To Joann

| March 16, 2016 | 2 Comments

To Joann,

Why is your eyesight imperfect and what is this lead in my elbows?

Yes, we did fall in love in red lightning. It’s just that there were intuitions, not even, explicit thoughts that told me it was better to let it lie settled as an unresolved impression of something that I couldn’t know again. The smell of the harbor, so much salt spinning around my head. Or the wet air at Coney Island bursting all over the boardwalk.

Do you remember the secrets and stories we spilt like pebbles into the Hudson River, leaning over that greasy railing all summer but never even asking for our reflections in return?

I thought I saw you on Chambers St. once and when it wasn’t you I realized you were replaceable. At least I thought that before I went to Arizona to observe the beads of rain still on my shoes.

Do flowers exist or trees or pavement in the road cracked beyond repair and can our minds bend it back together like cities or soap or any of the things we’ve built? (I suppose taking pride in achievements of the human race is like being the bench warmer who wears around the championship ring.)

What more can grass do but swallow the earth? Maybe grass is earth’s stubble. Or maybe it’s a St. Patrick’s day party hat or the mud has become so soft that our heartbeats will make impressions in it like the footprints we left there 734 years ago before it was all so complicated.

Nothing can uncomplicate everything that exists between the bottom of a cloud and a rooftop in my mind because complications are apart of the air in our atmosphere and they make up a bigger proportion than nitrogen but can’t be detected scientifically because what you discover is that not everything can be solved like an equation. They can’t be excavated or carbon dated.

Complications are as old and as sturdy as our minds let us perceive. So why not crush them with what Will hasn’t been drained from our shower head in the drought that never ended because we didn’t have the money to feed the children which meant we also couldn’t pay our utility bills and so we had to mortgage Park Place and Boardwalk and risk not collecting rent if some other player landed there, even though we put three houses on each? But we never passed GO again for fear of losing our minds going in circles around this board until the sun rose and the light exposed our insecurities to the dust between our book jackets.

Wasn’t it you who said “we just keep making the same mistakes and call it tradition”? Because the snowstorm of the century felt just like the summer we met, even though the temperature changed and I was making footprints with my boots alone. Forget tradition, I think we write rituals.

Joann, why are we blind to each other and how can we get our hearts through this metal detector?

With Some Delinquent Mutant of Love,


Featured photo credit: Eclairs via photopin (license)

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Category: featured, Poetry, Prose and Comedy, Reflections

Kobe Yank-Jacobs

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Up and coming misanthrope.

Comments (2)

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  1. Ellen Asermely Ellen Asermely says:

    I know I told you this already, but I’ll say it again here: I love this.

  2. Mackenzie Morgan Mackenzie Morgan says:

    Kobe, I love this. This collection of thoughts or memories or observations or reflections. Whatever exactly it is or wherever they come from, it’s really well written and I found it to be super engaging and astute.

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