Tree Hugger.

I want to kiss everyone.
I want to hug everyone.

I want to place my neck against their necks and embrace in such a way that makes others realize that there is more going on than just a simple embrace.

But I can't.

I can't do this because people don't see how it really is.

I can't do this because a snake deceived.
I can't do this because a man didn't lead.
I can't do this because a women ate an apple.

What?

What's that?

What are you saying?

A tree?

What tree?

Oh, that tree.

Yeah...so...want to hug?

The Sisters That Leave.

She went to DC.
She went to New York.
She went to France.

I love them all.

O sisters, you silly silly sisters of the day.

Remember your brother the fox back in the den.

O sisters, you silly silly sisters of the dawn.

Recall every so often the times in the field.

O sisters, you silly silly sisters of the eve.

Love those who you are near, for you are the ones that taught me to love the ones that are near to me.

O sisters, you silly silly sisters.

Without Him.

My left knee still hurts.
My lower-back is still sore.
The hot shower didn't help. Again.
My joints still ache.

I don't want to call him.
I am not interested in patience.
I don't care about the small talk.
My brain is full and unwilling.

My shins are rough and jagged and splinted.
My arches are falling.
The balls of my feet sting.
That sting in my left shoulder is still there.

No, you can't have five-hundred of my dollars.
Why would I want to help you?
Who are you to ask that of me?
I am in this for me.

This is me without Him.

I am a Jerk.

I think about writing you that note and my heart starts beating out of my chest and then decides to change direction and jumps up through my throat. I think about saying “hi” or that “you’re beautiful” or “in my mind I see me asking to kiss your neck after we had been dating for a while” but I don’t. I get all flustered and sweat starts condensing under my hair on my forehead and I just walk out of the shop and leave you there behind the counter to be desired after by the next Jim or Richard that walks through the door. I am a jerk.

The Whale, The Fox and Mr. Bagell (Part IV)

“Boy.”

“Boy, come to me, boy.”

I am sitting in a kitchen chair balancing on the two back legs trying to keep myself from touching the wall behind me. I am facing west with the sun streaming in through the bronze screen door onto my face and my bare chest. I am skinnier than normal this summer and my mother continues to fill my plate at dinner with more food than I could eat even if I were starving. She thinks me sickly. I’m just not hungry.

“Boy.”

I had been ignoring it for about fifteen minutes when I knew that I had to get up and see where the voice was coming from. Yep, it’s whale. The orb sits in a nook of a huge oak tree at the corner of the front yards eastward fence line. Dad and mom are sitting on the porch in the warmth of the summer sun drinking hard tea and holding hands. Brother is down at the lake fishing with Tim Urman; a local boy who lives on the next ranch to the west. Sister is lying fast asleep on a blanket in-between my mom and dad on the porch.

“Boy.”

It’s a loud but gentle whisper that carries with it a wind, a breeze.

“Here I am boy.”

I look at mom and dad. They don’t seem to hear anything.

“Boy, I am here in the branches. Come to me.”

I look back one more time to see my parents with eyes closed and heads reclined back onto the chairs where they sit. I move slowly towards and tree keeping one eye on Whale and one eye on my parents.

Still no movement
Everything quiet
Am I deaf?
The grass is cool under my feet

“Boy, are you listening?”

This is the first time Whale had ever asked me a direct question and I was confused because he had no mouth or ears or anything to justify a response from a sane person of sound judgment. Why should I, a sane young man, be talking to a glowing orb?

“I am.” I was.

The Whale, The Fox and Mr. Bagell (Part III)

I am awake.

My watch is completely lifeless now. The incessant ticking that I had once found so unbelievably annoying was now gone and it made me sad. That was my dad’s watch.

Mom is in the garden, Dad on the porch, brother most likely in the woods and sister is asleep in her crib in the back room that was once a sewing room but now it is her room and not a sewing room. My mother, when I was younger would make all of my clothes back in that room but now I am too old and I prefer to get my clothes from the stores in the city.

I am walking outside when I see Whale. He’s just sitting there in the middle of mom’s garden in a patch of kale. Mom doesn’t even notice him. Dad doesn’t notice him.

Is he there?
Can they see him?
He is still dim
In the garden?

I am not going to go out to him yet because I never go into the garden and my mom will be wondering why I am all of the sudden taking interest in the garden and if she hasn’t seen Whale yet then she definitely will at that point and due to this a lot of questioning will happen and I have no answers about anything. So I stay inside. I walk back to my room and I sit down on the bed. I have to go to the Lake.

Put shirt on
Open window
Go out window
Run to lake

“FOX?!”

“FOX?!”

“FOX?!”

I am not very interested in Mr. Bagell right now because he talks much too slowly and I need answers and I need them in a quick fashion. I think Fox can help me in this way.

“FOX?!”

The silt of the lakeside is drying and cracking and my toes have nothing to sink into so I just sit on the rock again and look out onto the water and wonder if I really just dreamt up everything last night. But that couldn’t be because my calves were still sore this morning and my shirt still had mud on it from the lake.

