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Chris Fortin Poem
I tied a balloon to my heart,
and watched it float away
up up up
( 1416 days since your suicide )
heading off towards Cheyenne,
( where you were a girl )
slowly, foolishly drifting you down.
As you left, so have I,
Like a figure cut from a picture,
and poorly pasted back.
Among/upon the picture,
but no longer, of it.
I shall put a smile over the hole it left,
and stoically wait out this body,
cueing up an "I'm OK"
to club those who ask.
Hoping to not be damned
with too many decades.
Because, I have learned you
have not left me.
Every time I work at higher math,
every time I focus on science,
every time I revisit the place
we worked together,
there you are.
And the hole my heart left
turns cold and numb,
and I descend into (hidden) tears
and crumble into despair.
A logic bomb to blow a hole
in my head,
to match the one in my chest.
Love ties us together,
and draws me after you.
Wait up, dear.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
Your symphony cut short.
My heart rings with the tension
of your unresolved fugues.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
A bead of red rolls down my arm,
an eloquent prayer, a scream.
Alive in a way the arm is not
coming awake in a dream.
A drop of swirling living cells,
abandoning a foundered host,
drawing a line on the curve of meat,
segregating machine from ghost.
Cousins drop from a fluttering lid,
another line following a tear,
rolling along a wrinkly nose,
washing away horror, sorrow and fear.
life turned liquid
flesh to dust
aspirations unmet
iron will to rust
either
[ caught between galaxy and quark
a trivial flame in the dark
nothing cares that a mind was here
the flicker of a trivial spark ]
or
[ as my eyes dim, and drop finds drop
your voice, Erin, fills my mind
your hand reaching out to help me forth
horror sorror fear left behind ]
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
eyes screaming, out of the smoke
out of the flame
out of the meat
all pretension
all aspiration
whither in the heat and flame
of seeing you walk away
of seeing the light turned on
roaches scuttling into the shadow
my mind, revealed as junk
as scum
as waste
in your absence
i stand (crouch)
a stink in the clear air
a mistake
waiting for when i truly
truly
fail
as i failed you
as i did not rush to your side
offer my flesh my skin my heart
let you despair, let you die
helped you
leave
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
i see you
standing in the cold quiet snow,
watching me through the night
through the dark
I see us
talking together once more
sprites nostalgic for a superior game
I see me
counting now the moments
till this now boring sim
stops
and I can meet you in the room
of remembrance
and bow to you,
conceding a perfect game.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
I dreamed for a time,
as I walked with you,
that I was an ascendant being.
Now that you have left me,
am I doomed to wake?
Either
you were a guide to my lost soul,
leading me from the sewer and swamp,
reminding a confused heart
that I too could glow.
Or
you rained light down upon me,
such that I confused
immersion
with
absorption,
radiant warmth for internal glow.
So
wait a moment, dear, while
I catch up, deferring
the question, while
I bask in you.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
Erin,
Dead flesh accretes as I age
as I die
as I too slowly join you
I am not I-that-knew-you
anymore
I am immigrant cells, inhabitants
squatting in a once holy land
The flesh that touched you
flakes
The ears that heard you,
the eyes that loved you,
replaced
The heart that beat your name
gone
a simple pump
takes its place
A confused mind realizes
the memories of you
are not mine
belonging instead to
he-who-was
I do not belong
in this dusty mansion.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
you said to me once - that
you would let me know - if
there was anything I could - do
to help
and at the end, lying in that
hospital
all your futures lost to an
unlabeled sickness
all your brilliant pasts
standing in stark relief with
the pain
you must have not thought ...
that I could do anything to
help,
but
you were wrong. you were
you were you were
'cause I could have come to you,
and held your hand,
and looked into your eyes,
and left with you.
i could have kept you from being
alone
and myself from being left behind
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
these skis look like hell,
old, scraped and gouged
but still they carry me
down this dark white trail
I've learned to keep myself upright
stumbles earlier almost forgotten
jerks who pulled or pushed me over,
fading/falling behind me
its cold now, snow fills the air
as I turn a corner, trees inches away
my poor and dirty clothes
still sufficient to keep me warm
and there she is, coming from
a different trail, forming up
to my left her eyes flickering at me
as mine lock on her
and she is just perfect. Easy
grace in opposition to my brute force
beautiful outfit, new skis
and a ready confident smile.
She yells, 'hi!' and I say 'sup?!'
as the trail turns, our speeds matched
we start turning, towards and away,
an impromptu dance, snow filling the air
the wind and hiss our only music
faster now as the trail drops away
and for one perfect moment, we
both catch air together
flying now
turning a tight corner, I look over
and find her .
.
.
gone.
Reflex viciously kicks out my skis
and I come to a snow-cloud stop.
eyes spinning everywhere, thinking
where are you?
A separate turning, a different trail?
She's nowhere I can see, nowhere I can
help
not with me anymore.
and my skis are old, my clothes dirty
but the person I was uphill,
is no longer here.
don't feel like skiing anymore.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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Chris Fortin Poem
now,
lie me here in this soft bed
lie me here, 'life' playing out around me
lie me here, my heart pushing futile blood.
a foolish heart, dead so many years now.
E ... its now just 268 days, since you
killed
yourself. and, lookitme ...
whole days are going by without tears.
without my descending into
a shredder of sorrow,
without my world dissolving in the absolute certainty
that i am worthless here
that the moments I spend here
without you
are useless.
are torture. are
mediocre.
beats my foolish heart,
calling back to barracks the slaughtered regiment.
empty building robbed of the promise of noise.
quiet now,
as dust dances
through the windows,
through the doors,
spinning exactly like the lost soldiers are not.
wait me here,
while the clock runs out.
looking not behind me, where I can still find you,
nor beside me, where the illusion spins out,
but ever forward,
where I see your golden hair, wrinkly nose smile,
and slender hand,
reaching back towards me.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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