Martin Willitts Jr
I have to promise every Halloween, not to scare all of the neighborhood children. I hide under a pile of leaves and pop out. I scared some parents, but the kids giggle. I think it is because I frightened the parents.
The night smells like a desperate man
carrying a small noise in his pocket.
It is so stifled, you cannot hear it
begging to be rescued like a gagged,
tied-up child. You sense something
is horribly wrong, but you cannot see him.
If he was to step forward, out of nowhere,
you would have the tendency to yield,
step back, hope you’re not next.
You look around,
but no one is there or wherever you looked.
Your bones keep getting this nervous laughter.
What is content in this world? Not the road,
mostly mud; no rain falling through earth,
severely. Not the saturated weeds in this soft
obliteration; not the undesirable broken pot;
not the absolute, head to toe silence
feeding on sadness.
I wish I had some kind words to break this spell.
But once separation enters us,
there is no ridding ourselves of it.
Even the sudden sight of a red cardinal
has a particular melancholy.
This Is What I know Is Important
the honeybee weather was tensing up
from immeasurable, transcontinental distances
the wind was thistledown in narrowing light
and its vocabulary was utmost silence
the grey skies keep sending rain
faithfully every April
a stream of tiny yellow tomato blossoms
launch what is still to come
string beans hide behind vine leaves
teasing me, Come and find me
One Way Ride
A teenage girl is hitchhiking. A trucker pulls over.
She assumes it is safe because he looks as old as her father.
She gets jumps in, buckles up, staring into the distance.
He asks, “Where are you headed?”
She shrugs, “Anywhere but here.”
We all know what will happen next:
she’ll end up in the sex trade, become abused
to the point she will see no way out,
commit suicide or overdose.
But, what if he takes her back?
What if she reminds him of his own daughter,
questions if his daughter feels this much disillusionment?
Every answer is hidden inside a human heart.
Woman Deciding to Knock On a Door
Outside a door, a woman is hesitating knocking.
Should she tap lightly or pound frantically?
She shifts her feet and weight while deciding.
The door does not tell her what to do.
A door can mean many things to many people,
but mostly, a door is meant to be opened.
A puzzle is meant to have a solution.
© 2017 Martin Willitts Jr
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