Uncle John is Swimming

As anniversaries approach, 

serious sentiments emerge

from the unkempt places in our minds. 
Let them...

Uncle John is Swimming

I am underwater.

and the whole world is silent

except the beating of my heart

and the whispers of my thoughts.

A sea of sadness,

A sea of strangers

to everyone but the deceased.

Oh, but the wise know one comes for the living,

so they are displaced

from a family displaced.

My breath is staccato.

Between the notes my heart skips a beat

so loud that it vibrates the wrinkles-

of an aged father.

My head is underwater.

Alas, the receding world is silent

until-a wave of sadness hits me like a load of concrete blocks

escaping from the back of a truck.

New Jersey fears,

nightmares.

Ode to the highway,

the passed away,

and the far away.

Ode to the resting place.

Ode to his resting place.

To dirty water tears

in sewage drains,

gifts to the deranged displaced.

To crumbling bodies

held together by crumbling souls.

I’m crying now with my eyes sewn shut

and all that’s released is steam

from the heavy heat that is my thoughts.

A valley of volcanoes –

beneath a coral reef.

Floral Wreaths

line the coffin,

a funeral of mass proportions,

broken vindications,

the faucet needs fixin’.

But the hands of the man of the house

have turned to dust,

the pipes rust.

The bathroom is underwater.

A family underwater

We are all underwater

And he is underground.