Interstate-64

Yesterday, on my way home from a college visit,

I counted six crosses on the side of the road.

Multiple lives have ended on interstate-64

six of them stopped forever in the hundred mile stretch

between Mt. Sterling and Louisville.

A cross placed on the side of a road

is the most tragic events

that is inflicted upon innocent eyes.

A life ended in that spot

without warning,

without goodbye.

There was no period or end mark given to them ahead of time to say their farewells,

Only metal against metal

brakes screeching

and loved ones yelling.

Reporters recite a memorized speech into a microphone

in hopes of drawing compassion from an otherwise

desensitized humanity.

There is no beauty

in a cross of the side of the road,

no matter the number of flowers

or coats of paint

or angle of the sun.

There is no beauty in a tragedy that steals lives.

Let Them Rest

We are incapable of rest.

Our society is relentless

always going

always expanding

always moving.

We have ceased to be still.

From day of birth,

to day of death

Our minds filled with thoughts

of Manifest Destiny

and the curse of placidity.

But there is a day

that reaches everyone

when the earth will take our last breath,

and disperse it.

Then,

only then,

will we be still.

Once they are gone,

let them rest.

Do not dress in elaborate affairs of black

with hopes that it will bring them back

They are already gone.

Let them feel the peace

                  the tranquility  

that society never has.

Let them rest.

Anxiety

My thoughts are silent.

My feet are still

My hands calm.

But tranquility never seems to last.

The words arrive

Whether by feeble silence

or thundering  detail

They always find me.

They crawl in through my ears
 my fingertips

my toes.

They find their way inside

no matter the boundary

no matter the dose of medication

no matter the amount of slumber.

The words find their way inside,

traveling through my organs,

up my spinal cord,

weaving into my bones,

clenching my heart.

Till it reaches my brain-

where it imprisons my mind,

traps my soul,

interlacing with my feelings,

ensnaring my whole being,

and I am completely submissive.

My feet are pacing,

my hands are sweating,

my body is shaking.

My thoughts are no longer silent- they are running a mile a minute

playing on repeat before my eyes like a movie flashing on the big screen.

A tornado of unrest,

a hurricane of emotion

with a frightened child trapped inside.

With each breath taken in-

I pull water into my lungs that are already filled to the brim.

One more deep breath-

and my lungs will collapse.

Causing all the water I was drowning in-

to flood out through my eyes

spilling like a tsunami straight from hell.

I am ten miles deep in the waters from my eyes,

      ten miles deep in the emotions that stole my peace,

ten miles deep in an ocean with no outlet.

But somehow-some way- the words are pulled

from my feelings

       my brain

       my heart

       my bones

      my spinal cord,

      my organs,

Shoved away from my entire being.

My thoughts are once again silent,

my feet still,

my hands calm.

Where I'm From

I am from the endless supply of horse tack 

lying around the dusty barn.

       from the blue ribbons

covering the walls.

       from the smell of leather cleaner

in the morning.

I am from the house in the country-

both of them.

I am  from the trees.

        from tireless hours spent

setting up a tent.

        from the lake with the slimy bottom

that always smelled like fish and pine needles.

I am from summers spent on the trails.

I am from the clothing dryer I tried to hid in

when my parents were fighting.

       from the words yelled

and objects thrown.

       from the gravel thrown up in the driveway

when my dad sped away.

I am from the decisions of surface level love.

I am from the five day drive

to the promised land.

       from the stays in cheap hotels

for one night.

       from roadside bathroom breaks

and gas station pizza.

I am from the journey to Kentucky.

Silhouette senses

Life is a patient mystery.

We can only imagine the sleepless chaos it contains;

a barefoot perfection

standing right next
to an unexpected recklessness.

Years spent in the self-defeat we have come to love.

But time brings promises of change

just as well

as change brings promises of time.

Perfection is promised,

but insecurity creeps in

before the door can be shut.

And while the soft, soulful smiles

are always prominent,

the senses dull to a soft throb.

And we are reduced

to nothing more

than silhouettes of the night.

I Believe in Brokenness

My parents are like water.

Both so concentrated

       so powerful

       so strong-minded.

(Bending/falling/constantly moving) with the current.

My mother is lovely.

Not quite a river,

but bigger than a stream.

Always on the move,

never staying in one pond too long.

My father is commanding.

A river all on his own,

comparable to the Mississippi.

He never flows with the current,

he forges a new path.

When they met,

they built a dam.

One deep-rooted enough to hold

all the water they fill it with.

And they filled it to the top.

My sister and I are the dam’s contents.

Compassionate

stubborn

everlasting.

Filling the dam to the brim, never spilling over.

But nothing is indestructible,

and everything can break.

The waters have never been still,

and sometimes

the movement creates earthquakes.

Gradually

the dam weakens,

its contents begin to shake.

Once serene environment now

full of (yells/screams/shouts)

Perhaps my parents were too powerful,

perhaps the dam was not strong at all.

Because now everything is loud

        everything is cracking.

And with final shouts of shattered promises,

the dam breaks.

The walls collapse,

and its contents spills forth.

Immersing everything in sight

nothing is safe.

It takes years,

for the waters to subside.

When it does,

the aftermath is better

than anything that was created before.

Everything previously there,

was washed away.

The landscape is

new

clean

free.

Now something new can be created.

something that will not hold the water captive.

An ocean.

An ocean where many rivers pour their love into it

so it grows strong

and can stand on it’s own.   

Perhaps it will be better this way.

Perhaps it will be better broken.

Now nothing is keeping the water captive,

it is free to move where it wishes,

unrestricted.

Although the dam is broken, it is good,

Because it allows for future creation.

I believe in Brokenness.