Tears Like Rain

Tears have been like rain enough—
Like diamonds, rivers, stars—
So much
That I can’t help
Question the pain
That made a poet say
Tears are Rain.

What was the trigger
That once produced
Rain?
What was the wrong that reduced
A wordsmith to rain?

My tears are bees,
stinging in my eyes;
They’re poison, scorching;
fire,
Burning;
Knives, carving.

My heart
Complains of tears
like water,
But it’s wrong.
I've learned
Eyes are subtle volcanoes
Waiting,
dormant,
beside the nose;
Tears are magma,
flowing,
flaring;
That while eyes tear,
They’re tearing
Down your cheeks—
with pain begot
from pain.

I think, though,
I forgot those
Tears that are
“like rain.”
Sometimes,
they are the same,
But rather rain is more like crying:
Our pain is fluid;
our happy, dying;
Yet through the sad,
I think—I know—
That when they’re gone,
I grow.

Drunk Thoughts On Love On A Winter Night

I’d just pounded back

A double and coke

When you asked me how I felt about love.

I was uncomfortably tipsy;

You were already drunk—

You spoke with a slur—

And weighed against me on the couch.

I poured another drink

When you asked me again,

But I couldn’t answer just there and then,

Because I didn’t know.

I didn’t know then

How I felt about love

Or even if I felt Love.

I didn’t know love until many years later—

You asked me once again

In memory how I felt

But I still couldn’t answer

Because you’re no longer here.

I remember that night, though,

At my now-ex-boyfriend’s party

In his slummy urban shack.

We spent the night

Losing ourselves to the night’s ice grace.

Remember when the snow fell

So hard on the tarmac

We moved inside from the fire

We’d set in the rusty trash can?

Remember that busted couch

Where we first traded names?

You laughed at mine for being

Too old for a younger guy.

I remember.

I remember you thought

You were too old for a younger guy like me—

I said I didn’t think

You were.

How did I feel about love

That first night?

I wondered then if I was too young.

I was in school, after all,

And there was distance

In both space and mind.

But maybe I was making excuses.

With your warmth beside me

The warmth of rum inside me,

We dozed and slumped together,

Your gelled hair crunched in my hands.

You fell asleep and left me

Alone

To think,

To feel,

And wonder

Whether love is real,

Whether what I felt was love,

And whether that was true.

Uno

Uno is a game that I enjoy playing with friends, but it is complete crap to try to play it one-on-one with anyone. Even though the title Uno suggests a smaller group (perhaps consistingof a single individual *pause for weak laughter*), playing against a single partner is terrible. The game is meant to be played among friends (note the plural). In this photograph I have attempted to visualize the way I feel about the game and connect it to the way I feel about the concepts of "love" and "loneliness."

To some who have seen the above picture, the cards read "Love." The idea of love as a game is well known, but does not seem to be a particularly nice idea among romantics. In truth, however, Love can be very much like an Uno game. Despite a nature to have feelings toward more than a single person, the socially correct portrayal of love, at least in a majority of Americans, is that "true love" (whatever that may be) should take place between two single individuals (of course, it's more complicated than that, but I'm trying to be as simple as possible). By forcing Love to take place between two, you make the "game" (like Uno) much harder. It's easy for onee partner to be in control for a long amount of time, but then, in an instant, power can change hands. In a two-player Uno match--and in Love--the two participants are both struggling toward a common goal, and there may be swearing, there may be fun, there may be close misses, and you'll probably think it's over two or three times before it actually is, but then--it ends.

The other crowd of people who look at this photograph (excluding those individuals who just "...see a pile of Uno cards. What am I supposed to be looking at? This is dumb")--they often see the word "Lone." Loneliness can come at any point of a person's life. It can come before a relationship, and after a relationship, but I've noticed that people often neglect to think about the loneliness that can exist within a relationship. When coupled, it's easy for a person's ties to their friends and family--their other loves--to become weakened and severed. In Uno, I think the theme of loneliness is best represented in its name. Uno--meaning "one," of course--suggests singularity and exclusion. The point of the game is to be the only person without cards in your hand, which separates you, physically, from your friends in a probably incredibly insignificant, yet symbolically okay enough for me kind of way.

Anyway: Here's my picture of a bunch of cards.

Southwark Bridge, London