The Answer

I've come to the conclusion

That death is the answer.

But privately.

No sense putting it on

Facebook.

Posting a public goodbye

Which might hamper the process.

Private.  Personal.

Nothing too violent

That might haunt

Whomever finds me.

Taunt me not

With false hope

That tomorrow will be

Better.

It won't.

It will be just one more day

Deeper into my failure.

Pulverize my heart.

My soul is all ready

Obliterated.

Nothing To Do Here

"The Fog Comes on Little Pig Feet? That's a stupid name for a book."

"It was one of my favorites when I was your age."

"Is it like that stupid book about that stupid girl talking to God about her period?"

A part of me dies with that last question.  I struggle to think of an answer.  It no longer  hurts to have my childhood  mocked.  I guess I've grown numb.  Or too old to care.  Or too mature to feel the need to defend myself.  I'll go with Door Number Three.  I pick up the book and nestle it in my beach bag, next to the sunblock (SPF 50) and multiple bottles of water, place my straw hat on my head and start out the door

"Coming to the beach, or are you going to spend the whole day inside again?"

A graceful eye roll leaps across the room, followed by a slight undulation of the shoulders.

"I don't know.  It's so hot.  There's nothing to do here."

"It's the shore.  You either go in the water, or sit on the beach, read, watch the waves, shoo away the seagulls.  That's what you do here."

I'm not going to push, not going to fight adolescent angst.  I'm trying to be more lenient.  Time is running out.  There won't be too many more summer days to waste at the shore.  I open the door and start out.

"Wait, I'm coming.  Does the girl in this book whine like the other one?"

I duck my head, letting the brim of my hat hide my smile.

"She whines some.  She's sent to boarding school and she doesn't like being there."

"Boarding school?  Like Hogwarts?  Is she a witch?"

"No, she's normal.  She wanted to go to a music school because she plays piano, but her parents sent her to an expensive private school instead because they think she'll get a better education."

"So there are no witches?"

"No."

"Werewolves?"

"No."

"Vampires?"

"No, no vampires."

A disdainful grunt escapes from her.

"Sounds pretty lame to me."

I snap my towel open and lay it on the sand.  A full conversation between the two of us that didn't dissolve into tears, profanity, or yelling.  Yes, the beach really is a relaxing place.

Let Me

Let me cling to you
Like a spider on her web.

Swinging in the breeze.
Winding down, attached yet free.

Let me murmur words of love
Like the wind.  Soft. Steady. Strong.

Let's not mourn
What's been taken from us.

Our youth.
My waist line.
Your hair.

Let us rejoice
At what we have left.

Your smile.
Holding hands.
Spooning in bed.

Let me
Let you
Let us.

Love.

The Knock

I'm waiting.
Waiting
I'm waiting for the knock.
The knock.
I'm waiting for the knock on the front door.
The knock.
The knock from the Official of the Court.
The Official of the Court with
The warrant of removal from the premises.
Three days.
Three days to vacate before you're locked out.
Three days.
Jesus rose again, in fulfillment of the Scriptures,
In three days.
There's no resurrection waiting for me.
No chance to be reborn from the fiery ashes of my life.
I'm waiting.
Waiting.
I'm waiting for the knock.
The knock.
The knock on the front door.
But all I hear are birds,
And a lawn mower.
The curtains are open.
I can see down the walk, coming up to my house.
Can see him coming.
Coming.
The Official of the Court
With the warrant of removal.
I'm watching.
I'm waiting.
Waiting for the knock.
The knock.
The knock on the front door.
Afraid to leave the house.
Afraid to miss the knock.
The knock.
The knock on the front door.