Sunday, April 22, 2012

Call Waiting


Call Waiting
timothy michael fulghum
~
I’ve been trying to sell my
soul to the devil. “Not until
you’re 21,” he said.
He’s been dodging my calls
since.

It’s not that I want magicks
Faustus craved; simply, motion-living
has its limits. I’m not strong;
I don’t know how to handle
humanity.

Sorrow is the language
Rosetta Stone could never crack;
I’ve set up in glass
houses, though I know the stones
wait

for me to turn away –
I want to run, run away;
but, I’m needed more than
my weighted soul wants to
flee.

My mother’s face
serves my Achilles’ heel;
her pain, the etch-a-sketch
permanently drawn to
depression.

How can I shoulder
her grief when my own
threatens to drown
me in its sorrowed
sea?

In a moment, just two
decades with my
grandmother – no,
my “GG” – doesn’t
suffice.

Who will help celebrate
faux-Hannukah?
Who else will burn candle
light gabbing while cheesecake
bakes?

Who will inscribe
the novels that birthed
inspiration – my pen’s ink?
Perhaps I’ll carry the
tradition

for my children
who will never meet the
woman who pressed every
nerve “just ‘cause,” I’m so
sorry.

I’m sorry for not being
there enough; for being “busy.”
I’d use every time-turner to
delay the moment you left,
GG.

I’d trade another relative,
though our blood courses from
 the same tree – it was yours
that provided my
shade.

I await the day I can
reminisce days long shadowed
without reaching for my phone.
Until then, life will move on, and I’ll try
too.

Glass shatters, falling
like the first snow of winter.
At the doorway, I flinch
 taking my first bare step.
Crnchk.

Red ripples around the
wish of my step –
no ponds; no coins.
I’ll take the road less
traveled

to carry your legacy;
I’ll brave humanity.
Your fingerprints won’t
fall victim to tomorrow night’s
snow.

And through my sorrow,
I’ll decipher strength:
Rosetta’s stoned my house
and eased my
confusion.

Faustus fell prey to
his weakness, but I can’t
afford limited-living.
I’ll grow stronger and move
on.

I tried to sell my soul
 to the devil, and when he
finally answered,
I hung up.

3 comments:

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  2. Well done Sassy Man Boy, well done!

    The tears are still falling. I believe you are more man than you know.

    -Aunt Donna

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