“Fox!” I yelp.

“Hello boy, why do you yell as you do?”

“Do you know Whale?” I ask.

“Yes, I know Whale. He is me and I am He and We are We.”

I am confused and I fear that if I ask Fox why Whale is in my mother’s garden that he will give me an answer to which I will need an equation to understand. So I stay quiet. Fox has never looked at me. He just looks out at nothing I suppose. He is very still and I try to pet him but my arm can’t ever seem to reach him no matter how close he seems but he is always near.

Fox’s tale I have told you about. His paws are perfect white even when he walks through the mud and the field and the water and the muck. His nose is black like death and his eyes are deep and dark and they taunt me with the wondering thought that they just might hold the answers to the universe. His fur is a shade of orange that Whale showed me.

“Fox, who are you?”

“I am your helper, boy.”

“OK.”

I decide to not ask him about Whale but rather I straight to the point.

“Fox, I need you to get Whale out of my mom’s garden.”

“Boy, I can’t do that. Whale is everywhere. You will be seeing much of him now.”

I turn to ask him what he means but as I turn he is gone and a wind blows and my hair flips up over my ear and I see some clouds rolling in. It’s going to rain. I head home.

The Whale, The Fox and Mr. Bagell (Part II)

I am cold and my butt is numb and the door creaked as I walked into the cabin where the rest of my family was asleep. My watch got water in it when I was swimming four days earlier and so now I can’t tell what time it is but the sun is peeking up over the tree line so I know that I have to get in bed now or my parents will know that I was gone all night.

Mr. Bagell talked so slowly that in the time we spent together he only made out about seven or eight whole sentences. That’s fine though, everything he said was gold, pure gold that glimmered in a night so dark that without his words we would not have known where we were going.

I am so tired
How are my eyes open?
Where are my shoes?
I don’t care

Brother is sleeping in a ball on his bed with no covers and the only thing he has on are his whitey tighties. He’s twelve but when people we don’t know get invited over to the house by our parents he talks to them as if he were an old Englishman with a vocabulary that resembles that of the child of a dictionary and an etiquette manual for young adults.

I’m undressed with my shorts on and as I lie here my calves are burning and my head is spinning and by butt is still numb because, even though Mr. Bagell is a nice and kind individual, his shoulder is not. His fur is thick and when I sat in it I sank but after a short time the hair began to itch the back of my legs and without being able to maneuver much I was stuck with a numb butt for some time.

I can’t remember anything
I can’t remember what he said
I can’t recall one single word
Did he even speak?

I fall asleep with my hair sticking with sweat to my forehead and a light steam rising from the damp warmth of my chest. I am asleep.

The Whale, The Fox and Mr. Bagell (Part I)

I am sitting next to the lake. I have been holding this orb of light in my hands for over two hours now and I cannot depart one seconds time of my gaze from its unparalleled beauty.

I found it
I found it in the dark
I found it in the place where no one ever looks
I found it when I was not even longing for it

I sit on this cold rock and my feet sink ever so slightly into the silty muck of the lakeshore; the muck oozes through my toes like it did in my youth. The house is far away to the east and the rest of my family sleeps soundly in their beds knowing the joy, pain, love and reverence that they live out everyday.

I am not worried about anything. It’s almost as if I have never worried about anything in my whole life. The water is as still as the spirit within me. Then, without one sound or rustling there is a fox at my side. His name is Pure and he talks quietly to me about staying calm and remembering what love means and how this will all end for some but that for me this is only the blink of the beginning. He tells me about staying on the good road and about remembering rules that are coated in gold.

Pure has a very thick coat and his tail seems to exude light from its end. His voice is like a warm cloak that sets itself upon the hearts of men. He speaks very slowly and very quietly and as I stare at the orb I strain to catch every last letter that is dripped from his mouth. And then as if he were never there I am alone again there on the rock with my toes sinking in the silt.

No paw prints
No fur on the mud
No smell of canine or fox or whatever it is that they are
Time has past but how much I am not sure

It’s then that the orb, Whale I will call it, begins to change color. I wish with the fullness of my whole being that I could in some form or fashion describe to you these colors. But, I do not know their names or their hews or their origins and my mind is not large enough or wide enough to capture them fully and because of this I apologize.

Whale shows me things
Whale turns memories into lessons
Whale loves me so he scolds me
Whale makes a char filled brain clean and clear

Whale showed me all of his colors and shapes and then inside of him I began to see them. They danced around and were all connected and were all made of the colors that Whale had been showing me. There was no sound but I could still hear them singing and stomping their feet and slapping their thighs. Whale never spoke but I could feel his words on my heart like stickers on a binder. They were there to stay; they were never going to be taken away.

They clung but not a needy way
They wanted to be there
I wanted them there more than they wanted to be there
I am not sure if this is true

Whale dimmed and those that were in him went away and the colors reverted back to white and everything in my head got still and quiet again. My inability to divert my gaze was cut and my head jerked back and my eyes rolled in their sockets and my face rushed with blood. I think it has been ten minutes. The air still feels the same and the stars seem to be in the same places they were before. The moon still low in the east.

