there’s that f’ing memory at nautilus teachings

there is a struggle
inside of me
i am filled with
the knowing
this should be simple
quit trying so hard
just let it flow
but there is a
ginormous plug
welded
upon the image
of you,
there will be
no uncorking
no smiles
or cheers
at the pop
the release,
there will be
no bubbles
spraying upward
holding air
only the slow
cascading of
sticky memory
the fizzle of a light
which refuses
to go out
until
you have finally
stuttered out
enough
harmful
un-encouraging
hurtful words
until at last
your mind
goes blank
with no more
demeaning thoughts
until at last
you finally look
up to God
and say,
“well, i think i damaged her enough, Lord,
take me home…”
is there some
one
any
one
person
in your life story
you think,
“why is God keeping them alive?”
is it true that only the good die young?


i take in a deep breath
and begin searching
for a good memory
of you
but what always comes
to the surface
is the blank look
i remember
the always searching for
something
be it sound
meaning
a sarcastic comment
a dig
i remember you as
being empty
you were always this
hovering,
this is my house
i am in control
do what i say
person…
i don’t think
any
one
person
ever feared you
but something about
you
ruled them
held them hostage
comforted them
even when you
let loose your
tsunami of
accusations
hurling
arrows so fast
it pinned us all
to the depths
of your
world…
why do we need
good memories
if all we can feel
it a sad loss
for what could
and should have
been?
it’s ok
to let people go
i
know
this…


yet still
as i hit my mid 50’s
do i want
that one
soul
connection
with him.
that’s all i need
is one golden strand
etched
within my heart
so when
you do take your last breath
when you are
no longer reachable to
cut me down by phone
or to randomly text
me bizarr messages
i want to know
with certainty
i was loved
by
you
and that this
stitching
heals
bandages
spreads
like warm honey
over
true
memory of you.
instead
my phone rings…
it’s you
i pick up
and once more
i can hear
the flat
i am doing my duty
tone
revealing to me
“when i die
don’t come home.
when i die
there will be
no service.
when i die
i will sit next
to your mother…”
i don’t question you
nor do i deny you
your wish,
i simply say,
“ok. dad.”
the conversation ends
and i wonder
WTF?
this man
the one who provided for me
and my siblings
who loved my mother
who was loved
even though he was
‘born broken’


is a door i can never open
because there is no handle
no window to peer inside
no key or hinges exist
he lives a happy life
remarried
for over 25 years
and just won’t let me in.
he won’t be alone with me
refused to travel to his
grandsons wedding
will never see
or hold his new
great grandson…
is he feeble?
homebound?
hell no.
he is nearly 88,
just got his
drivers license renewed
is in good health
but will not
under any circumstances
come see me
or any of his kids-ever-
unless we travel to him.
so i search
for one memory
i want to cling to
and unfortunately
the only one that comes to mind
are his words
when our mother died
“i know you all wish it was me,
and so do i…”
what do i do with this?
some people say,
‘go see him’
others say,
‘let it go’
more than ever i hear
‘yeah i understand my dad/mom
is like that too’
i don’t want to not see him again
but i also don’t want to expose
myself to the hateful stare
of his wife
the knowing of how she feels
about me
just to maybe
hear the needle in the haystack words
from my father,
“sher, i love you. i am so proud of you.”
or maybe even hear,
“i’m sorry…”
neither of those will happen
so i sit in the quiet moments
at my mothers table
trying desperately to churn
up one sweet chunk of him
all the while hearing him yell
at my mother,
“get rid of this table and bring mine back…”
for today
i release him to the
gentle wind
which floats in
and around my tiny
beach shack of a home
that is filled with
my mothers colors
my art
my love
for a man
and a family
my father
will never get to know
because
he chose
to stop growing
stop learning
stop loving
the pieces
of a life
that he was part
of creating
but buried
30 years ago…