A Letter in Transparency

One of the most amazing things about writing, I think, is how honest it allows us to be. Even when it’s fiction some elements of truth and transparency weave themselves into what we write. I think we are unable to remain completely divorced from our creations. With that thought I felt like the most important thing I could write/share with you wordsmiths is a letter I am sending to my Grandparents. Enjoy and keep that pencil moving.

To my Grandfather and Grandmother,

Hi guys! It’s been too long since I’ve wrote, and far too long since I’ve seen you. I miss you both dearly. Regretfully the last time I was in Minnesota I was too sick to be allowed in to visit, but such is life. Are you still buried under feet of snow? I’ve longed to see what a winter like that looks like as Dad tells me he hasn’t seen one like this since the ‘70s. On the other side of the coin though, it’s been warm here. The days reach the 50’s, yet it always seems to get far too cold at night still. I guess that’s March for you though. People are starting to get very antsy for the summer days, and are begging for a weather change. I can only imagine in your neck of the woods that sentiment is stronger. Soon enough the seasons will change and we’ll be dreading how hot it is outside.

Due to the warm weather I have been able to get the motorcycle out, and man has that been awesome. I’ve been able to go for some terrific rides already; nowhere special yet, but just getting out is sometimes all you need. To feel the sun warming you as the air simultaneously tries to cool you is almost indescribable at times. There is such a feeling of freedom riding a motorcycle, I wish everyone could experience it. Take comfort knowing I ride as safe as I can and always wear a helmet. I look forward to some trips on the bike and for the nights to warm as well, so I can take the insurance off the car and just be bound to the motorcycle again.

Work is steady. I’ve been promoted to Assistant Manager (I tell people I’m an ass man when asked!). All that really means is more responsibility and stress with a small increase in pay, but at least it’s honest and steady. I see a lot of friends trying to find steady work or just a job in general here in Denver and I know I am blessed. I don’t think anyone would have believed you if you would have said 10 years ago the job market would be this poor. So it leaves us with very little options, either we put up or shut up, and the family I grew up in would only allow me one option.

I hear you are presented with great amounts of people watching at your new place, and that you are making friends as well. That’s great. I’m glad you are finding joy in the midst of this hardship. I am praying for you both. If I could be there tomorrow I would. I’d love to see you and visit you in your new place. I’m sorry that you two are no longer on the farm. I know it’s for the best, and the treatment you are both receiving at the hospital is far better than what could be provided for you in home, but it’s a strange thought to think that the farm is empty.  As it is certainly for you, it is filled with many fond memories for me. I remember walks through the fields with the family, picking cranberries in the bog with Grandma, walking to the old stead with the cousins, picking vegetables in the garden, spending days on end out there - and ending the night watching a Western with Grandpa, Grandma, and Erica while eating apples and cookies and sipping koolaid. It was there that my love of the Western began and has fervently increased.

I dream on memories of wrangling loose cattle with Grandpa on the four wheeler while Sheba and I ran on either sides to corner them and lead them through the fence gate. I recall feeding the cats and dogs in the barn with Grandma while Grandpa milked the cows, and getting to feed some of the calves as well. That barn was a magical place for me. The other grand-kids and I would play in there for hours. I remember Erica and I going into the chicken coop to gather the eggs and feed the chickens with Grandma, or how we used to play with the chicks, kittens, and dogs. I wonder how many family meals we had at that big table and a kids table in a kitchen? We used to see how much of Grandma’s strawberry jam we could pile on a piece of homemade bread. Through the years we always feasted like royalty, and I am convinced there will never be a better fried chicken than the ones that were prepared for us. The amount of presents that were opened under the Christmas tree over the years are immeasurable, but the true treasure will be those memories. I can’t pinpoint a favorite memory but one that certainly is on the top of that list took place when I was fourteen.

We were splitting wood for the winter, it must of been one of the last winters you heated your home with wood. I remember Grandpa, Dad, Dave, Mom, and Mike all there working on splitting wood. Tossing. Splitting. Stacking. When we were done, Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder and told me to open the cooler. I did. I then proceeded to hand him a Grainbelt Premium as he set himself on the tailgate of the pickup. He told me to grab another saying, “Today you worked like a man, now you drink like one.” And with that I sat down on the tailgate and had a Grainbelt too. I also remember Erica teased me afterwards when she asked why I was spacey - as I think I caught my first buzz then. It was then, for me, that I knew not only was I growing up but that I somehow belonged to something greater than myself. The family. But all things pass with time, and I know I will cherish those memories the rest of my life. It will be something that no one will ever be able to take from me.

Thank you for letting us run wild through your fields, sloughs, woods, barns, garage, and house. It was here, under your watch, that we your children and grandchildren grew. I’m sure we caused our fair share of trouble, but I believe that to be buried by the joy present. If there is anything I could do for you now, you only need to tell Dad and he will let me know. If you’d like me to come visit you only have to ask and I will get on a plane as soon as I can. I love you both. I cherish you both. I think of you often. I would not be the man I am today without either of you. God bless and keep you, and hopefully I’ll see you before the summer.

dreaming in latin

some nights
you haunt my dreams
unblemished and golden
like all the things
you cannot become again
like all the days
we could not hold,
like all the nights
we could not share.
yet in beauty we
became,
ever the more,
never the less;
with stealth and force
and longing.

some nights
i lie awake
dreaming
in latin.

