Letters Unsaid

We clung to that red umbrella
beneath grey northern skies,
still the rain came as a surprise
as it was snatched out of my hand.

I didn't see the bus coming
and you stepped on without turning,
my legs knew
what my mouth couldn't say,
so I watched inside the belly of the beast
as its windows digested you to the back seats.

The judder of a closing door
meant I was too late
to talk about the responsibility
I needed to take.

Standing there, a magicians assistant
we disappeared in a swirl of road spray,
sawn in half under October's
dripping branches.

Your mother called in November
just after the first flurries.
I imagined you with sunken eyes,
hospital white, blood spreading
into the snow from
between your thighs.

Winter was a frozen churchyard
where angry crows
shouted down to the dead,
echoes around crooked headstones
and all the sealed tombs
I know I should have said.

1.The Enigma
 
I sat in the back row.
I know you I saw me-- you looked up
when I walked in .
 
Do you not know what to make of me, or
fear an unrepairable fissure  
in your solitude, might happen
if you'd said more than
a nanosecond, humor-me, "Hi"
as you turned away after the show?
 
If you weren't so drippingly handsome
I would've turned away, too, and
admitted that you're all about the music  
and nothing more.
 
 
2. The Friend
 
I saw the younger man  
trying to break free  
from behind the wrinkles around your
ice blue eyes, and
in your labored gait.
 
Funny, how the hands
reveal our true age, in  
the prominence of bones, and
the little blue veins, that wind  
and twist through thinning tissue.
 
It was a pleasure to meet you in person, and
thank you for making the walk
up to the back row
to introduce yourself.
 
 
3. The Soulmate
 
I know you were at your own funeral.
I didn't then, but I do, now.
 
You stood in your own reception line, telling
each person, something about them
that you felt, as you greeted each one.
 
You said I was your one and only, and
I knew then that just our bodies die
and not the rest.
 
And I knew then, that sometimes
a dream is a message in its realness.
 
And I know that you meant what you said, and
I'll see you again, no matter  
how much sobbing and blubbering  
I did, driving home  
across the Tappan Zee Bridge .

I can now answer "Yes"
when someday, I go where you are, and
God asks me if I learned how to love.

Three letters to first ladies in my life…
 
1  
I’m sorry for the unkind comment I made, not realizing you were sitting close. You didn’t acknowledge it, but I knew you heard, and I knew it hurt you.  
 
Earlier, you told me you liked me, but I was unsure of my feelings at the time. You were quiet, shy, kind, and beautiful in ways my adolescent brain didn’t recognize yet. You were brave and I was the coward. Please forgive me. You wouldn’t be the only girl I hurt, but you are the one I still learn from every day.  
 
2  
I think of you often with pleasure and regret. When you called and invited me to your church hayride, I was shocked. We didn’t know each other well and you were younger, but I thought you were beautiful.  
 
You were the first girl I kissed in a serious way. Under that quilt with the smell of fresh hay, a world of magic opened up to me. I think I was the first boy to touch your bare breasts. You were the first girl I touched that way.  
 
Even all these years later, I wouldn’t have had it happen any other way, but I just have to know. Were you pleased or was it too soon?  
 
3  
It was only a passing night in your eventful life, but for me it was a singular portal of pleasure that still haunts. The words you whispered and every panting breath from your lips became the fibers of memories that still give pleasure.  
 
I know it’s been years, but if you’re alone now, can we meet?

 
 
Hollow
 
It's hard to mourn
someone who was never really present.
Now that you're gone,
nothing much has changed.
 
Does that make you sad?
Good; now you understand.
 
 
Hide
 
I was just a kid.
Freeze
Stay silent
Be ashamed
 
You'll never know you're the one
who taught me
this world is not safe.
 
 
Heal
 
You cracked me open.
Light peeked in;
poetry poured out.  
I wasn't ready
to be allowed to feel;
making art is making love
 
Thank you  
for seeing  
me
 

Dear Kay,  
Oh, the benefits of hindsight.    
If only I had known back then what I know now!    
    
Three questions I would have asked you    
before you died:    
     
~What are all of your favourite things?    
I'm sure your son would love to know.    
~Would you do it all again?    
~How do I begin my career without my mentor?    
A booklet of pointers would be great!    
     
Three things I would have told you    
before you left us for ever:    
     
~Your son and husband will be fine.  After a suitable mourning period, we will become a blended family and take care of each other.    
~I will carry on your life's work for as long as I have breath.    
~You are my inspiration. That moment in 1992 changed my life for good.  A quarter of a century after your death, I still get upset sometimes.    
     
I think you would be immensely proud of your enormous legacy.    
Always and for ever,    
E    
     
     
Dear Rufus,    
I was pleasantly surprised    
to see you last week      
and realise that we finally get along.    
It really didn't work so well    
when we were younger, did it?    
     
Too different? Too alike?    
Who knows?      
But the point is    
that you always thought it OK    
to mention all my failings,    
pounce upon my weaknesses    
and expect me to improve.    
     
It's been fourteen years    
since the most hurtful episode,    
and I can finally say    
that it's OK    
and I forgive you.    
What still stings      
is not getting a chance    
to defend myself    
without splitting a family apart.    
     
