Still Here

Spent all summer bathed in monitor light
Search engine hits like soft kisses
The endless sound of keystrokes
My bittersweet serenade

Over the years I have come to need
This aching hunger
When I gaze at the world
All I see is sickening complacency

The soul of a social psychologist
Can slowly grow numb
When his friends are not out in the sunshine
But instead tucked away on hard drives and digital databases

Ever since ninth grade
I’ve known what emptiness feels like
When young and the people you love suffer
The common currencies lose all value

I was a hunter
Searching day and night, unquenchable
Mauling my prey for any quantifiable clue
Any insight that could save us

By fifteen I had left God behind
I had to do something
My eyelids never safely closed
The world was just too much for this little boy

In the intervention literature
All that matters is change
This scrolling on the mouse is just a perpetual prayer wheel
Calloused knees, begging to see others improve

I was born again in those days
The times I felt pain
Were just fingers pointing to the Moon
Reminding me that I am but a reflection of the world

I worked twenty-four hours a day
Cataloguing the ways to make peoples’ lives better
The stress of caring sometimes made me want to collapse
My worried heart, forever afraid I would have nothing to say

The line has always been blurry
Between self-improvement and bettering the world
If I want things to change
I need to always become better

After an entire summer of staring at statistics
Determining the predictors of improvement
I learned most not about the science of human behavior
Instead, it was always about the scientist

If I didn’t believe I could get better
This skin would be a lot colder

Monsters

These days
Spot trembling knees
Through polka dots on bed sheets
He hears ghosts in the hallway
Monsters in the closet
Sense of safety precarious
I soothe concerns with open doors
Bedside lamps
Stroking dark hair
While eyelids forget worries
Until next time
I will still be here

As he gets older
Notice quick-fire nerves
When kids spout
Homegrown slurs
When tears well in innocent eyes
Cloud almond brown
I will hold the tissue
Rub his back
Absorb anger
While emotions obtain equilibrium
Until next time
I will still be here

As he navigates love
Sacrifices self-centeredness
To learn how to live
With others in mind
Knocked down repeatedly
Only to get back up each time
I will tend broken hearts
Mend frayed self-esteem
Invisible chin-held-high holder
Supporting him in leaps of faith
Until next time
I will still be here

When his own children are growing up
Their monsters constantly forming new skin
I will slowly fade
Torch-bearer to bed-ridden
I will smile at what he has become
And finally
He will take care of me
Holding my hand as vision fails
Reminding me of memories
From this beautiful life
Cradling my head while I take my last breath
Roles reversed in some beautiful irony
As he helps me
Embrace my final monster

Broken Dreams

As I am job searching yet again
For the fourth summer in a row
After college graduation
Mom, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry

You escaped the war
Moved to a foreign land
All because you dreamed of a better life for us
And what do I do?

I went to college and had dreams of social justice
How dare I dream of making this world better,
When I can't even make your life better?
Why couldn't I have just gotten a business degree?

Sorry I couldn't buy you that new house in the suburb
Sorry I couldn't buy you that fancy car
Sorry I couldn't get you all the things you deserved
Sorry I couldn't live out the dreams that you had for me
The saddest thing is that
I can't even express my sorrows
In a language that you could understand

You've never faulted me for who I've become
And I just wanted you to know that I am who I am
Because of your good teachings
Luckily you have two other sons who will live out your dreams

And although, I don't follow your Buddhist ways
I really hope that reincarnation does exist
So that I could be your son again in the next lifetime
And every lifetime after that
Maybe then,
I'd be able to do more for you
Than I am able to do in this lifetime
Maybe I could make your dreams come true
Maybe I'll be able to give you all the good things that you never asked for

One More Minute

I don't want to leave yet
May I stay here a bit longer?
To try to get to know you a little better
Cuz I have so many questions I'd like to ask

Like
How are you doing?
Where have you been all this time?
Did I live up to your expectations?

Sorry
Didn't mean to get so serious right away
I guess we can start with the fundamentals
Cuz I don't even know that
What's your favorite food?
Your favorite color?

