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Eugene Finley Poem
A serious question was posed to me recently.
Where do you go?
I said…
Well, I wait for the darkest, clearest night,
go to the highest point on the highest hill
and watch for the shooting stars.
And I make a wish.
…and I fly through the sky like an airplane
no, a bird, not just any bird, the Wandering Albatross,
I glide, for hours without the thought of touching the earth,
or even flapping my wings.
That’s just too much work.
…and sometimes I’m just
there…
…and I soak in the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean
waves of warm liquid rushing over me,
trying to pull me under the moistened sand.
Dead Crabs and broken shells at my feet…
…and sometimes I stay there…
…and I am a child at the fair,
the aroma of cotton candy and funnel cakes in the stagnant air
and I’m on the top of the Ferris Wheel observing the ants below.
…He’s watching me; he’s always watching me…
…and sometimes I’m there…
…and I’m running with Alice;
because this little white rabbit with a watch is apparently late for an important meeting;
and we’re like, “What’s the hurry, little rabbit?”
Rabbits don’t go to meetings… do they?
…but sometimes I don’t go anywhere…
…and there is this girl,
she smells like sugar, corn syrup, and sweetened milk,
warmed for four minutes and then cooled and wrapped in wax paper;
it’s Halloween and we’re teenagers… and that’s her favorite treat; and I’m awkward…
…and her voice is a song… and I’m stupid…
…and her hair is a soft fire… and I’m ugly…
I need her in my life... I mean, I did…
…but she’s gone now…
…she’s moved...on…
…away… from me…
…and I go to a place where I am an alien,
and the Martians ask me questions, like,
how are the hot dogs in New York City,
or is Chicago deep dish pizza to die for?
…have you ever had southern BBQ?
…and are earth girls really easy?
And we laugh… Yep… we laugh…
…me and the freaky alien voice in my head…
…so, I laugh daily and always let everyone know that, I’m okay…
Because…
Sometimes, I am there…
I mean … sometimes, that’s where I go…I go back there…
…I’m trying to grasp a hold, gain control over the fear, anger, self-hatred…
…gripping me in the places
…he wasn’t supposed to.
Eugene Finley
Copyright © Eugene Finley | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Eugene Finley Poem
The hawk dives from a phone tower into the unknown;
Only if I can see him for a fleeting moment
Inability to grasp a hold of and neutralize that subtle uncertainty
A whisper is the difference between a stagnant life and a decent living;
Your words are like sirens in the ears of my Chihuahua
But she didn’t tell me that I would survive the jump
Some things are inevitable, who or what brings life ultimately brings death.
I see you
The sun burns black bulging blotches into my bleached skin;
I see you
The fire scorches like lava poured directly on my heart
I see you
The soot gathers in my lungs and I gasp; I can’t breathe,
I can’t speak
And I won’t
Love is the grip of a lionesses teeth in the neck of a gazelle.
I will look into your eyes in that moment
And finally realize what I’ll never have.
Copyright © Eugene Finley | Year Posted 2016
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