The Living And The Dead

We slept upstairs,
in the attic
in sleeping bags on a hard wood floor

David was always naked
naked cooking quinoa
naked in the sun doing downward dog

naked when he asked me
in the middle of the night
to give him a cuddle

I exhaled extra loudly
to give the illusion
of a deep deep sleep

JC was dying
brain tumors
had forced his eyes
to search
for each other
each pupil straining
to face the other
so that he always looked confused

but I think he was more clear
about a lot of things
than
those of us
looking straight ahead.

He was out of hospital
wild hair
and red hoodie
fishermans pants
so calm

the goji juice was from the himilayas
and it was going to cure him
they said

and we walked,
barefoot
the hundred meters to Venice Beach
which you could see from the front porch
once the haze had lifted


I heard later that he died

I was already in New York
fully clothed
swept up by the rush rush

and I had forgotton the calm

until just now,
now,
when a man with wild hair
and eyes,
each searching for the other

calmly told of how he had seen his family
killed

as a rooster
an ugly rooster squarked
it's cry echoing
over the water filled canoe
suspended in the air


calm rising out of chaos
those searching eyes
the story that must be told
and heard
and retold
and held within

what if i could turn my own eyes
inward
roll them around to face each other
to examine
what story it is behind them
to not loose sight

the chaos, outstretched in front
the calm within

we are cursed to see
and not see

to know
and not know

to remember
and forget

wild hair

I can see them now,

those eyes
that see the living
and the dead

that in the midst of chaos
can still find
calm.