Please answer me
Say something
Tell me that you love me
Tell me that you're proud of me
Say anything

You can even tell me that I'm a disappointment
I just want to hear that voice
That calm and soothing voice
That used to put me to sleep every night

Alright
Don't speak
But would you at least listen to what I have to say?
Cuz a lot has happened in the twenty-six years that you've been gone

For instance
We've all grown up now
Not struggling so much now
And all three of us are doing our best to take care of mom
But she is sick often
She seems happy though
I think it's because of the grandkids

Oh, by the way
Did you know that you're a grandfather now?
Yeah, both my brothers have kids
They're great fathers
They would do anything for those kids
I think that's because they know how it feels to not have a father

Oh no
It's not your fault
None of us blame you for what happened

All I'm saying
Is that they know how it feels to have that emptiness in their heart
And I don't think they would want to wish that upon any child

Um, also...

What?

It's time to go?

No
Please no
Please don't let me wake up yet dad

You died to young dad
I was only a baby
Never had a chance to get to know you
And the only time I get to see you
Are in these dreams
Standing there, silently
I have so much to tell you

Please
Please let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've thought about you
Just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've been without you
Please
Let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the 13,756,320 minutes that I've missed you
PLEASE

Summer of Sinuses

That damn clock
Is mocking me again
Taunting my tireless eyelids
3am
Still awake
Just like last night
And the night before
Check my phone
Nope
She still hasn’t texted me
Maybe
I can once again make my NFL season predictions
Or
Daydream about how our date could have turned out a bit better
Toss
Turn
Get angry that I can’t fall asleep
Get angry about the fact that
I am angry that I can’t fall asleep
Look forward to the fact that the circles under my eyes
Will be one shade darker tomorrow morning
Well
After some thought
I think the Ravens will represent the AFC in the Super Bowl
Same as last night
And the night before

How can one dream
When they cannot get any sleep?

Our Sweet Fossil Fuel Dreams

The trip to the corner store

Key ignition to shorten shuffle step

Could you feel the drill?

Pulsing through the surface

Pulverizing rock and dirt into specks of dust

The bus ride home

Did it taste like salt?

Did it cover you in black?

A dark blanket wrapped around

A casket carved out of delusions

The bottled water sitting on your desk

Is it reminiscent of a quiet failure

Or the roaring explosion that took 11 lives?

One that quickly dwarfed Alaska

Swallowed the world in its horror

How about that plane ride to New Orleans?

Could your selfish eyes see the 1,866 dead birds?

Did you pay the extra fare?

Not for baggage

But for 463 slaughtered sea turtles?

59 dead sea mammals?

Drill baby

Drill

That is our mess that is making the sea a little less pretty

So much more than an eyesore

Our cute little secret hidden in our closets

Our cognitive dissonance that was rude enough

To awaken us from our sweet dreams

That candle

That lighter

That car

Those are OUR failures

It is our criminal fingerprint

Embedded in the oil

Not Obama's

Not BP's

Ours

And we will not be able to wipe it away any time soon

To Find A Cure

When I was a young boy
I would take tremendously long showers
And in those showers I used to mix concoctions
Create potions I was convinced
Would one day cure HIV/AIDS
As my little hands measured out
Equal parts Pert Plus and Head and Shoulders
I would shave razor thin slices of hand soap
Shuttle them into my beaker of toiletries
I would squeeze drops of Arm and Hammer toothpaste
Like pearls that would soon save ravaged New York and Los Angeles
And as the hot water beat against me
I mixed mouthwash with deodorant
As if I got just the right mixture
A sign would arise out of the potion
That would say
“You did it! You found the cure!”
Congratulations!
I would smile and the walls of my childhood bathroom would fall away
I would be revealed to the world’s leading scientists
Bioengineers
Humanitarians
They would all circle around me
Shaking hands
Posing for pictures
Hanging Nobel prizes around my neck like Christmas tree ornaments
None of them seeming to notice the naked physique of an 8-year-old boy

Alas

I remember the final time I attempted to discover the special formula
My older brother had just bought some fancy, expensive new face product
This, I was convinced, was the secret ingredient
The heavenly-ordained addition
That would ensure my place in your history books
Child celebrity
Boy-Wonder
World Savior
I carefully proportioned out
One quarter container liquid hand soap
One quarter container hand moisturizer
And the other half
Unopened “Aftershave”
As I stirred this concoction with my finger
The hot water pummeled down on me
And something, perhaps someone
Knocked the cup out of my hand
It must have been Michelle Bachmann
Or one of those evangelical leaders that hate scientific progress
Regardless of who it was
I recall the cup staying completely upright as it ascended into the air
But at the apex of its journey
It was as if gravity too wanted to play a trick
The side of the cup closest to me
Was yanked toward the earth
The contained liquid of the cup
Proceeded to spill
And it splashed down on my young, unsuspecting privates
Causing an instant burning sensation that felt like napalm

