Being Sixteen Again

 

It feels strange

being sixteen

just before learning to swing

regardless

I feel honored

to be on your list at all

after all I’ve done

and left undone

whether knowingly

or inadvertently

because I’m sorry

I didn’t love you

when you needed it

I’m sorry

I didn’t seek you enough

while you loved me

and sought me enough

I’m sorry

we never danced

I was wrong

and now I know

I’d buy you a van

shop for your food

get you new clothes

make all things new

find you a home

or purchase a slab

whatever it takes

send me

here I am

count me

worthy to share

without condemnation

your spotless mysteries

for eternal life

Solomon's Missing Tool

Three words

Rarely spoken

Never heard

Important as

I love you

Just three words 

Not written or recorded

Prayed or preached

But spoken face to face 

Three syllables

Better than sex and candy

Fulfilling more than feeding five thousand

Laying down all shields and weapons

Making all things new 

Just these three

Needed to be

Spoken and heard

Without pretense or bullshit

I was wrong.

My Saying

There they were

Sandwiched between lined sheets of trees

Flattened like Crêpes

To preserve their wisdom

There they were

Sealed by thumbs

Pressed across the tops of five cent plastic bubbles

Preserved among the scribbles of ideas, nouns, and butter boxes 

There they were

Two sweet chocolate doves of foil

With velvety aphorisms stamped

Under their flesh

One of the once-crumpled silvery sages spoke thus:

“Love is always the perfect gift”

You then replied on a napkin:

“Love means learning to like you.”

The second shiny sage opined:

“Warmth on the inside can melt cold on the outside.”

I then replied:

That explains the lack of warmth in your home.

They only learned to like you after you were gone.