So I'm telling you now:    
your wife is lovely,      
but can be selfish, spoilt and a martyr.    
That is why      
I do not like to come and stay.    
You said we were inconsiderate and ungrateful    
but conveniently forgot the times    
we cleaned up,      
put the hoover round,    
bathed and entertained your kids,    
babysat    
and I could go on.    
     
The next time    
you have an issue with us,    
kindly tell it to my husband    
instead of me.    
After all, you're married to his sister.    
Even better,      
have her do it herself.    
I suspect you came to me    
because he would have laughed it off    
and your words would have had no impact.    
Well, they did.    
     
     
Dear Dad,    
Oh who am I kidding?    
Let's start that again.    
     
Dear Sperm Donor,    
(and I don't really mean the Dear)...    

Dear Sperm Donor,    
Hmm, that's no way to start a letter.      
How about just...    
     
HELLO!    
It's very strange      
to sit and reflect upon our relationship    
now that it is definitively over.    
While I'm grateful for my life,    
You were irresponsible,    
a total liability,    
and far, far worse.    
It's not difficult to make a baby—    
most people can.    
It's much harder to be a parent    
and some people are incapable of that.    
     
I thought we were just four,    
from three different mothers,      
but no! there are far more    
and you have not been a dad    
to any of us.    
     
Too fond of drinking    
but completely able to stop when it suited you,    
it became an excuse for your violent, warped tendencies    
which were there all along.    
You didn't know I knew,    
but I heard about the pet rabbit    
whose neck you snapped just to impress a friend    
when you were TEN years old.    
     
I knew about the wife beating,    
the times in prison    
and the recall to jail  
for beating up a police officer  
the day after you were released.  
I sense my mum's trauma,    
hear of her broken bones    
and lost teeth.    
I admire her tenacity    
and her ability to rise above it all    
to be enough for me and my sister.    
     
I wanted to give you a chance—    
to decide for myself whether you had changed;    
whether it was possible to build a relationship.    
I wrote you many letters,    
and you responded positively.    
Before too long though,      
letters weren't enough.    
     
You demanded phone calls    
so I called you    
even though there was no benefit to me.    
You begged for my number    
so I gave it to you one Christmas.    
In your narcissism,      
you delighted in calling me regularly    
to spend two hours telling me      
about your pigeons,    
your expired passport    
and what you'd received in the mail that week.    
     
That should have been an indication    
that you never cared about any of us,    
or indeed anybody apart from yourself.    
You started nagging me to meet up with you,    
which I duly arranged.    
Visiting the castle was fun,    
and going out for dinner was OK    
but you weren't good company.    
It was all about you getting your three pints of beer for lunch    
and bragging rights about meeting your daughter.    
We didn't get along,    
I just didn't like you very much,    
but of course you wanted more.    
     
This is almost where it ended...    
we continued to write,      
and you CAMPAIGNED for us to visit you,    
to stay for a week.    
I finally wrote back    
saying no thank you,    
I was happy as I was.    
That was the wrong answer!    
Apparently I ruined your life.    
     
I took the coward's way out.    
When we moved house,  
I conveniently didn't inform you.    
The redirected mail    
ensured that I received your subsequent rants    
but eventually they stopped.    
     
I was young and naive—    
Had I waited twenty more years,    
I would have had the confidence    
to tell you what's what,    
to call you out on the violence,    
the drinking,      
the unrepentant prison stints,    
the fact that you were never there for me    
and never loved me.    
     
Was my life enriched      
by having met you?    
I really don't know.    
     
When you died,    
Nobody bothered to inform me      
until four months later.    
It took a text from my half sister half a world away    
to get the message across.    
I didn't feel grief,    
but conversely not relief.    
I honestly didn't know how to feel,    
except philosophical about the loss of a life;    
the loss of someone's husband    
and someone's brother.    
But a dad?    
No, you were never one of those.

Inspired by illicit thoughts,
Awoken by words ao old yet new. Shaken by tones heard only in my mind as i dream of what you sound like. You shared your words unspoken so simple but so deep beckoning me to reveal parts of me I work so hard to conceal.  Tearing down my walls with sledge hammer type verbs confidently constructed to envoke my geek emotions and provoke my synapses to release my neurotransmitters and jolt my impulses into actions and steer my stillness into reactions.  

Cause and effect
Sir Newton said it best. The pure release of free speech without fear of misconceptions misunderstanding and misrepresentation of words. My words received and  accepted upon inspection no need for elaboration jus commendations and climatic penetrations as my words infiltrate of corner of your mind caressing each cortex and lobe they find. Criminal I scream as my bricks fall away from where you cane to take my mundane stillness away. Ravaged by YOUR WORDS my love affair privately enjoyed has showed itself a cheater. YOUR WORDS are they mine? Do we really think and dream alike?  Sex
Sex is an expression of interest experienced and shared by people with lives that intertwine so little  the romance ends before it starts so they come up with excuses to why it doesn't last and label it sexuality. Sex eqauls love to them incase you did see.  Sex is a reward for loving so fucking and playing is even greater.  This foreplay is better in my eyes which have been wide shut. damn, They are opening. ......
criminal!!
robbing my stillness I should wait. Wait and see what else you steal and maybe then you will slip,  and fall in with me. ......