thiefs

Odilia Rivera Santos

the universal gang initiation draws to a close
infer what you wish, add, subtract, assume the best or worst

dark days demand as fervently, as that neighbor's newborn, to be seen, heard and attended to
and make you question each move, decision, action, step, relationship, existence, existential and parking violation, universal laws

there is no we in the equation
it's a lonely trip - full of nauseating speed bumps
skewed perceptions and certainties
whirl up into the air like garbage from the gutter on a windy lonely day

those awful words some relative, or someone you once loved, uttered
enter like a thief
words spoke to chip away - an attempt to make you want
something else
words you don't want to hear
those words break in like thieves, taking the most valued ethereal possessions
and maybe stealing some cold cuts from your fridge too.

that thief left doubt - that filthy squatter -
as a calling card
and forced you to gaze
into the mirror
eyes empty and almost blind from grief

what they say - you know the stoics and neostoics - is true
but on that night, the stoics weren't around
so the night is allowed to get dark
the night gets so dark that it becomes new
darkness and night greet you as if you were a child
confusion and fumbling ensue

to be a child again is to lose and get lost
the acrobatic equilibrium nurtured at a high cost
begins to lie limply, unwilling to take the burden
of headstands or somersaults

you, I stand or sit to examine the unrecognizable shell, draw strength from pity for this deconstructed version of your/myself

hold steady
delicate steps
get you back to before

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