3 Poems by Cami K.

 

The Holding (Cycles) 

By Cami K.

 

It’s holding on 

and never letting go 

Or maybe letting go sometimes 

Because you have to 

And because you don’t 

Or because your fingers have cracked 

And the blood running down your arms 

Are making them slip– 

 

Or because you are tired. 

Tired, so tired, 

Please-god-let-me-sleep tired 

And you’ve been dreaming of release 

since before you could know. 

 

Or maybe you don’t. 

It’s what you do, waiting 

waiting for the desert rain. 

 

It’s always an empty glass 

after a thousand days at sea. 

It’s always give, always take, 

always painfully in between 

and it’s always fun 

until one of us loses an eye 

in an effort to see one another’s souls. 

 

Maybe that’s all a lie. 

Maybe that’s all I do. 

 

Maybe you found me at the crossroads 

between two doors, two locked tombs, 

two of us, knight and knave, 

and I said pick, dear heart 

and leave me alone. 

You won’t leave 

Because you don’t know 

which one of us is lying 

and you can’t think your way 

out of this one. 

 

The wheel continues to turn. 

At night, two boys come around 

and play basketball 

on the court in your backyard. 

Your cat disappeared a week ago 

and still hasn’t come around. 

The sound of the wall clock 

drives away your dreams. 

 

It’s what you do,  

the waiting. 

You’re holding on 

when you’ve forgotten 

what to cling to. 

 

What were we clinging to? 

I can’t remember, anymore. 

Can you tell me? 

 

Tell me of the last time you felt brave. 

It’s funny. 

Your lip twitches when you are afraid. 

You come to me with your clothes torn, 

lip twitching, nearly bled dry, 

and you tell me you’ve been brave. 

 

There is a table here. 

It is set with all the things 

you hoped had died 

in last winter’s frost. 

It’s always an empty glass– 

Weren’t you listening– 

It’s always your dreams, 

Invading your life, 

your blood-soaked delusions 

Because you couldn’t help 

but continue to hold on. 

 

It’s holding on, 

and never letting go, 

when I am begging you 

to. When you

are begging you to. 

 

 

 

 

Suburbia, Purgatorio, Left Alone  

 

The open doorway.  

The hallway light stays on.  

                            Someone once told you  

                             that a long time ago  

                             it didn’t matter.  

                             Whether the light   

                was on  

                                                      or off  

                            there wasn’t a place he couldn’t roam.  

 

It didn’t matter today,  

you thought,  

as you heard the switch click off  

and your heart drops low.  

 

Not today or any other day.  

                            

 

 

 

Should I Have Gone and Lived by the Sea?  

  

Instead, I drive by the same red car  

with the cavernous dent in its side  

and wonder how it happened.  

Instead,   

I get my fill of rocky, land-locked shores  

and lilac so sweet I call it home  

and work on decoding the dove’s soft rhyme.  

  

I think I’ve spent too long  

below the trees,  

crying into the hollow of an old willow,  

trying to convince the old crow  

it’s not running out of time.  

  

Should I have gone and lived by the sea?  

Maybe. Maybe.