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 May 2016 Ruzica Matic
Greenie
You pointed to where she'd thrown the glass against the wall and then
traced the veins of my neck with your
nails,
clammish things with a lust for
god knows what
I watched you drive off through rain stained windows
too angry to stop you
too shocked to move

Since you left nothing's been the same
stars we once saw
they've all gone dim
I haven't seen the sun in weeks
the skies permanently gray

I saw your sock in my laundry pile
I washed it
couldn't bare to throw it away

The seasons keep changing
from warm brown to cold black
and I still get your mail sometimes
but not your calls
I run my fingers against your plastic encased name on the envelopes
and hope silently you don't stay gone
My depression hits hard and heavy
like black curtains on the windows
like nothing your medicines will cure

I sat in my window today
watched the birds gather on the roof across from me
their feathers fluff and flatten
flatten and fluff
decided to stay there until they flew off
enjoy the beauty in the landscape
then had thoughts of jumping off the sill
(13 stories down)
it seemed like a normal train of thoughts

it's been windy lately
leaves whipping at my door
stems bending as it blows
hurts my bones and makes my body ache
but you'll never understand
I fell in love with a girl
who picked flowers instead
of arguments and had no
time for bad things
because she so carefully
curled herself
against them.
you were summer recklessness
but you always had these
two rules: stay with me
and don’t become a ghost.
I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Now I don’t ask “Why me, God?”
I realized I was wishing another
Poor somebody suffered my fate.
Who? My sister, father, mother?
When did I gain so much clout
That I deserve a better fate
That moves me up so high
And makes the rest second rate?

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

I had to take stock of life
And realize I have what I need.
Anything else is at least excess
But even more likely it’s greed.
I was looking around to see
What my neighbors had got
And running to my toy box
Moaning of what I had not.

Did I look around me and see
The many who had so little?
Not a crust of bread or a home
Where they could sit and whittle?
So many had no toys at all
They were grateful for a bed;
A place where they could be safe
When they lay down their head.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Finally I awoke and saw the truth,
How much I need to be grateful for;
For breathing and resting and joy
A roof, for walls and a floor.
And a place to call my own home
When so many don’t have one.
The day I counted my blessings
Was when a good life was begun.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”
I want to write you a poem
That heals up your scars.
I want to send your hopes
Soaring up to the stars.
I want to clear away stones
From the path you take.
I want to be sure you never
Feel your heart ache or break.

I want to put that feeling
That you give me into a jar
So, I can feel it always
If you should travel very far.
I want to write a symphony
Of the music in your voice.
This is not loyalty or kindness.
I simply do not have a choice.

For you are what I prayed for
Before I ever knew you existed.
You are that magnetism
That I never once resisted.
You have always fit me
Like a split friendship locket.
There never was a moment
You didn’t have me in your pocket.

So, I want to do for you
What you have done for me.
I want to put a trillion stars
In your nighttime reality.
I want to let you know for sure
All that you have meant to me.
I want to share with you
Your gift of love and serenity.
that’s what I’ll name my daughter
like the budding May flowers
that bubble our blue blood
and how funny is it
that I’d ever have a daughter anyway
when everything is temporary
in the fun month of May

and would I treat her like her mother?
who is really only a sensation
a revelation that life and death
come in beautiful waves
and that none of it makes sense
and that that is the best part
so how could I ever love her like her mother
when her mother is only a seed?

and why would anyone plant a seed
to make a tree to make a leaf
if the leaf is going to fall and die?
so I shut my eyes
embrace the bright cranberry sun
penetrating my white skin lids
and feel heat and breathe
and never think about love

but where will I be in the fall
if I don’t hold onto anything now?
that’s too funny
I won’t be the same man then
I probably won’t remember writing this
so even if I find an answer to my woes
it won’t matter in the end
that’s what I learn every summer
 May 2016 Ruzica Matic
Asim Javid
You are a part angel and part teacher.

  You are my first school and first institution.

You taught me right and you made me aware of wrong.

You held me close and you taught me how to be strong.

I'm  forever indebted under your grace.

A mother like you is blessing to the human race.

You have been with me in the happy sunny days and in
the troublesome  weather.

I'm proud to be your son and call you my mother* .
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