Double Rainbows


She got out.
Pulled up and left
like a turnip yanked from the ground.
Headed west for the mountains
and snow
and double rainbows.
Carved her name into the hills
with her nails
and said, “enough.”
I envy her,
there with her dogs and her peace
and her solitude.
Alone with her thoughts and her body,
And her bed.
I envy how she took
just his money
and nothing more from him.
She had suffered long enough.
Now she is free
or so at least she seems.

Blind Judgment

Blind,
I thought,
but now I see.
I see everything.
My cord,
curled up and connected.
The silence,
outside.
The way the wind chime bangs against the door.
I see red.
Cranberries
and radishes,
and dark cherry pie.
I see my doctor,
the one with the turtlenecks and European loafers,
the one I had a crush on,
the one I thought I knew,
now I’ve learned
he’s gay.
How blind I was.
I thought I could tell who was what.
Gay.
Straight.
Rich.
Poor.
Stupid.
Schooled.
But perhaps I haven’t been able to see at all.
I was so cocky.
So sure
I knew right from wrong.
But do I?
Does anyone?
There is so much rush to judgment
in this world.
This person lied,
so that means they are and will always be a liar.
That person stole,
so that means they are and will always be a thief.
This person threw a tantrum
so that means they are and will always be unstable,
and unworthy, and a child.
Where is the understanding in this world?
What do we know?
What do any of us know?
We all think we know so damn much
about everything.
What another person should do.
How another person should feel.
But what gives us the right to decide for others
much less even ourselves?
What if we have been basing our decisions on incorrect assumptions
and everything we thought about others and ourselves was wrong?
What would we do then?
Could we undo the switch?
Unplug the needle?
Bring back the dead?
Take back the word?
The deed?
The finger?
The column written?
It’s easy to make decisions.
Too easy.

The Jumping Point


I am trying not to let myself fall into fear,
the deep hole that is beside me
always waiting for me.
An open sore of sorts,
Oozing,
always there,
waiting.
I stop
and look at it.
Usually I have already jumped in
and am up to my waist in shit.
Floating empty bottles,
Half-eaten cans of dog food,
insects and refuse.
Yes,
that is what I swim in.
Not the clear beautiful waters of the Caribbean.
Today,
when they poked me five times,
trying to find blood,
I was already in it up to my neck.
And when the doctor told me
he was concerned,
about what he was seeing,
on what should have been a routine exam,
I jumped in head first.
Now, I am sitting in my room,
listening to the dishwasher
and trying to breathe.
I must clear whatever it is
from my lungs and nose
that I have inhaled.
It won’t be easy.
It never is
once I have
jumped.

Where the Lilies Bloom

It is simple
if you think about it,
never build a home in the ghetto
and tell yourself conditions will improve around you.
A ghetto is a ghetto
and no amount of mulch or dogwood trees can change it.
There will still be rats
and roaches and people yelling at one another on the streets.
There will still be broken bottles
and crazy drunks
and prostitutes ready to beat you up.
There will still be music blaring out of shacks
and low-rider cars thumping bass
and police with sirens patrolling all hours
trying to control the impossible.
There will still be cats up trees and pit bulls ready to eat them
when they fall.
There will still be cars broken into,
and windows smashed,
and Halloween without trick or treaters.
And there will still be kids with brown eyes staring at you,
wondering why you are in their hood
when you should be somewhere else,
somewhere cleaner,
and whiter,
somewhere
where the lilies bloom year round,
and everyone smiles
for no other reason
than to show off their perfectly straight teeth.