Was this really written in 2010?
when you’re near
there’s such an air of spring about it
I can hear a lark somewhere
begin to sing about it
there’s no love song finer
but how how strange the change
from major to minor
every time we say goodbye.
The heavens in the classroom
Light shining through pinholes
The fabric of space/time fractured
by a careful first grader with silver pin
poking a constellation through resistant paper
that finally caves to her creative whims.
Once, we turned our faces starward
and tried to mirror the concave darkness to the convex lightness of our eyes.
Carefully, I laced Orion’s triple shining belt and
traced the mirrored question mark of Leo’s mane and chest.
I like to imagine you were watching my profile
as if it were some magnificient feature of the universe
available only on some clear night, and then rarely seen.
The town’s lights behind the horizon diffused into the blue-black,
My cheek pushed harder into your shoulder.
But neither celestial glimmering, the eerie lume of convenience stores,
nor the single light from the house could outshine us,
our wonderment like that on the face of a child
who forgets her sore fingers as black paper becomes sky.
just so you know
I’m not telling you where I went to high school
or where I grew up
because there’s no one answer to those questions
and you are a creep
These beautiful sculptures are part of an ongoing figurative series by Japanese artist Mihoko Ogaki entitled Milky Ways. This awesome fusion of the the beauty and mystery of the night sky with the mortal human form is an exploration of the ideas of life, death, and rebirth.
The fibre-reinforced plastic sculptures depict people either dying or already dead. Their forms have been embedded with bright LEDs that project fields of stars against the walls, floor, and ceiling of a darkened space.
“In a bright room, the dying bodies appear morbid and in pain, but, when the lights go off, the suffering seems to disappear into a delightful, twinkling display. One review states, “Ogaki takes the emotions of our human condition and gives them a physical presence.” The sparkling figures create an environment of tranquility, in which viewers are encouraged to calmly, and without distress, contemplate the human condition of life and death.”
Visit Mihoko Ogaki’s website for more images of these marvelous installations.
Behind the church, I kissed you with my eyes open. It was just so hard to believe that you were real. Were you?
It was night and the air was hot and the moon let us walk beneath her bright skirt, so we did. We walked on and on into forever, two tiny specks mingling with the stars, all of history, even angels. Crossing the street, you took my hand and we stopped. Traffic stopped too, cars honking their horns, the angry shadows of people behind glass cursing and shaking their fists at us, in such a hurry to arrive at places they didn’t want to be. We didn’t want to be anywhere else. The light turned green and horns kept honking and right there you told me that you loved me and this time I had to close my eyes. For some reason it hurt to hear. No, I wasn’t imagining that you were someone else. I was imagining that I was someone else. Someone who deserved you. Someone who could be what you needed.
Time brushed by against our cheek.
We bought a home and soon it collapsed. So we rebuilt it. And it collapsed again. I knelt in the dust and bent nails of our life together and I cried. You bent down next to me and you laughed, and said that we should find a place where homes can’t collapse. Where is that? I had to know. You said that place is wherever we are. Then I cried again. In the rubble I saw our collapse, and you saw our foundation. Is there a difference?
Soon our youth ran off.
We became gray. We grew shorter. Life shrank around us. And we didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe that’s why we fought. I shouted. You held your breath. I folded my arms. You combed your hair. Our faces turned red, but I kept my eyes open. I had to see your expression. Did you look at me the same as you did that night behind the church? After all these years, and all these kisses, and all these collapses, were you still real? And could you make me real too? Did I even want you to?
I needed you to love me. I needed you to let me go. But you never did. Somehow you always smiled through your pain, and wept over mine. And in the silent wake of our wars, you held me close and I felt safe. Safe from myself. I wanted to climb inside your chest, close the doors behind me, and lock myself inside, hidden away within someone who cared for me.
The end came more quickly than we thought it could. No one really believes in the end. But when it arrived for us, I asked it to give me one more minute with you. Just one.
Then I looked for a final time over our worn, sunken shoulder, through every page that we wrote together, through every poem and every bruise, every kiss and every collapse. I inhaled each one. And when I reached the last page of our lives, I tore it out, folded it neatly, and tucked it inside my lips. Then I leaned over and kissed you, whispering, Here is our story…
A thousand times I threw in the towel. A thousand times you picked it up, and used it to wipe the quit from my eyes."
Josh Riebock (via rebelsigh)