Fractured

December 9, 2012

Immediately, I looked to you
For guidance (or at least what
I had always considered to
Be good advice). And what
Had you said exactly?
“Time is so relative that
Every clock you’ve ever seen,
Either broken or fixed,
Has been right. Think about
That for just a moment.”
I told you I didn’t want to
Keep seeing them every
Night, parading into the
Fabric of my dreams.
Always the Professor, you’d
Just shrug and expect me
To synthesize the answer.

A parade might be a poor
Choice of terms: it has such
A happy connotation that it
Would be misleading were
You to truly see what I have,
This hall of mirrors inside me
Has exposed what I believe
To be a crossroads of sorts
In the web of our lives.

I say ‘our’ lives because
They are me, and I am them.
I see the writer who lives in
California, taking nutrients
From the soil like the grapes
And putting it all onto paper.
I see the broken heart of a man
Who gave it all up for a life that
He could never fill with the
Laughter of his own children.
I see the teacher who lives on
The beaches of Lake Michigan,
Thinking about how cold it is.
I see the young man who died
Trying to stop a robbery at 17.
I see the boy who took a fever at
A young age and never let it go.
I see every version and alternate
Of this human being possible.
I see myself. And it’s marvelous.

MSBQ

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