Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Honest

Honest

I imagine you, alone in my house
For a day, without binding you to a promise
Not to search through angles and nooks, and
Other concrete memories filed away in haphazard places.

I imagine coming home to you
A pile of my past on the kitchen table
As you hold up each item and wordlessly
Ask me for a more explained honesty.

You ask of letters old and grey
Bound with a soft cord and a gentle knot.
You ask of pictures of me with her
And others implied by time and space.

You ask of official documents of a younger man,
Those things held for required years and more
In powered fear and presence--
Those years that ground the wild from me.

You stop me, you hold me
Comforted that all I am is now in you.
We read in quiet and look up at times
To bind with sight the closeness.

And as I fall asleep at night,
With your head on my chest and an arm around you,
I think of that kitchen table and recall the other
Unremembered thing from the dimness of my shadow.

In the darkness of a corner behind the basement stairs,
Crouches a pale and toothless unlit face
Seen only by an indirect gaze off the shine of a window
A bastard of a lonely thing sits, waiting for the dawn to come.

You have taken from me all my honesty,
And nothing of worth from the rest of me…

Mike Brady
December 2004/2008/2010

1 comment:

Mary said...

i read into many of your thoughts, smooth and pleasant ....thanks for sharing