Sunday, April 10, 2016

From the Notebook of J Michel

World to come 

You will find on a day of deep remembrance.
When the shadows thrown by twilight
are not so much threatening,
as reminders of my secrets.
You will embrace me;
rain will mist on the docks
where we said good-bye so long ago –
fledglings will nestle under
the shadows of  wings.
I will call out as the night
rises from the other side of the world
(bringing inward outward)
and when you speak my name
it will not be mere words,
but evidence of what you’ve held

inside you all along.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

From the Notebook of J Michel

Comfort

The light was on.
Come inside, she said, and held open the door.
I sat on the couch and cried;
I showed her my bare feet.
She made me tea and listened patiently
While I spat and hissed out the events that had brought me there.
Finally, when there was no more to say,
She put her arms around me and I fell asleep –
Wishing I could stay forever within the comfort
And confines of those walls.
I had no idea what was to happen the next day –
I had no idea if she’d be there when I woke up
Or when I’d find her again.
I just knew that she loved me,
And whether or not our prayers are for us or the people that love us,
Somehow uttering them creates a future.


Sunday, January 17, 2016

From the Notebook of J Michel

Immortal Beloved 
Darkness early outside.
The sun, latent, absent, 
has gone on to fulfill other destinies. 
The moon is not yet risen.
You are near somewhere;
I imagine you sitting, reading,
drinking coffee alone by the window.
I shiver
from the weight of the unspoken
between us when you refrained 
yesterday from an embrace.
I couldn’t read the look on your face;
now, fear that your hands 
were not empty fills me with dangerous hope.


My love, I call you differently in this life,
but it doesn't stop me from wondering
if you are one of those
whose hands are full of soul-shards
created in the endless wars
and shrines of history.
Pen in hand, I sit alone beside my teacup
contemplating vacant space. 
Whatever pieces you have, my love,
you must keep. 
Keep them because I'm not done loving you.
Because you will need them in worlds to come.
Because hands that are not yours
contain the shards of this life.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

From the Notebook of J Michel

Kosciusko Street

On the train.
Early morning –
I am resentful of
a separation from nascent dreams.
Where your voice caresses the
remnants of
desert from my skin.
Your hands
soothe the reminders of bondage
from my limbs.

From the window of my train
I can see the remnants of other’s
lives where curtains part.
Reminders
lying on          tables,
hiding        in   corners
where
ignorance hopes to be bliss.

Are these trophies of
happiness
Or
the simple fragments of distress?

The train speeds on toward.
The day that God made –
the day I do not want.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

From the Notebook of J Michel

Essex Street  

It happened while I was standing in the subway.
You don’t think of that as a very spiritual place,
do you?
But I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised;
when deep calls to deep
it’s bound to catch up to you.
I imagined Jacob laughing gently at me
as I stood in the Essex Street station.
I saw the world again for the first time,
still tasting the bitterness of wilderness
and
(for the first time in a long time)

filled completely with love.