Tomorrow

If the apocalypse took place tomorrow I…

would run. The first thing they tell you about the walking dead is that they, quite obviously if you read the name, walk. They don’t run. They can’t speed walk. Stairs give them some trouble. Even a steep ramp will slow them down. So when they come for you, run. If you were smart and have your kit packed ahead of time, grab that as you head for the door. If you didn’t pack, either start praying or find the nearest heavy thing and follow the person who did. You’ll want to go somewhere safe. Then you’ll remember you can count the number of truly safe places on one hand with plenty of room to spare. Then you’ll freak out. If you can get past that, the trick is to breathe slowly, you’re a million steps closer to surviving. Then you find someplace safe. Preferably with people you trust. If you can’t find any of those, then people you love. Baring either of these groups, you’re better off alone. Seriously, learning to trust people while being chased by things trying to eat your brains isn’t the best way to develop healthy emotional attachments. Trust me.

Take My Breath Away

You grow up
Expecting complaint
It is drilled into you
That the person
Most like Job
Is most like God
So asking questions
Becomes instead preparation
For inevitable rejection
Misery
Lamentation
And practiced narration
Of wrong turns
And unlucky days
So when unsolicited
Positivity pours out
Singing melodies
Unheard for generations
The world stops
And while crashing
Through walls and windows
And anything
Not nailed down
Flies by with you
Because after all
Inertia is powerful
And the world just stopped
You contemplate
The liquid joy
Mingled with the splinters
And question unprepared
Why he said
He’d never grow tired
Of you

My Favorite Sound

Silence speaks differently

Whether that silent moment, just before dawn,
When darkness dampens the rustle of a world,
Like you, not quite awake
The faint hum of the laptop rises in time
As you breathe and sink into the silence of sleep

The silent breath of anticipation, of knowing
The next three moves, but gagged you only watch
As characters tumble into preplanned plot points
Is different from the silence after, sitting stunned,
While the moment you and your hundred closest friends
Shared steps out and joins you in the silent second
Of being right and still surprised

Silence speaks differently

It is that thunderous moment when a mother,
Holding her grief in her arms like the child she has lost,
Enveloped in darkness, her eyes screaming wordlessly of pain
Slumps to a couch, alone in a room overflowing with family
And it is those years after, when she visits
That silent, grassy resting place

It is that space between two faces
Who, faintly smiling, touch beneath the silent sky
And look up at the silent stars, lying in the silent field
It says “I love you” 
And doesn’t ask any questions, but allows the silence
To speak for it

Silence speaks differently

There is the weightless silence of the cathedral’s stone
Lighter and more freeing than the awkwardness of a
Crowded, silent room when you’re late to class
That – ancient and rich – empties your mind
As it fills it with visions of a long-last past
Silent, yet ever speaking