I screamed

And as I screamed I danced under the showerhead
But to no avail
I wailed
I clawed
And I scraped at my crotch
Hoping to stop the spread
Within seconds I was reduced to a quivering mess on the shower floor
I heard the heavy steps of my older brother approach the bathroom
The same bathroom I had locked because scientists need privacy
“What’s wrong Al?” my brother screamed
I didn’t have the courage or consciousness to yell back
All I could do was mutter to myself
“I just wanted to help…”

But It's a Dry Heat...

This time of year

the desert blisters the unwary.

 

I watch people crawl into their shells

slither backward into dark basements 

the cool crevices of their protective havens

and wait for September, resigned.  

Spending summer months 

behind concrete walls and central air

is like self-imposed house arrest.

Like cabin fever in reverse

Minnesota in negative twenty degrees

except 

when in the desert, you step outside

and feel EVERYTHING...

Every.  Thing.

Every molecule of arid sun

every wavering doubt 

every shimmering illusion of grandeur

bleaches you, inside out.

There are only so many

clothes to take off

until you are stripped bare and left

over the fiery coal-bed of melting pavement.

There is no wind chill to numb

your insecurities away.

And so, the withdrawal

the cautious retreat

to the shadows, the hidden familiar.

I don't want to exist in an emotionless desert.

I don't want to slip back

into the mind's dark basement

and forget the warmth of

the human condition.

I don't want to construct walls--

psychological or otherwise--

or succumb to the fear of heat stroke. 

I will step out

wear sunscreen

breathe deep in the dry heat

and embrace the day.   

Ignore The Snow

Her legs were balanced on my thigh as she typed away at her laptop
I was far enough away that I could sneak glances into her eyes
She never noticed
I did not really know her three weeks ago
Hell, I did not really know her now
For some reason, she was just pleased to grace my presence
She seemed satisfied to just ride the wave
We were skating on thin ice, realizing it all the while

Summer has a funny way of making one needy
We need to be outside in the sun
We need to be enjoying beers and tea with friends
We need to smell the charcoal
Taste the burgers and veggie brats
Feel the grass between our toes

The last thing I wanted to need that summer was love
I felt like I had earned a free ride
I had suffered through distances that soldiers could not traverse
I had panhandled on the telephone wires
Under the cell phone towers

And yet, I still wanted it
I still wanted her
I wanted to share in all of the quick heartbeats
The shallow breaths
The sweaty hands
The silly looks

Summer
How we need thee
Even when we do not want it.

Party Like It’s 1773

Evolved with hair-trigger war yearning
Crush other
Fight back
Own all
Yet
Some learned how to
Share
Love
Support
One another

You still loved the struggle
Desire to dominate
Subjugate
Oppress
We thought we left you behind

Cities they began to call them
Short, nasty, and brutish without
We had come so far!
Language, hygiene
Weapons
We still raped
Still clawed with blood dry
Underneath fingernails from past battles

Perhaps
It was a continent thing
Africa
Asia
Europe

The “settlers”
Spread their compassion around
Smallpox on blankets
Stolen slaves and dehumanized possessions
Some
Were opposed
But you could always hear the rally cry
“Slavery must be allowed!”
“Protect the union!”
You heard their protests
Their screams
Their hatred

In the end
They lost
But the spirit of their hatred
Lived on in many hearts
Instead of chains
Just rubber bullets
Dogs perverted to be bloodthirsty
Flags made to inspire fear

Guess what
It did not work
Progress was made
Never perfection
Never
But progress nevertheless

Today
You hold your hate high
Shrouded in tea parties
And news channels
Masked behind klansmen
Like Ron Paul
Like the ghost of Strom Thurman
You can protest all you want
Pretend your hatred of a black president
Your xenophobic demands of birth certificates
Your antichrist fear-mongering
They are just rational concerns
But we see what they are
We remember the plains of Africa
We recall the first cities
The first “settlers”
The slave owners and the
Segregationists
Dress up hatred
Hide it
But we see it

And you know what?
You will lose
In the end
You always do

Total Consciousness: A Dilemma

Caught between choices.

Who has all the answers now?

Buddha would have guessed.

Where Have All The Complainers Gone?

Life’s complicated
Good thing no one ever whines
Oops, except right here

Where Have All The Laborers Gone?

