Oh Christy,
who was the teacher
who provoked you?
Who was the teacher
who shredded your confidence,
made you feel powerless,
alone,
stupid?
.
Who?
.
For surely somewhere,
you sustained a deep hurt
that is still a festering wound,
that causes you to lash out
like an injured dog,
irrationally,
deflecting your pain with today’s power.
Some time ago,
there was a hurt,
that we are paying for.
.
Christy,
A counselor
would be cheaper.
.
.
.
It’s just a theory. But it would explain a lot.
Her
howling,
stomping,
tearful
tantrum done,
the sky is blushing
with embarrassment.
Her eyes twinkling with fervour
I introduced the devotee to the star of the evening.
Without preamble she leapt into analysis
of the opus, confusing words, likely erroneous.
The star gave me a glance with eyebrow raised
and I offered a half smile and shrug,
as graciously she said
“Oh, yes?” and turned to her next supplicant;
dismissing the devotee withdrawing
on her delighted sighs.
You don’t believe in God
but you know demons,
up close and personally.
The ever present haunting,
sometimes out of sight
but never far,
is a billowing storm cloud,
black and ominous,
waiting to pour down upon you
waiting to wash out your roads
waiting to carry you away
too rife with hopelessness
to thrash against it.
A demon rides your shoulder,
its claws clinging to your skin,
its fury held at bay by
an umbrella of medicaments,
a pharmaceutical shelter
from the storm,
inadequate against a
demon’s tempest.
You toddle over,
your two tooth grin wide.
When tapped
upon your button nose
you burst with
belly laughs.
.
.
I met Iona today. Iona is little, and doesn’t speak yet, but she oozes personality!
The dog has been slurping in the toilet
He saunters down the hall,
water dripping from his muzzle,
stops beside me, gazing adoringly,
and kisses my arm with long wet strokes.
As he flops to clean his privates,
I go off in search of soap.
She slashed him.
.
Pain scratched and yowled around his brain,
longing for palliation.
He saw compassion and affection in your eyes
wrapped his hands across your neck and
in the explosion of agonized ecstasy,
you choked down his hurt.
.
She twitched her fingers.
.
With his backward gaze,
he saw anguish curling lithely behind your eyes.
You saw his pitying relief, even as his pain
purred so loudly in your head
it blocked the words
he should have said.
.
.
.
This one is for Amber
It begins
in awe
a stunned staring
with a grin that expands
from mouth to feet
’til even toes are smiling
with delight.
It grows
in time
as kindly sharing
expands experience
from then to now
’til familiarity leads
to comfort.
It rests
in fondness
warm embraces
transcending miles and
knowing paths will cross
again.
Like two hookers
in black vinyl trench coats
the crows stroll between the yellow lines
each watching the traffic
with one jaundiced eye.
Tonight
walking to the mailbox
I am stalked by mist
The lights blink through
the neighbours trees:
stars above,
down town below.
It’s so black between the lamps,
I expect deep quiet,
beneath the rustle of new leaves,
but the highway hums in the distance.
Trucks travel with an insistent drone
that climbs the hill to my house,
and silence suffers
in the hustle of their incessant transitions.
Shawn L. Bird 