These Were Yours

1. The little wooden box you gave me, so small it could fit in a preschooler's pocket, but you said it was bigger on the inside and could hold all your kisses. I'm sorry if it smells bad, I kept it with me and I think the kisses expired. Were those meant to be refrigerated? Because clearly I am not cool enough for you.

2. This is a bag filled with dust that gathered on top of the two letters you sent me. I ended up collecting a lot because no new letters ever arrived to displace it, and if you open that bag you'll catch the scent of staleness, like something that has been waiting for anything.

3. This is a box filled with all my gift ideas. If you move aside those flowers you can look on the bottom for the ones I put a lot of thought into. I had us planned straight through valentines day. Actually wait... maybe I'll hold on to these and distribute them to our mutual friends because part of me still thinks you deserve nice things.

4. Here is a thimble. I filled it with all my anger packed it in tight and now I wont have to yell at you. I wont have to scream you how unfair it is to treat someone this way. Keep your thumb over that one real tight, otherwise some unorthodox language might leak out and offend passersby.

5. Here are the transcripts from every conversation I had with cousins, aunt, uncles, telling them how great you were, how happy we were and how sometime soon you'd come back east and meet all of them.

6. Here is the bottle of shame from having to go back to those cousins, aunts and uncles and explain that maybe we werent as happy as I had thought, yea you were pretty great but no you're not coming back east anytime soon. I know it looks like an empty whiskey bottle filled with vinegar and rubbing alcohol, but hey I'm a cheapskate. I use the materials that surround me, and I'm not going to a store to by a bottle that will cork nicely and sit on a shelf, because this is not fermented embarrassment that I will hold on to for years until I pull it from an emotional cellar one day and say "man 2013, that was a good vintage, a good year for looking like a fool." This is gas station shame, 200 proof that I will throw back at a party and make some bad decisions with.

7. Now this one is squirmy so hold on to it really tight, it's all of our nicknames, inside jokes and secrets. I kept them. Even though a small part of me wanted to release them into the wild, and by the wild I mean facebook, I decided that I'm better than that. I can be better than that.

8. These are all my questions, they're mostly why's, "why did you do it?" "why did you do it over the phone?", "why did you do it over the phone at midnight?" "why didn't I see this coming?"  "why couldn't you wait and make eye contact with me?" A few 'Whats' "What were you thinking?" "What could I have done?" "What should I have thought?" "What will happen next?" some whens: "When will this stop hurting?" "When will I be able to look at you without the coal in my stomach heating up?" "Since when is ok to treat someone this way?" "when will I be alright?" there are two 'wheres' "Where were you when you decided i wasn't good enough for you?" And "where will hide now?" oh I didnt even notice all these 'hows' "how could you?""HOW COULD YOU?" "how...could you?" oh wait no there arent that many, just that same one in different sizes. Finally, and I dont want to admit I have been asking this because I like to think I know you better...but there's one who. "Who is he, and is he bigger than me? cause I could probably totally kick his ass!"

9. This is a bookshelf. It has a dictionary, a thesaurus, a set of encyclopedias anthologies of poetry by Neruda, By frost, By Atwood, by every slam poet I asked you to watch with me while I said things like "THAT RIGHT THERE IS HOW I FEEL AND IT IS NOT RIGHT OR WRONG IT JUST IS!" There is a set of Shakespearean tragedies for perspective on bad relationships, there is a lecture my dad gave me on the weight of words, and somewhere in this mix there is a manual on how to hug just tight enough. I want you go through that shelf slowly. Go through it all. Because we threw "I love you" around and I'm not sure you get the concept and that is not your fault, there is a learning curve.

10. Finally, here is a plastic smile. I have one just like it and when we're in public we can wear them and match. No one will have to no how I'm dying inside. You might not need this, you have a pretty good one you used with me.

