Thoughts on a Strained Friendship

I see an image of you;
Enraged red becoming purple,
Thumbing confident rage
Into a phone.
Is it all for me?

When we were young
You lived in England for a couple years.
Came back, desperate to be among us
To belong again.
I remember worrying aloud about your return.
That you would bring a cruelty to the laughter.
We wrestled once, among friends,
And in the instance that I had you beat 
I saw your eyes become wide, white, and wild.

As young men, we were like brothers.
Different in every way but still sharing
Friends, homes, ambitions.
But there was still that energy in you,
An energy that trickled out in the tones and contents of comments,
That you cannot or will not hear,
That has erupted in moments of play turned violent.

For years I think I wanted something else,
Sought out in relationships that you criticized,
Sometimes rightly,
Sought out with acquaintances,
That did not feel like family.

When my turn came to move away,I was terrified but you encouraged me.
You dared me to want more and so I did.
I'm worried that what I found was more than we anticipated:
A career eludes me but care envelops me
And I now feel again among family
But without those punches, pokes, jabs, and jokes.
That I still expect.
Were they all for me?

I saw life destroy you twice:
I would not lose the bond we haveThe times we've shared.
But the person that was in me has grown
And will not accept the barbs in our brotherhood;
We've wrestled thrice more over the last 4 years
And I have again seen that rage in you,
That sees contradiction in conversation,
That sees antithesis in talk,
That strikes out when self-conscious.

I see an image of you;
Enraged red becoming purple,
Thumbing confident rage
Into a phone.
Is it all for me?

My Chinook

If I let myself,

I can still feel her watching me;

Her chestnut-coloured eyes, chin resting on her paws, coyote ears;

I love you, is there something I can do, are we going somewhere?

My body remembers, following her outside for a walk;

She runs to the open door of the backyard fence,

Stops just short of leaving and looks back;

Can I go? Are you coming?

She saved my life once.

A highly toxic varnish was being applied in the flat beneath us.

The fumes billowed into my room, into my lungs.

She smelled it and, in a panic, woke me up.

But on April 10^th 2015,

I held her

And a let a stranger

Sedate her…

I’m not coming home am I? I’m dying right now, aren’t I?

… and stop her heart,

The heart that I loved,

The heart that I think loved me.

I can still feel her watching me;

Her chestnut-coloured eyes, chin resting on her paws, coyote ears;

I love you, is there something I can do, are we going somewhere?

I can still feel her fur, her warm head under my hand.

If I let myself.

I remain and am loved (April 2015)

Is there a love that nourishes,
That supports and celebrates,
That leaves one intact?

I have loved like the mantis:
Drawn into the skinny arms
Of lovers that have crushed me,
Have burnt me up
Like a dry moth
Up in a flame.

But with you I remain.
 

Until you were gone (April 2015)

You watched, with youthful anticipation,
As I signed your life away.
You didn't know, only trusted
What was going on.
You could never have known
Never have fathomed
What was happening
What I, your friend
Your family,
Was letting happen
The very worst thing,
Anathema,
To what
I wanted
for you.

I signed your life away
And held you
Until you were gone.

But do you love him?

But do you love him?
Does it kill you every time you say goodbye?
Do you turn back to look at him a hundred times, through the tears, to see him one last time (one last time - a hundred times - not enough).
Do you not wash your clothes for days after he leaves because they carry his smell?
Do his hugs feel like coming home?
Do you fall in love all over again every time you see him but mourn the passing of every borrowed moment together?

If yes then I'll walk away.
If you have this then I'll let go.

"Almost a Remembrance" (August 2014)

I recall,
Amongst sleeping streets in the dark winter blue,
The crisp crunch of my boots, the only sound,
Stopping to gaze at quiet homes, 
Adorned with amber-hued Christmas lights,
Like stars of stained glass,
That were never my own.






   

Lover's Spit: Kristeva Inspired (2010)

I want you at the borders of myself
Where I might truly be.
For we are all shivering things,
Bleeding to live.

Entangle me
In your hair,
Taste
My sweat
With you tongue.
Let's join ourselves together
At the fringes.

For we are all shivering things