The orb sat cradled in the silt of the lakes shore and inside it was what seemed to be a low burning candle. The flame was low and it flickered and it did not give off much light but for some reason I do not feel like Whale will ever go out. Ever. Never. Ever.


I sat up and the wet shirt on my back clung to my skin and my body is cool and I feel relaxed and very tired. I look out on the lake and I see a figure on the other side. It is large and roundish in the center and it saunters in big lumbering steps from side to side. It takes me a few moments to realize but the figure in walking the edge of the shore and is coming towards me. He’s huge.

He?
Is it a male?
Yes, He.
He.

I stare up at him even while standing. But not just up, ninety-degree angle up. The kind of up that people talk about when they are referring to skyscrapers. He is an enormous bear. He’s not a bear that I have ever seen nor is he one that I can affiliate with species that I have seen on the television or in books. His fur is flowing but thick and rough like straw. His paws remind me of large mitts of leather and knives. Hit snout and teeth deserve respect.

He stares out over the lake and over the land and up at the stars and at the moon and he sniffs loudly and he blinks frequently. At this point I am unsure as to whether or not he knows I am even there. But then he speaks.

“Quite the evening I must say.”

His voice is so deep that I can feel my ear drums vibrate and rattle. My heart murmurs and stops for a split second and my breath is knocked out of me and I go blind. Then I blink and I can see again. My eyes water and everything is silhouetted and the hair on the back of my neck rises and falls.

“Do you not think so?”

I am still catching my breath and try to push out a yes to his face that towers above me. This bear speaks very slowly and lingers and meditates on every word that is spoken.

He seems brilliant
He seems to know a lot about things that I don’t
He seems to eat well
His voice reverses the invention of fear

“Bagells the name.”

I am unsure as to what the next move is. I keep exchanging glances between Mr. Bagell and the stars that sit atop his head. Brilliance sat atop his shoulders.

“Do you know Whale?

I ask it like a child. I ask it as though his answer may or may not complete my life. His face twists and his eyes wonder and he scratches under his chin and picks me up and places me on his shoulder.

“Walking is a good way to spend a conversation.”

I didn’t agree or disagree. The drop from his shoulders was easily twenty feet. I was along for the ride. His fur was very comfortable though so I am fine with it and we walked along the side of the lake.

“I know Whale. Have you met Fox? I love Fox.”

I say, “Yes, I met Fox in the silty mud.”

“Fox is very quiet. Fox speaks for me most of the time.” Mr. Begell says.

All of this seems very vague and simple. I want to know if this bear knows Whale and if he does what is Whale? Who is Fox? Why am I not in bed?

When the leaves begin to show up on the branches outside my window.

It's the dried blood that ran down your calf from the rock that hit your leg that was propelled by the mower blade.
It's the hair that clings to her sweat drenched neck that acts as a barrier between your lips & her skin.

She had to meet him on Rivers Road in three minutes. Her father was still awake in the living room watching the baseball game with beer in hand. She had no other choice & in a blink was feet first out of her second story window & down the steep incline of the roof and in the backyard. Six fences & two dogs were all that stood in her way now.

It's the truck bed that substitutes for your mattress & the entangled mass of fingers that acts as a pillow.
It's the barbed wire fence that you meet on your midnight walk that stops you & asks you to look upward.

His dad was asleep & the dog was lying on the front porch enjoying the warm breeze. William knew the land well; well enough to go out in the pitch of the darkest night & walk the inclines & the ridges by memory. So, with pockets empty & a very real smile on his face, William walked to where he knew the fence line best.

It's the flippant pages that hold the words that you wish you could have said to the girl you wish you knew.
It's the sweat on the bottle that you hold in your left with hers in your right while both of your feet stand on the riverbed below.

And it was then that he knew that he loved her in a way that made him feel like death was pitiful only because it would take him away from her. So they stood there in the river, holding hands, beers in bellies & realized that they had come to a place where they would never know anyone in the way that they knew each other their in that very moment.

I Stab my Friends in the Front and Then Hug Them. (Part II)

I am the alabaster vial that carried the blessing.
My whole self emptied to you in a moments spark.

I am the bowl that held that water that washed those feet.
I am cracked now but that’s not important.

I am the child that you placed above all others.

I am the friend who caries the back left corner of the mat.
The one that carries he whom you prefer most.

I am he one who sits listening while others toil.
I just sit and watch your face because I can.

I am the one whose chosen weapon is my knees in the sand.

I Stab my Friends in the Front and Then Hug Them. (Part I)

I am the three crows of the rooster.
The ones that you know the best.

I am that wet kiss when you needed it least.
The one that liquefied the skin on your cheek.

I dug a hole ten feet deep and climbed inside when you needed me most.

I am the purse of gold that put a price on blood.
The purse that had the leaky hole.

I am the brother sleeping in the forest.
The one who could not keep his eyes open.

I found a room above the street and hid under the table.