we are old enough to know the truthA Poem by frankie sanchez
I found my voice in a pocket of oxygen buried in my gut,
it was a hot air balloon backlit by the aura of my lungs, my chest-- was the sky that coughed it up. So now, knowing that my chest is the sky, I spend a lot of time talking to the Moon, the same way Bruno talks to Mars and Freddie talked to Mercury. Knowing, that we are water-based creations, spread thin like the last spoon of pancake batter, I wear my impermanence like Jupiter wears her red spot. I wear my fears like continents wear mountains, pointing them toward the sky, hoping to someday adhere a sticker to my chest that reads, THIS CAR CLIMBED MT. COMMITMENT I have the scars to prove it. My mother carried me like the last drop of water in a desert canteen, there was no need for a soft spot; I was headstrong. I brought the kitchen to the gun fight. Held my hands to the stove top turned my back to the knife rack kept one foot in the door jam and my mouth to the bedpan, just in case these words washed my mouth out. Most people never get close enough to recognize that the smile on my face is written in Braille-- but you've always been there with a blind eye reading my innuendos and holding me to my words. When your marathon feet hit the pavement it's a lot like Buddy Wakefield at a typewriter striking the first letter of the word benevolence-- You taught me how to b b b b b b Even in my most negative moment when my body is a hearse, this heart is a corpse and this life is a road-trip from funeral parlor to graveyard, so that I may have spent my entire life in the company of mourners, who loved me. Even in my most positive moment when my body is a universe, this heart is Hatch Shell located on the south bank of the Charles River swelling with the sounds of the Boston Pops and this life is everything leading up to the Big Bang, so that I may have spent the entirety of my life in the company of creation. Even on the night we met -- the same night I found my voice -- we stayed up to watch Lake Michigan come to life in a pocket of oxygen under a Chicago sunrise so inescapably underwhelming-- it was covered by clouds. But we were not disappointed. Even though all of our rainbows have been stitched into flags, draped over coffins and buried by the same people who taught us to believe in optical illusions. Our hearts were not drawn by Jeremy Fish, we're not weighted in fiction, we did not have heartstrings rigged by Geppetto. No, we were not disappointed, this was nothing like (I still remember) when we learned that we couldn't all be Mouseketeers. Disappointment is a pastime that we reconciled when we laid our grandmothers to rest and recognized that their tombs did not believe in resurrections. The past is a hot air balloon hoisting us up to a sky we'll never see. I get it. I'm not lookin' down. We are old enough to know the truth. The light at the end of the tunnel is behind us, that's where we came from. We are not running from it. There's no looking back. © 2011 frankie sanchez |
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4 Reviews Added on April 11, 2011 Last Updated on April 11, 2011 Authorfrankie sanchezLos Angeles, CAAboutI don't ever wanna be a lost boy. I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story with morals and purpose, I wanna have meaning. more..Writing
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