Calling Home

I called Mom on a Tuesday night and said,
"Hey ma, how are things back home?"
She said "well you know your dad is hurt,
and of course he is, he always has some ache in brain or bone
he likes to believe he is indestructible, made from stone
your brother still talks is that broken glass tone,
and every time I look away you and him are a little to grown
and sometimes I scared that I'll be alone."
And its funny, cause as cheerful as that all sounds, it's exactly where I want to be,
and my Mom knows it.
Mom can hear in silence, like bats see in the dark and she asks me what's wrong
and I start to sing her the same old song,
Classes are fine, I am managing time and my friends and I all get along.
But my mouth has a mind of its own and before I can stop I say:
"I'm sick ma, I've got a fever and it's bad,
I can't see the sun cause the clouds in my head are so damn sad,
and I cant even get out of bed without feeling so mad."
And being the Mom she was always meant to be
she speaks a special remedy
she says "Listen that's not a fever, youre just sweating the small stuff,
And as for the clouds, theyre an invitation to quit when the going gets tough,
and the only reason you cant get out of bed is that you're not dreaming enough."
She says here talk to your dad,
and before I can say no his voice pours over the phone
"Listen pal I know your anxious, but God knew that too,
so he left a reminder in our blood to B+,
if youre ever unsure enter into the interrogative,
with someone who lives of their own prerogative,
cause they're the folks who show you how to live."
I listen to the man who taught me how to throw a baseball
like he was some type of guru with answers to it all
as if from damn near 1000 miles away he could reach through a call
and catch me just as I am about to fall
but then I remember that is not dad's style
this is the main who taught me to ride a bike by pushing me down a hill
I stayed balanced but couldnt figure the brakes
thats part of the way dad teaches he shows me my mistakes
he points them out with labels like bandaids on all my scrapes
and then I speak up "Dad I cant deal with these people there all fakes!"
"No kid, they're not, they're doing what you should, whatever it takes."
I know he's right
I know for just about everyone, every day is a fight
and that most people might
if they could, say "listen kid it'll be alright"
Over the static on the phone I hear my dog barking
I can hear the broken glass yelling
and dad sighing
he's hurt
of course he's hurt he always has some ache in brain or bone
he is accident prone
but dad is responsible
he remembers his accidents even when they call on the phone

Am(en)

When I tell people how to say my name,
I have a script,
and I hand it out like a favorite page of the Bible I ripped.
"It's Ammon.
sounds like someone yelling back to the pastor
and I'm a religion major so it works."
What I dont say is:
I am the legs put to my parents my parents prayers,
When I walk hallways, hallelujahs echo in my footsteps,
and when I scream for help, Hosanna haunts the back of my throat
and I have always screamed.
See I was a colic baby .
that means I screamed for at least three hours a day,
three days a week
for at least three weeks
in the first month of my life.
Ma says it because I had a voice before I knew how to speak,
so when I grew up in churches of yelling
of liberation
of "free me from my chains oh LORD!"
It was a language I was already fluent in.
I am bilingual.
I speak English well,
but my first language is pissed off child of God.
That dialect is not available on google translate
and every poem I write is first spoken in my native tongue
so when my lines
dont rhyme
or dont keep time
be aware that this is not how they were first sung.

Left out of every introduction is the fact that:
I am the accidental testamental  that Ma and Pop put out there
I am the unexpected blessing, no less loved as a surprise
I am mom's sense of humor with dad's fire in the eyes
I am the heir to the legacy
of there is no time to wait and see,
I am the younger brother to give 'em hell for me
I am steeped in all kinds of prophecy
like promises that I'm going nowhere with that degree

I guess what is left out when I tell people I study religion,
Is the fact there is no irony
that my name sounds like it belongs at the end of Our Fathers and Hail Marys
my name is the weight I have carried
my name is the light that will not be buried
my name is the one man revolution
my name is the celtic knot in the mystic tradition
my name is all the defiance and lack of inhibition.

My name is Amen.