Parents foot the bill
Complain, scream, whine, throw a fit
Your life is not fair

Where Have All The Lovers Gone?

Love is Santa Clause
But no presents here, just coal
Adults cease belief

Where Have All The Hippies Gone?

Remember Kent State?
Had burning passion for change
Paper or Plastic?

Damn that hindsight--it's always 20/20

In retrospect
It wasn't such a great idea
To make snakes out of balloons

It was harmless
I promise

Provided hours of entertainment
For unknowing children ages 6-8

Little did they know
What the final product
Would look like

(No, it didn't get better after painting.)




And the laughter in the staff room
Hours, days, months
Later

They say I'm no good at sexual innuendo
But I've cracked
A "That's what she said"
A few nice times
Before "That's what she said"
Was hip
Before Micheal Scott



No, not one of my finer moments
As an art educator
And creative leader
Of small children

It was messy
Oh damn!
I've done it again
Spot the sexual innuendo there



So yes, there is a lesson in here somewhere
I've never attempted snakes
Again
In my project forays

Stuck to safe subjects
Like faces
With balloons
Anyone?

I am a horrible person.


An add on--I'm on fire tonight!

Don't stop now!
You're on fire
Tonight
Little did we know
The balloons, er, subjects...er
Whatever...

Were WAY too big
Too rough
Not the right size
Not the right shape
ALL WRONG

It won't fit
If only we would have gotten the
Expensive balloons
The longer ones

What went wrong?
Glue makes the stuff
Less slippery
And more slippery

Is that what you want?
I don't know what I want
I'm just the INTERN!

I bet you are learning a lot
At the CHILDREN'S MUSEUM.
OH YES.
OH YES.
YES.

Can I come back next year?

It's January 31, 2010

Have I accomplished any of my said resolutions yet?
Not a damn one

Am I proud of myself?
Absolutely.

That's what February is for
January is just
Too damn cold
To do anything
Remotely
Productive
In the state of
Minnesota

Here's to a productive and happy February, all.
And when Maki gets back from Vegas
He not only will have stories to tell
But hopefully new poem topics as well.

January 27, 2010

I am not willing 

to wander through 

three hundred

thirty

eight

more days

with my eyes closed.

Resolutions are overrated.

Living life 

(while awake)

is not.

Happy New Year

Busy hands calmly reloading an automatic rifle
Blank stare slowly scanning for breathing bodies
Little feet struggling to stand strong as blood seeps between toes
At an age where he should have been helping his family with the crops
Should have been playing with his friends
Should have been dreaming of love

Instead, as he draws in air that is finally fresh
He sleeps next to my room with clenched fists
I do not dare imagine what nightmares horrifically parade
Single file line like the army he once marched in
His birthday gift was a merry-go-round of gunpowder
His celebratory song was a chorus of screams

When he was drunk
He would tell me about his experiences
Of the violence that tore open his chest
Like it did his community
He warned me about going back
How he was drawn out of desire to help
How he was afraid for his safety if he were to return

What did he see on that final night?
Just another enemy between him and what he needed?
I could not let him do what I feared he would
But it did not much matter
In the end
They stomped him until he felt at home
Beat him into the knowledge that America and Sudan are different
But they do not always have to be

And what do we tell him now?
To hold his head high?
That in this country his dreams will come true?
That’s the problem
They did come true
The ones that have plagued him for the past fifteen years

This is not a new year for him
It is just like all the rest

Recollecting

Before label and face
I was sardine packed
In the galactic tin
Cozy
Where
Gravity befuddles and
Our models break down
We were all
Catapulted with abandon
One point to
Expansive Ocean
Wrenched from the cold womb
Not yet capable of kicking and screaming

I
Exhaled to build the planet’s atmosphere
Braved land with stomach home-sick for water
Moved from trees to plains
Hunted in tribes
Drove hammer to nail
Was born a thousand times
Died just as many

Recently
Fingered accordion to temper the taste for Finland
Drunken bar-fights to hide the pain of leaving home
Hands callused from tending to the soil
Scars like medals of honor tacked to my soul
I was too strong to bow
God, war, and patriotism
The idols of the United States
Instead we
Served jail time with chin high

Today
My spine appears to be made of titanium
My heart still soft and tender
I lasso dreams just long enough
For others to pop them with a pin
Still remember who I was back then
Often unable to recall who I am these days