I don’t know much that is finer than people learning from one another

–the kind of genuine curiosity that slows judgment and increases

awareness of something beyond ourselves.

Every year I wave a net into the ether, and I usually find someone

who is willing to share something that made life better.

Why isn’t this something we do every day?

We forget that our failures can be erased by others’ successes.

Half day earlier, and three Burning Rivers with lunch

followed by an afternoon nap.

The rain moved out, and warm breezes moved in:

perfect weather to people-watch while I plot a nightcap

The smokers by the entrance look bored, tilting their heads

and staring at plants.

Kids tug the fingers of worn-out parents pushing

shopping carts full of necessities.

The days of the week don’t matter just yet,

but they sure as hell will soon.

Right now, midweek isn’t really halfway there,

since the weekend isn’t a victory.

August has always been strange that way.

As a different summer comes to an informal close,

autumn promises more than other seasons deliver.

By the time I realized what was happening

I was already going too fast

Such a temporal disruption

And the final understanding

Of what was left

(Of what was lost)

Yet all I could think was

Please let me hold her one more time

I closed my eyes and

burned in your atmosphere for

The Last Time

My best friend got married last weekend, so I drove up to West Virginia to attend.This steel mill was once the water that quenched the masses of Hancock and Brooke Counties. It is was also where almost everyone worked and where everyone else wanted to work. It meant security. It meant a good life for you and your family. I sat countless years on that very sidewalk for Christmas and Fourth of July parades. I wonder if they do that still?

Sold to China in the early 2000s, they began to close off parts of the mill, people were laid off and families were hungry. With nothing else and no other trades to work, the people were lost and turned to easy money, things like drugs and gambling cafés. 

I feel sad most of the time when I’m back in Hancock County. I miss my people. But, what I remember about my childhood isn’t that when the mill closed it took my home with it.

No, I remember the sweet smell of the country air as my friends and I drove the back roads. I remember going out into the woods for hours and not having to worry about strangers hurting me. I remember sitting on that sidewalk with my grandparents waiting for the fire truck to throw my favorite fruit flavored tootsie rolls.

What feels like fumbling is more of an eternal return

With progress so gradual that it is almost imperceptible

Let’s stay awake in dreams

To see sunsets through waves

And feel the mountain rains far from cities

Annexing lost highways

That used to be divisions

Of heart and soul

I’m the open book in which you lost interest

Abandoned before resolution, and

Shelved to gather dust

You had all the time in the world

To figure out what was written

Patiently waiting for your discovery (and mine)

Sometimes a drastic falling action dictates

A different direction, though

And I understand that

But oh, how I wish to feel your fingers

On the pages again

I will sit quietly on the shelf

Until the day your heart determines

The denouement

Awake closer to dawn today

without the requisite optimism

but with a checklist that is decent, so that will do.

I walked by a chalkboard and misread a name

as Danielle Anyway, and I thought that would be

the surrogate surname to have this summer, so feel free

to use it when you think of me.

It suggests persistence,

which has been lacking for quite some time.

Moments of success don’t count as much as the final victory.

One week in, the only thing to know is that time doesn’t

matter much now. I think I’ve realized this before, and I’m guessing

I’ll do the same again.

I get a little tired of refilling meters, and I’m

thinking maybe I’ll stop doing that.

My timelines aren’t matching up

with too many others these days,

which is open for consideration.

The weight is exquisite at this depth.

Sooner than later, we lie to ourselves,

and I keep reading these stories of those who

broke the patterns, but my interminable

tolerance of failure to fly is remarkable and damning.

A pause and a sigh later, let’s remember that deal we made,

even though we didn’t shake on it:

I don’t see any other way out of this place.

I have come to realize that life has become a series of “survival” sequences

but without the gravity of the actual danger of death.

One crisis after another, but all they really amount to are hassles that get in the way,

causing anxiety. Then the same old fears. This repeats over and over.

What will happen next?

How do I overcome this?

When really, most of it doesn’t matter,

yet I can’t find my way out of these scenarios. I can’t turn the corner.

Obstacles breed obstacles, and suddenly, I feel like I haven’t achieved anything at all.

I haven’t gone anywhere at all, but time has passed.

Summer arrives, and nothing changes.

I’m close to what it will take to turn the corner, but I can’t quite get there.

I picked up an extra shift this weekend, which meant little down time.

Not that it was anything new.

I drank a strong coffee at the beginning of the day and did my best to pass the time

with laughs, but the day wore me down. First of the month, you can only be so cheerful for so long.

By late afternoon, I felt my cheeks sag from forced smiles and

“Have a nice Day” over and over.

But it was beautiful enough outside, and we close early on Sundays, so no complaints.

Near the end of the day, I got a free ticket to a sold-out concert, and I decided to go.

I was tired of being lonely in the house, waiting for the next day to start.

I bought a black t-shirt at Target, put it on in the parking lot and drove into the city, thinking about

how it was always so strange that the streets emptied around eight o’ clock.

Bastille was supposed to go on just after nine, so I bought two tall boys

and made my way to my seat, which was a box just to the left of the sound booth.

Everybody was tan and smiling, and right before the music started, a long-haired guy

with a gray Sub Pop shirt sat down at the table. I held out my hand and introduced myself

with a warm smile as he sat. He returned the warmth, and said his name was Dave.

I complimented his shirt and said, “Sub Pop–that’s cool. I haven’t seen that shit in a while.”

A few minutes later the band started, and I sent a Thank You text for the ticket, then enjoyed

my beer and the happiness of the crowd around me.

The performance was nice, and the closing song was the poppy one for which everyone was waiting.

It didn’t disappoint. I drank the rest of my beer and didn’t pretend not to eavesdrop as Dave talked to a few people

who had sat next to him.

I heard a few words like “tour” and “flight” before I asked what band he was in.

He said, “Tesla?” with a kind of head tilt.

I said, “No shit? That’s pretty cool. Where are you flying?”

“Europe for a few weeks, to start.”

“They’re playing here in August,” chimed in the nice lady with whom Dave had been sitting.

“That’s awesome. I’ll have to check that out. Great tunes.”

I finished my beer, shook Dave’s hand again and wished him well Over the Pond, bid goodnight to his company,

then walked to my car in a nearby parking garage. The traffic was slow to move, so I put the windows down

and cycled a bunch of songs from a playlist to pass the time.

When the cars from Level Four thinned, I pulled into the line and left the North Shore.

On the drive home, I opened up the moonroof, watched the little dipper guide me home, and thought about

what kind of summer this could be.