An Author's Offering

I always hated boxing. How could someone enjoy the violent, mutual mutilation of two unique individuals? The drench of sweat, the clenching of fists, the iron smell of blood… I much preferred tennis, where the players remain a good distance from each other, holding rackets for a last defense. I never liked boxing; I never understood it. In many ways I’m always the careful one, the wary one, the conscious one… I’m aware of the frailness of our human bodies… minds… souls… how just one tap in the right place can send someone reeling, falling, lost… But sometimes… Sometimes the stakes are raised, sometimes winning that fight becomes just too important to ignore.  Maybe a friend is in danger… or an opportunity comes just within reach… or that challenge just needs to be taken down. My jaw sets, and the screaming warnings of risk and danger fade out of consciousness. They become merely that indistinct rumbling in the background. My breathing steadies, my body tenses, and ...

Boulder on a hill, tumbling down, With stubborn resolution, coming back around, Letting loose a cry, a frustrated sound, As the boulder kept on, tumbling down. Sisyphus gave chase, landing with a bound, Stopping the boulder just as it reached the ground, Shoulder set, teeth gritted and head down and bowed, He roared with the effort, clearly and loud. Inch by inch, climbing up the mound, As the boulder gained weight pound by pound, Never giving up, staying strong and proud, He struggled to the top, reaching for a cloud, But anyone knows a cloud’s not a sound- foundation for rest, and so he found, the boulder, fell, turning round and round, As the boulder kept on, tumbling down. I reached out to him, as he came towards me, wanting to show him, make him see, he didn’t need his boulder, didn’t need to succeed, If he just let go, he could hold on to me. So for a while he did, intimately, Arms around me, holding so very tightly, But whil...

The air rises where black tar and yellow meet, Though still, Atmosphere rages with oppressive heat, A hazy glare looking up at clouds and blue arches, Reflected light projecting wet to dry desert ditches. The space is silent, not a caw or bray, Anticipated breath, held trapped to say, Whoosh! as the car whizzes wildly by, Smothered moment let out, one relieved sigh, The child laughs, holding tight, as the car steers away, From home, responsibility and childhood play, With the rules, the chores, the parents that tie, on seat belts and knee pads, all kept risk-shy. Freedom is found, with a key and front seat, As birds fly up high and planes ascend feet, A child, a student, an adult not yet grown, Finds wings and flies off with the roots that were sown…

There’s something… there. Behind the pressure and the noise and the muffled input, behind the headache and the too bright lights and all this..  There’s… something It’s coming… so…. slow. Where is it? The lights they flash. People moving… too fast… speaking… silence. Machines and straps… let me out! Help. Please. I just want… Can’t… think… Maybe it’s… right over there. In the quiet black, inviting. I think I’ll just… rest now. In black. I breathe in… and remember… This is the same hospital… the same room where she… Left. The accident, the screaming people, the machines that suddenly stopped beeping. It isn’t like that for me. I’m an old man… everyone’s gone now. She was the first, though. I miss… everything about her. It’s funny… I don’t remember yesterday… But I remember her. I breathe out. I still remember. I breathe in. The machine beeps… and beeps… It’s so annoying, really… End of my life and that’s all that’s lef...