Love Is Action

La Dejé Ir en Febrero (Poem)


I, finally, let her fade in the month where arrows are parried,
though no rigorous regimen nor ritual could have prepared me.
For, the murky hue my heart gradually took on
I knew was the precursor to a life of those who dread dawn.
But, most shamefully, 
I’d have disgrace pop and mom’s communal life example had I let such toxicity consume me.

At 35, never have I’d a colder winter.
Her once warm smile’s vision is now my heart’s ice splinter.
A once shared and cozy view of January’s razor moon,
was now only accompanied by a rusty-sharp whiskey bite and a bitter tune.
At all cost though, I forbade the frostbite to penetrate my center.

For, it’s expected for one to be broken by a beast.
It’s obvious, inevitable, and can be rationally explained, at least.
One could, then, blame ignorance and dumb innocence,
which could be empathized with by most, in a sense.
But, few understand nor do they want to when the one they know as the lamb makes your vulnerability and your deepest secrets a publicly slaughtered feast. 

As gruesome as the blood splatter was amongst the pale flakes 
and though I slipped into shock as muscles quivered and quaked,
I learned to leave The Maker with the honor of the last laugh.
I know now she wasn’t built to bear with this black man on his bold and cold path.
The refrigeration and unnaturally manufactured isolation forged in the spite of my skin 
did not prepare me but, at least, thickened me and familiarized me with such a deep ache.

He masters the last laugh because He sees my every overlooked spot.
For, he’d plain view…all this time…of her resentment of this necessary path, I did not.
At the end of the day, why…trudge lifeless gravel and ghostly skies to navigate a nagging naysayer and yourself to blue and green bliss
when they don’t even appreciate…the hypothermia and blue lips you privileged them to miss?
I had to mercilessly condemn and rebuke my self-loathing fraught. 
You see, I’ve wept since November, but, in February, when I embraced a will I didn’t own…something bigger than “her and I,” there was not a single grain of salt…from a running eye of mine…that could be bought.

From the Soul,

This piece will be featured in my 4th upcoming published book, “Return from The Pale Trail: Gifts of Humanity & of the Wild We’ve Been Taught to Forget”. It will be released in Fall 2021. Be on the lookout for updates, and, in the meantime, check out my other published works on Amazon.