere,
where sand gets caught
in the grinding gears,
and the report is due by Friday,
and the soccer game
and the baby shower
and the static
and the robbery and the stabbing,
and the lawn across the street;
your neighbors who kneel in church
crushed by obligation and gilt,
this is where
we build our seconds
upon seconds upon seconds
around anxiety
until our blood vibrates
from dawn to dusk.

And so we forget
the girl, pointing up
at the sparkling infinity black,
asking “What is that one?
What is THAT one?”

We forget
the boy, stick in hand,
blanket draped over shoulders,
shouting in triumph
“The dragon is dead!
Did you see? Did you see?”

And we forget
the warrior,
standing next to
the angel lying in bed,
a beautiful atrocity
watching him hold the past
and the future,
watching them lock eyes,
watching him think
for the first time,
Maybe… I can do this.

Garden

“I’m gonna get my mom flowers for her birthday.”

The little one I’m watching for the evening
is telling me her secrets
as we drive home in the summer heat.

“From where?”
I’m curious.

“From my garden.
That’s where the flowers grow!”

“They do?”

“Yes! And love.
I’m going to give her love.”
She turns her palms up, imploring.
“That’s where the flowers grow.”

“I had no idea.”

She brushes the bundle of peonies
against my ear;
the scent of a mild sweetness
politely invades my nostrils.

“Where is my grandpa?”

Her grandmother
continues gazing out the window.
She was born on the other side of the world.
“He go to see God.”
As if it were a road trip.

The little one
looks out her own window.
“Oh.”

(A day before he passed,
my own grandfather opened his eyes,
cognizant,
searching for a window.
The blinds were shut.
“I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?”

“Because.
I know I’ll never see her again.”

She had passed
a few years before.)

We tell our children
there are no such things as monsters.

The little one clears her throat.

Raucous stormclouds gather in rising fists
towards heaven.
The heat outside is hell.

“The storms are spirits!”

“What?”
I wasn’t aware of this.

She leans in to tell me her secret.
“The storms… are all made of spirits.”

She points
at the approaching immensity
of water and air
bringing gifts of life and of fire.

She whispers,
“That’s where the thunder grows.”

Paladin

Years later,
he feels the vial
against his chest
that holds
the only fragment of lightsong
given freely to him.

At night, sometimes,
he drifts
to a dead and thankful sleep,
as it melts,
the glass unvitrified,
the sand photonic
hourglassing inside him.

Always,
the next morning
it is whole,
emanating the piece
of the light
of the heart
of the hand
that sought to clasp his;
and even to raise him up
out of darkness
everblack.

Shaking his head,
he pushes forward,
raising his shield;

the demon is already swinging.

Rising Sign

So,
I do not think
any longer should wonder
be entertained
in this waking dream
as we apart
seek that bridge that spans aeons
and even stellar cradles.

I have figured it
in the alchemy of
quantum entanglement,
on the blackboard of the heart,
inside the mandala of time.

Listen,
for water seeks to give.
Waves throw themselves
on the shore of the land.
Rain falls to the skin of the earth,
liquid seeking the embrace
of the deep
and sanctuary of the bedrock;
and roots to drink it,
feeding the hungry pulse of life.

Water gives; so what is water
without a heart-receiver
but only a universal solvent?

Into water one may throw
infinite strikes;
ever will it resume its shape.
Onto water one may project
mountains of rage,
and it will only reflect
what you already know.

Fire,
fire is simpler still,
and only seeks a hearth
with the fuel of an endless heartbeat.

So,
while the free winds
strike their vastness upon the sky,
and paint what they will,
a vessel of water and flame
would be only placed at the altar
before the ancient tree
whose roots grow deep
into the sod and stone…

…combusting growth into dreams
and gifts eternal and warmth in winter;

and silently,
offering a song of praise
for the birth
of earth on earth.

Continue?

K.O.
!
!
!

this tree reminds me of home;
if i sit here, i can’t hear anything else.
don’t step on a crack,
or you’ll break your mama’s back.

you’re ugly, your family’s poor,
no one cares what you say.

what do you want to be?
you can be anything;
follow your heart.

what if my heart is wrong?

come here- do you like that?
oh my god, that was like
the good parts of Revelations…
you left scratches on
my ribcage skin.

you smell like the Hanging Gardens.

i’m going to use you until you break;
i’m going to wrap thorns around you
and drink your blood.

i’m going to show you your pile
of broken failed foundations of tears;
and your pillars of light
no one else saw.

why did you stay with him?
jesus christ those scars.

more than my own life.
friend lover shield-bearer,
sovereign empress our kingdom,
headstones side by side.

i wish there was room.
i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.
you’ll leave.
i’m damaged i’m stained i’m emptied out.

i think i could marry you.

yeah right.
jerk nerd preppie slut OCD failure.

can you see the skeleton outlines
where my cathedral glass
used to be?

I always thought
you reminded me
of a secret door
to some cavern in the desert.
I never cared too much
what was behind it.
that door, though, my god that door.

a million times
over and over and over and
over again.
mine.

in my dream, your hair was white,
and you still showed me
new constellations.

goodbye.

i forgot to figure out
what i want to be.

did you love?
did you?
not did you appear together
in public,
or try to impress the other,
or use someone
good-looking hey there.
but
did you climb the mountain
in the dead of winter
and give her your coat
and bring her food
and almost die
on your way back to the valley?
and no one saw and

what about tomorrow?

it’s dangerous to go alone;
take this.

go away.
i don’t need it-
put it back in your chest.
you’re bleeding.

i can’t, it doesn’t fit anymore.

i don’t have any more lives.
nothing makes sense.

does it have to?

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