1. |
Forgive Me
02:45
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God showed me how you can be both the architect and the critic. I’ve brought most of this misery down on myself. Still, I keep on complaining. I threw that bottle, I thought it might act like a torch and set fire to the asphalt. But nothing changes anymore. I’ve made no progress, so I’m giving up. Forgive me for giving up on me. My father showed me how to die slow, a heart that beats. But just barely. I still blame that dark stretch of road and all the cars that just drove by while she was screaming. They just kept driving. While he was bleeding. When I set that fire I thought it might bring everyone to help.
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2. |
Certainty
02:14
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Stepping through drying concrete I didn’t see. Kick my boots off against the curb half-heartedly. I know this is sticking to me. The corner where my street meets the main road, at night it’s too dark to see my hand in front of my face. I watch the cars drive by. As loud and bright as shooting stars. There’s comfort in seeing something from a distance off, and knowing at least one wish could come true. The one that conflicts with the one of me being with you. Step into the street. When you find certainty, cling to it. There’s no stone so dense it won’t shift some when the water begins to flow. If I saw that concrete, I could have pressed my handprints in. There’s comfort, though, in leaving nothing behind. When I get home, I am telling you everything.
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3. |
Every Meaningless Thing
02:53
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As this year ends, I’m patting down each day, shining a light on darkened corners. How much do we have left to give? It started with a car accident. It didn’t end with your father’s death. When you press her hands to your lips, hold her tight even when she wants to pull away. You need her today. When you save each scrap of paper he ever touched with a pen, every meaningless thing you now find meaning in. The way he wrote his “R”s in your name. The way you both watched baseball the same way: hopeful even when you’re down late in the game. It’s an instinct to hold still when you feel the eyes of something predatory passing over you. Let’s take our daughter and spend the rest of this year with our hands held tight and her in between us not moving an inch.
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4. |
Deterioration
03:29
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It wasn't an easy thing to think you loved him when you were cutting his food and you were wiping his chin. To be a mother to your husband, you must have built up so much resentment. I can only imagine. Was it a relief? Driving halfway across the country with your son asleep in the backseat, now your only responsibility. Did you feel like a smuggler? I remember feeling like a stowaway. To a man who can’t hold his son in his arms or run his fingers through his wife’s hair, I wonder what else is there? Life feels like limping to the box you’ll be buried in. Life feels like deterioration. He didn’t know, though, how his leaving would leave us lost and drifting for ten years. To feel an absence more keenly than a knife in the sheets, than a bruise turning yellow on your cheek, than a pipe between your loosened teeth, then your only reason for waking up. Did you feel like a prisoner? I remember our house as one dimly-lit cell. We needed to learn how to love again.
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