Gabriel Gadfly's Blog, page 25

T-I Double GUH-ER

It took us years and miles

to find each other,

and now here we are,

on opposite ends of this

hundred acre wood.

I wish I could just

scrunch up my tail

and hop and bounce

and leap and spring

through every little town

between you and me,

just to hear you sing

to me again.

Let’s lie together

in the dark and tell

stories to each other.

I’ll start:

The wonderful thing

about Tiggers is

I’m yours, I’m yours.

The post T-I Double GUH-ER appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Survival

The first time

you took off your clothes

in front of me, you slid

the white fabric of your blouse

off your arms and revealed

the pale ladders

of scars.

You never referenced them

directly. You said you were

lost, once. You said you

did things, once, and you

did them because they

helped you survive yourself.

I didn’t say anything,

but you took my hand

and pressed it to the

ridged rows of your flesh

and for every line you left

upon yourself and healed,

I found another reason

to call you beautiful.

The post Survival appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Supercell

Years ago, in school,

I swallowed a secret,

but it hasn’t settled well

on my stomach.

I am older now and

I’ve learned what indigestion is,

and now this secret

comes back up:

My heart has always

beat thunderstorms

instead of blood.

I am all whirled up now.

My cheeks are puffed up

and I cough up

craggy tree branches

and uprooted stop signs.

I walk into coffee shops

and all these startled people

look up from their lattes

to hear the shutters

smash in my gusts.

They scramble.

They are trying to stay dry,

trying to keep the rain out

of their cups

but I can’t stop myself —

I jerk umbrellas out

of the wrinkled hands

of old ladies,

I flood parking lots,

I topple garbage cans,

I blow down birdhouses

and scrape them down

the middle of Main Street.

My thunder was quiet once,

just a rumble,

just easy to swallow,

but I am booming now

and I make the windows rattle now.

I make the earth shake now.

I am severe now.

I am a red band on radar.

Tornado siren out my open mouth.

 

The post Supercell appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Sundown

Tonight, I watched the sun bleed

down through the trees: burnt orange,

yellow, long amber horizon cracked

and splintered with silhouettes

of trees. Winter is passed, and those

silhouettes swell day by day, cropping

out in tiny bursts of leaf-shape shadows.

Inch by inch, the day melts dark.

The post Sundown appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Stripes

Afterwards, she fingers the ridges:

twelve pink lines of raised flesh,

carefully placed, ladderlike, along

the pale skin inside her thigh.

The cane was quieter than she

expected: just swip! pop! swip! pop!

and the small yelps she tried to stifle,

even though he had said she could

cry out, if she felt she needed to.

The lines are still warm to the touch.

By morning, he said, the ridges subside,

a small field of bruises would blossom,

yellow wildflowers, patches of pale grass.

For now, the lesson is tactile:

those who fear pain never learn its beauty.

The post Stripes appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Locomotor

I am trying to stoke a fire

inside this engine

of muscle and bone.

It once trekked mountains.

It once carried them.

It danced, it leapt,

it whirled, it stepped

swift and sure and strong

but I have not used it;

I have let it laze and linger

and now it rusts.

The gears grind

when they turn.

They protest and pop,

they groan and grumble.

I have let them learn to ache

when the sun comes up,

when the rain rushes in,

when the chill pulls it blanket up.

No more.

No more.

I have been swallowing tinder.

I am coughing sparks already,

I am knocking off the burrs

and oiling the joints already

and will soon be under way.

The post Locomotor appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Location, Location, Location

I could have kissed you

under cherry blossoms,

pale petals drifting down

like the trees wanted to

pretend they could be

snowclouds.

I could have kissed you

in the rain, drenched to

our bones and not even

caring that the skies

opened up above us

and tried to wash us out.

I could have kissed you

in a clearing in the most

secluded woods, with

just the sound of wind

rustling through the leaves

and a few voyeuristic

finches peeping at us.

Instead, I kissed you

in the parking lot of a

Waffle House, just shy

of 2 a.m. in the middle

of a hectic week, with

our waitress grinning

at us from the other

side of the window,

because, honestly,

how could I not?

The post Location, Location, Location appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Little Gardens

In every city,

there are empty lots

that dream of being gardens.

Some of them

want wildflowers to grow

just because they want someone

to call them beautiful,

and some of them

want to grow peppers,

and bright tomatoes,

and long orange carrots

because the thing

they want most

is to nourish someone,

and some of them

just want water and light

and don’t care what grows,

scraggly weeds or tangled brush,

anything at all,

so long as someone

is there to care for them.

The post Little Gardens appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Like Lemmings Leaping Off A Cliff

You followed your heart.

There’s nothing I can say

against that. You followed

your heart back to the shark

pit, like it was a hook in the

side of your lip and it hurt

too much to not go along,

even if you’d be snapped up

in the end. The water’s

already got the scent of

you in it, and I don’t want

to watch the feeding.

You followed your heart

into the boxing ring, only

the gloves are off and no

one’s cheering for you.

We’re just stunned,

mouths hung open,

drying in wonder,

wincing in anticipation

for the bruises his fists

give like gifts. They’ll come.

They’ll come.

You followed your heart.

I just wish mine had not

toddled after you.

The post Like Lemmings Leaping Off A Cliff appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.

Life and Death and Knowledge

I.

You have only these hours and days.

II.

When you accept them,

you have no need of

afterlives or priorlives.

You have the single empty box

of a life and all the universe

to fill it with.

III.

Live like this: there is an end to you.

Don’t fear it. Don’t wallow.

Flowers wilt. Rivers dry up.

Even the stars extinguish themselves.

Have your time and then let it go.

IV.

Do not shy from your ending

with mad horse eyes.

V.

Allow the box of your life,

when you have filled it,

to have its spaces.

Resist the temptation

to stuff the gaps with gods

who do not know you.

VI.

Pull Uncertainty into your arms

and kiss her on the lips:

too many neglect her,

but she is an eager lover,

and desires only your attention.

Let her teach you how to say

“I don’t know, and that is beautiful.”

VII.

You have only these minutes and years.

The post Life and Death and Knowledge appeared first on Gabriel Gadfly.