Naked

The shape of silence

Drawn by

A single inhale

Its etching lines

Embolden or

Cuts us down

In mere seconds

We cannot know

What form it takes

Invisible to

Ear, eye

Until whatever

Outcome follows

Dying before it’s

Even defined

A priceless

Invisible cloak

For the king

Or just bare

Ass naked

On a horse

That space where

Mind decides, before

Truth is known

Like dancing

In the arms of

A new partner

Held in a strange frame

Catching rhythms

To keep up with

An unfamiliar stride

Struggling to recall

Half forgotten steps

But still swaying, a

Familiar melody

Nonetheless

Why on earth

Must we feel

Before

We know

What will be spoken

What is that saying…

An ass of you and me

My cheeks still burn

Decades later

Knowing I

Assumed incorrectly

But of the two of us

He certainly

Was the ass

.

.

.

.

Author’s note: living with a teenage girl is a brand new experience. She’s here with us for the year and because of this I get to see from the other side those intense adolescent feelings that come with big waves of affection tied with uncertainty. Observing these fresh yet timeless love games is vastly amusing, but I also don’t think the associated pain or pleasure has an age limit. We cultivate patience and acceptance if we are diligent and aware, yet we (or at least I) can be so easily transported back to this pause before the drop. How is it alive and formed before we know the outcome? This is the space where I am intrigued. Such a human thing…

Notes passed with heart in throat, multiple walk-bys past the Cinnzeo to spy on the boy she loves, to finally find out he adores her in return has been the most endearing experience. I love that I get to be the steady comfort of home base while she stretches her warmth out into the world.

Those of us who live, have lived through various forms of rejection. We read it wrong or pushed forward too far on one side. Falling off the ledge stings fiercely, and the natural reaction is to bite back, even if those boundaries are warranted and healthy.

I’m glad her gentle, intelligent and kind boyfriend is bringing her joy. I also know I will be just as present for the rocky terrain that sometimes follows, for I (and you) now know its shape like an old friend.

Teenagers can be asses, am I right? All of this made me think back to grade 9 when I pretended to like a terrible band, in order to get Robbie to like me. He was an ass and no one in the history of the world could ever possibly enjoy ICP without later becoming a serial killer. I probably dodged a bullet.