~on your own~
follow the flow of the transfer
you were always best
at the back of the line
and that didn't bother me
you didn't mind
being left behind
because you always knew
I would come back for you
that day at the airport
when I sent you home early
your alcohol riddled breath
beat against my face
with every angry word
you threw my way
a fragrant reminder
of dragging you up the stairs
and handing you wash cloths
after you threw up in the sink
because you could never
stop at just a few
I could not be the cure
for what ailed you
though, you stuck me to you
bound by heart and hope
as though, wearing me
would heal the wound faster
intoxication- caught up in you
as though it were me
who was poisoning my blood
well over the legal limits
I stuck around, waiting
for your HANGing to me
to be OVER
sobered up by your constant denial,
I finally chose to put you down
and sat shaking for awhile
withdrawing from my need
that only you could fix
with liquor laced kisses
and "baby, I'll do betters"
and after the third day alone
I started feeling better
as it seems, you did too
when I ripped myself off you
it only stung you for a moment
revealing the pain to make you
take a closer look
at the wounds you were inflicting
upon yourself...
with nobody to bail you out
nobody to drag your drunk ass up the stairs
nobody to hold you when you couldn't stand up
nobody to camouflage your pain with kisses
and nobody to string together, all your loose ends
you finally learned to rely on yourself
we talk now, and you are the same you in ways
only now you understand, finally
what I tried to convince you for all these years
you are responsible for your own actions
you are capable of great things
you are the same beautiful man I always saw
and now when you look at your reflection in the mirror
you have finally learned to love what you see
so don't ever tell me again
that prayers are wasted breath
~whose child was he?~
surroundings
we forget the things
that reside below the surface
that homeless man
in the heavy trenchcoat
sweating in the sun
as he combs the summer roadside
looking for cans
to trade in for food
or a bottle he can nurse
-he once was a baby
cradled in the womb
of his mother
I wonder, did she love him?
there's a soul in his chest
and a mind containing
dreams, likely unforgotten
still tugging at his heart
providing the fuel
that keeps it beating
hope- still clinging on
for another day
to be passed by strangers
some full of pity
others full of hate
and in disgust
-the angry ones shudder
out of realization
that this man
was not always the "bum"
they call him today
what happened to him
to make it enough
to roam the streets
with his bedroll
comprised of one thin blanket
thrown over his shoulder
and sweat permeating
the wool of his coat
on this 100 degree day
while I sit inside
my airconditioned SUV
with a back end full of groceries
and my "to go" lunch
in the seat beside me
I wait at the light
taking it all in
wondering about his life
and his past
and what he wants most
this very moment
and I dig in to my purse
and pull out the only paper money
I have on me
and roll down the window
as he approaches
to grab the five
out of my hands
and his eyes lock on me
and we exchange a smile
and his eyes stay locked on mine
and I realize he wants
what we all want...
a little understanding
he takes the money
and I thank him
"thank you?" he asks
puzzled, but smiling still
as the cool air
from inside my car
hits his face, refreshing him
"God Bless You"
he says, still puzzled
by why I had thanked him
"God Bless You, too"
I tell him
handing him the sack of food
and the drink I just bought
myself at the drive through
before getting caught at the light
and it turns green again
and we exchange a smile
before I move on down the road
grateful that I was given
the opportunity to look in his eyes
beyond the surface of his situation
and see the person in need
of the same understanding
we all want so much
and I don't know what he was before
he began to live this way
I don't know if his mother misses him
but I felt love in my heart that moment
for the man on the side of the road
~rotation and unrelated reflections~
the earth's spinning slows only a moment
and I swear I can almost hear the brakes
tapping, slowly against my temple
your finger tip moves toward my eyes
tracing my brows slowly as though my life
depended on your ability to stay in the lines
sometimes it feels that way, you know
but then I snap back in to self sufficient mode
when we share our silence like this moment
I feel an internal battle waging
my independence overtly provoking
the comfort of my resolve to give way to you
and your finger graces the outline of my cheeks
smiling as I roll my eyes open to try
to read your mind for some foreshadowing
some hint to see if this might last
minutes? hours? pass and gradually
the earth's spin regains momentum
at last your fingers tire and take leave
and I watch you as you sleep, so peacefully
as though, exhaustion over took you
because your hands propelled the world
and I envy the peace that you emanate
and hold you close to absorb its rays
~carbonation~
I poured myself a glass of pop
and watched the bubbles
fight with each other
for a position at the top
as though reaching it
would make life better
and so they struggle
racing up the glass
not knowing what awaits
but sensing it will be better
than where they came from
on the bottom
exhausting all their resources
determination driving them
to beat the others to the surface
and the champions who finished first
smack the air and disappear
and those coming in their trail
clearly saw what happened
but continue upward as though blind
perhaps thinking that somehow
their fate will be different
one, after the other
propelling upward in a fever
looking for a better place
and realize far too late
that it was merely the longing
for the top that was beautiful
parched and wanting relief
I closed the curtain on the show
and gulped down the entire drink
thinking the bubbles were as fickle
as people tend to be
millions of bubbles waging wars
to dominate the surface of the glass
and I decided to be a person
who digs a little deeper downward
to find enjoyment in what I have
in my position in this moment
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BIO: Chloe Ryan is 34 but clinging to "chick status".
She has 20 poems in a poetry book "Dark Nights", has
her own book, "Leaving Yesterday", published by Crazy
Horse Publishing, and was recently published in The
Dream People and Nirvana Flats. She's rumored to being
doing something at the 2003 Pop Culture Association's
Annual Conference, but then again, there are probably
many rumors about her...she only admits to the good
ones. She claims "life is so full of possibilities and
the thrill of the unknown is so great".
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