The Rhythm of Things
I could write about the beauty
of blue skies, clouds, flowers bending
in peaceful solemnity, magical, but,
sometimes words become cheap,
and as poets dress nature
in a neat bow, I am sometimes
so repulsed, that I return
to my childhood home,
dogs buried in the yard,
abandoned by enough families
who can’t deal with the ghosts,
and the walls are so moldy,
wood rotted to condemnation,
that life is unallowed to persist.
I think of my sister, who left this country
with a man none of us know, my brother
who served in the army, deployed, sometimes
I convince myself he still is.
All of us grew here, in triumph, laughter,
fearing a father who knew the intricate
history of malt liquor, but never remembered
our birthdays & I would spend
hours on the creaky porch,
but couldn’t tell you anything
about the rose bushes.
I was never innocent,
and my fingers always resembled hooks,
broken glass was just the starter,
yet, this place brings me joy, smiles, hope,
knowing there are always good times
in the bad, how this town has plunged
into vacancies, crime, but still,
I see a young couple kissing in such passion
that it spells nothing other than love,
and the squirrels are plump, birds singing
on trees unafraid of machinery;
knowing it’s the rhythm of things,
everything happening at once.
Brandon Shane is a poet, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Remington Review, The Marbled Sigh, Verdant Journal, Heimat Review, among many others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach. Find him on Twitter @Ruishanewrites.
The Marbled Sigh 