There is happy love
and sad love
the first love
allows you to see another
fully
for their complexity
the second love
allows you to see yourself
fully
for your inadequacy
it's pure physics
a magnet
has plus and minus
poles
and electricity
is an oscillation
between the poles
happy / sad
happy / sad
love
is a force
that cannot
be contained
There is no greater horror in life than being in the presence of someone else, a person you care deeply about, a lover, a friend, a family member, having just shared some experience in their immediate proximity, and yet feeling at the same time that suddenly they are not with you, that you are alone. How can it be? You have just shared an experience, a dinner, a conversation, maybe even a moment of silence, you undeniably occupy the same general physical space. And yet, you suddenly have the unmistakable feeling that you have been expunged from reality in their mind, that they no longer acknowledge your presence. You feel as if your existence in reality suddenly bears no more weight or validity than a ghost's. At such moments you feel the need to confirm your existence so you touch your body, you literally pinch yourself to feel pain - your own perceptions are not enough because they can be deceptive - while another part of you feels overwhelmingly that you may not exist at all. And it is then that you begin to understand that your existence is comprised of two parts, one that is in your mind, an idea which itself may carry doubts, and even more consequentially, a part of you exists in the minds of others over which you have no sway. The acknowledgement of others is as necessary a validation of your existence as your own sense and idea of yourself. Even more, it is the acknowledgement of your existence by others that is more fundamental than the notion of your existence in your own mind. For what if this independent confirmation of your existence is absent? This moment of being in the presence of someone else and then suddenly feeling completely alone and unacknowledged, brings you back to one of the cruelest of childhood games. The sheer terror when your mom or dad feigns a sort of blindness, acting like you've inexplicably vanished, even as you are right in front of them. They say, "where's Johnny? I don't see Johnny? You've disappeared!" And you plead with them "I'm right here! Right in front of you!" "Yes, you were here just a second ago, and now you've disappeared. I can hear your voice but I don't see you! Where are you" "I'm still here! I'm right here."
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It's early November
the clock's been turned back
an hour
and I'm on the freeway
after work
the sky's already dark
my eyes dart
from the undecipherable plate
and flashing brakes
on the road
to the smiling moon
above
and pinned next to it
in the sky
a bright star
that isn't a star at all
it's Jupiter
I bet that none
of the well-trained drivers
navigating
along side me
realizes it
and next to Jupiter
less bright
and a bit down to the right
is Saturn
Jupiter and Saturn
two gods of Rome
father and son
watching this routine
of machines
from on-high
this obedient procession
of twenty-first century
worshippers
in our daily
home to work to home
orbit of ourselves
I stay in line
allow only my mind
to wander
off course
to other worlds
and times
because that's
what mine
was made for
there's a sign up ahead
an exit
I've never taken
and it's tempting.
for Rick Beato
Paul was always my favourite.
He wrote the Beatles' catchiest tunes,
and when that was over
didn't miss a beat with Wings.
I liked him best because
he didn't have John's moodiness,
or George's aloofness,
didn't hide in the back like Ringo.
He shined but could still be one of the boys,
someone you could imagine
sharing a joke and a pint at the pub.
Wasn't afraid to sing silly love songs
full-voiced, and knew personal tragedy too,
loss, heartbreak, but never let it
get in the way of a hummable melody,
and we all need that.
What do you think of the Beatles?
I ask my Uber driver as she fiddles
with her cel stuck to the dash,
flipping between Waze and Spotify.
Hip-hop is playing, lots of rhyming words,
a thumping beat, no melody.
She isn't much older than my daughter,
the car is electric, almost soundless,
zero emission.
Don't know them, she says.
What about Paul?
I mean McCartney,
ever hear of him? (I'm thinking she might know
his solo stuff
Maybe I'm Amazed. Live and Let Die
the Bond movie theme).
Nope, she says.
Maybe the greatest songwriter
since Irving Berlin, I say, incredulous.
A living legend.
Blank stare
from the rearview mirror.
Google him, I say.
We're stuck in traffic,
car's not moving.
Feeling the pressure build,
I say, maybe we should turn here,
take a detour.
No worries, she says,
the car knows the way.
