Suppose we were chaff, that was lying about
When a very small whirlwind brushed us to the sky,
And then at the moment when we sailed highest,
A wind that was stronger blew us apart…
Goodbye little brothers,
Dear parents, farewell
Here my sins end,
I have no more to tell.
Jose Posada 1852-1913 Artist, Illustrator and Cartoonist with strong beliefs during the Mexican Revolution with his publisher Arroyo, illustrating ballads and poems and images for day of the dead
i left the amniotic starship
landing on candlewick bedspread
unseen behind lace curtains
a sheltered birth,
dad notched his baseball bat
i was number three,
his way of memory
like folded candy wrappers
that something special,
a silent childhood
passed in grey school solitude
born invisible,
home the only place
colors came into appearance
becoming animation
voices and gestures
of laughter and song,
we breathed from
leonard cohens lungs
songs that filled the complete
with mothers long fingered
touch that was protective,
as a notch on a baseball bat
i would not be whittled away,
looking back
i could only think of the
new colors i had found
in my own home
the clock as a passenger
looks with helpless hands,
as time often cast upon
the rocks of mans momentum
stalls past and present collide,
memory that flattering
cinemagraph of the synaptic’s
relays something other than was,
short breaths come
falter far from the heart,
we as living in this space
age,
flesh wither
wrinkles cluster and deepen
bones become fragile,
yet we strive to linger on
place ourselves as memory on others
so that it is not in vain
even a fragile hand held
is a memory,
cruel tides wash through time
that pull and toss you about,
so steady you remain
until that moment,
that flesh becomes shell
and memory is a function
of recollection,
not ready
it happens
now it is time to accept
and face your own reflection
again
velvetmedia 