Til I'm In My Grave

Click here to listen.

What have I got myself into?
Did I just hear me say "I do"?
Now it's just me and it's just you
Til one of us sings the blues

But I'm not the man I hope to be
Give it a few months and you'll see
You're gonna need much more than me
I ain't enough to make you happy

But I can promise you three things
1. I'll be in your corner
2. I'm gonna work til I've worn away
3. For richer or poorer there's only you til I'm in my grave

Are you really this close?

-->

Are you really this close?

In the dim

You brush my elbow with your breast

and I think of the beach

and sandy elbows

I built a statue of myself at the breakfast table

Mechanically shoveling bites

Checking phone for signs of life

Your sweater wasn’t’ enough

as you mixed eggs and milk

Winter creeped up your stomach

Like a perve neighbor

who catches you unaware but doesn’t blush

with two granite eyes

I stared into that little box

Scrolling for salvation

As your hair brushed my cheek

And I thought of lines

Painted on the soccer pitch

And the smell of vinyl in grass

I noticed 

that you asked

If I noticed

and I said I had

But you didn’t believe me

And I tried to stare into your eyes

Tried to be so aware

Tried to push a memory

Of me noticing

Into your mind, 

but you wouldn’t have it

Instead you ate your eggs and wondered

Are you really this close?

FTW

The battery connectors are fastened with the gripping touch of the tiniest bolt. The choke is stretched wider than the breadth of the Grand Canyon. The ignition is pressed with an anxious thumb. Sooner than expected the sleeping giant yawns a breath of fire, shrugging off a long rest. Hibernation is over. A saddle is fastened as she purrs her song of jubilation. My confederate laughs and tells me he hasn’t “seen that shit-eating grin in a long time,” as I look his way before mounting the beast. I can only assume it’s quality is equal to the ear to ear smile plastered upon his mug. I’m in disbelief that our helmets fit over our gargantuan displays of teeth and gums, yet we are ready to ride. My rhythms take command as if I was crying giddyup on a molecular level. It’s been a long time coming. Lift off. I feel the neighbors’ eyeballs follow my tail lights as we set out to nowhere. I can only wonder why they aren’t already dancing their jigs between the lines of freedom the road provides. Here we are moving forward with no signs of stopping. The motion is met with a feeling of weightlessness. That’s a strange phenomenon with a quarter of a ton beneath your legs propelling you forward as fast as you want to go. It’s here that you realize there is no place for fear or hesitation. There is only joy and roads.

Despite my obnoxious amount of joy my breath is steady and relaxed, as my mind clears kinda like how you imagine the space beyond space on a starless night - void of thought, action, movement and being. A harmonious union is struck between metal, movement, and muscle. The wind crashes against my chest churning my soul. The violent grind produces electricity coursing through my veins and into the machine. Where I end and the bike begins is lost in translation. My slight movements fire with robotic precision; the shifting becoming so succinct, so slight it’s lost with a blink. My resolution for revolution hardens matching the steel I grip. May the road stretch forever, may the gas never run dry.

It’s here that I realize through my shades that the sky is bluer than I’ve ever noticed. I would be unable to gaze upon it’s beauty without the shades, the sky becomes a solar eclipse of freedom in its own right; should I gaze too long I’ll go blind. It’s then my gaze falls upon the road. The cars parked dash by as if trying desperately to get out of my way as I set out on a mission to here, there, everywhere, and nowhere. There is a grace found in that moment that can’t be contained in words, and a merciful moment every second I stay upward. It’s then that I notice not only is the sky more vibrant but the grass competes. As if to be the yin to the yang, the green shines brighter than can be captured in a photograph. In the midst of this I have arrived in a perfect moment carved for a weary traveller. The sun warms my skin to the temperature of my passion burning within. A furnace that cannot be quenched. I wonder in bliss if anyone can understand what I am experiencing in this moment. At once to my approval I remember I am sharing this moment with another. Though I cannot see his face or hear his words I know he is as happy or happier than I. This is better than any steak chewed, any whiskey sipped, any beer savored, any cherry red tobacco stewing at the bottom of a wooden bowl. Victory is loud, fast, and peaceful. It is a chaotic excitement that I find peace in today. Forever two wheels.

Untitled

Here is a series of questions you may ask yourself. I give you permission.

What is play?  Why am I not playing?

How are you?  Why do I care so little?

How much time?  How better to fill it?  How not to fill it with drivel?

Where did that feeling, idea, notion, unction, lubrication, go to?  How do I get it back?

Who is?  Who isn't?

Are you really this close?  Why do I rarely notice?

of sickness and health and middling

i am living in
short bursts
of edge-less entertainments
like a cloud casting her weight
ground-ward
without choice her lots
cast by matter's chances;
both a pure and confusing
calculus

i am sick in
long drawn periods
such as week's end
that found me
couch-ward like
a potato resting
in the cool ground
waiting for the the rain
and a fast and
purposed pull from
iron tines

and as i sick and health
the days asunder;
i am middling with
the least of these.
as a monk
out of cloister,
as a nun without
habit,
to be sans a right nor a left