PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I think I'll tell you

About an odd hobby of mine

I sit in an empty theater

Put up my feet

And turn on a movie projector



I guess it's a home movie, of sorts

Full of grainy celluloid flashes

Sometimes sound chimes in

Sometimes not



I think I am alone because not many

Would grasp the story

It is disjointed, you see

Patterned in a pattern only my eyes can find



The first reel plays

There is a wobbly, uncertain angle

Seen through wooden bars



It's of a young woman with long dark hair

A pink sweater

Perhaps a lavendar dress

She stands by a door and waves



I remember her name. It was Carmen



I also know that someone special has left

But "I'll be back later," this voice I know promises

I remember smiling at the thought



Next is a yard boxed in by a faded fence

Two men I think I remember are there

They are digging in the dirt, planting vegetables



Under my feet is cracked concrete

In one hand is a model airplane my father made

In the other hand is the door frame to a sliding door

The sun slips through a filter of trees near the fence



And there is a face to the voice this time

"Watch out, Honey."

I step aside and let her pass

She is tired and dirty and ready for a break



Still she looks at me and smiles



Next she's in a kitchen

Washing dishes, maybe

She's dressed in something pale

The tiles feel cold under my feet

The room seems bathed in warm light

But that's just her again



She is asking my opinion

About which house I like better

The red house, or the ranch

I am proud to be asked

Uncertain

And a little scared



For some reason I can't recall what I said

I suppose it was less important

Than the fact that I was asked

A big man at four years old



The next reel is me holding her hand

We're walking down a long dirt road

My legs are wrapped in burgundy corduroy

She says I'm so big I look 7, yet I'm only 5

I look up and her face is wreathed in light

Though the sun is behind us



Years go by

There are many more reels to see and hear and relive



A flash of her bringing home my first dog

He already had a name

Due to an unfortunate encounter with a car door



A flash of her picking me up from school

After my last day there

From there, on to a new school and then another

Always it was she who kept the boat

From rocking so hard it threw me off



A flash of this brave, dear woman

Frozen in terror

From a scorpion in her pants leg

In the clever shape of a foxtail



A flash of her pinning up a blue ribbon

On the wall next to Dad's organ

I was 7 and had taken on the beast

Of a high school Spelling Bee

First place



Any prouder

And I would have popped like a party favor



A flash of the cruel little doggy Smokey

Whom no one liked

And who liked no one

He looked like Benji and Yoda had bred somewhere

In some sultry den of broken and twisted bowls of DNA

And yet tears rolled like breath we couldn't quite catch

When he was found dead one morning



The ugly old goat Zelda

Who had a taste for little boys' hair

Poisoned for a reason beyond reason

I've seen her that angry only twice after



A long, shaky reel

Of leaving the ranch for awhile

When Bud got so sick

"He had a stroke. Even if he's not okay,

we always will be."



That one strand to cling to

Proved unbreakable



A flash of crossing the street after school

A new perm and a progress-report induced scowl

And the infamous "Mad Poodle" was born

I learned that dangerous times are they,

When the big MP pays a visit



The reels roll on

More and more they go by



A broken leg, and a loving mother who puts on makeup

In case she knows the paramedic



The unimaginably powerful torque of an electric drill



The day I met my true father

Across a table where we instantly

Started swapping reels

We both left with reels yet to see

And reels left to imprint

He may be reading this and shaking his head

With a smile I've grown to tie to all things tough

And good



A gray wet day that refused to rain

When Bud was taken away

By so many loving, God-fearing Christians

And we lost everything



And yet, lost nothing



The day the love of my life removed herself

Holding the hand of a dear friend



The day the true love of my life showed up

And became a best friend

And had two little angels in tow



The day God gave me an angel of my own



And the day the angel that brought me into this world

Knew to let go and move on

And let her project run itself

Because it was truly time to do so



Through it all, she was there



Click



The projector is off

The old reels are done and placed in their cans

But the camera is in hand

And ready to start rolling again

To fill more shelves with their precious film



For some day, another little boy

The project's project

May sit in a room in his head

And see this same lady

In his little reels



And though they may not see each other

As much as they'd like

Every reel is a good one



And if every reel is a good one

It doesn't matter how many there are



Happy Birthday Mama



Stu