His Hands Shake

In pursuit of “okay” He/him, trans, black, heart of a dog forever caught between the stages of grief and hope

[hishandsshake]

Do not look at me

I am bellowing my pain

In the hopes that resonance

Will find you among the void

A song crackling through

The static like a soft

Thought and a prayer rain

You are not alone today

But do not look at me

For I am unsightly in my form

Shoulders hunched like so many

Others born inside a tower

And locked away like a prize

My pedestals all cut

Down to acceptable size

For fear that I might

Stand too high

Has anyone told me lately

That I am so articulate and bright?

So do not look at me

Instead picture me as someone

You would listen to

A friend, a lover, a mother to see

These messages through

Someone, from whom

You would accept some

Small comfort in “I love you”

[hishandsshake]

I am coming into my own

Coming into this size and shape

Stretching as I am wont to do

Twisting and bending and aching

Bones craving release

Root and stem and leaf

Reaching into the sun

Enough of tunnel and burrow

It is time to seek

And maybe

Along the way into the stratosphere

Someone will see my blooms

And climb with me

Another will find me swaying

In the breeze and sit beside me

A friend will touch my trunk

And sigh with content

A lover will capture me in ink

And display me in a museum

When the winter has taken

My greens and fruits

Maybe I will be perceived

And loved every year I grow

[hishandsshake]

I’ve been pacing the living room for weeks now, waiting for the thaw that will save me from my thoughts. Finally, the days are long enough to stretch and unfurl my sore knees, and taste life returning on the wind. I may not have long with my clear nasal passages, so I want to bury my senses in as much of the earth as possible, to put my ear to the forest floor and breathe in time with the roots as they sigh the last of the frost into the creek. Maybe it will take my winter sluggishness with it in the groundwater. Maybe, it will turn to algae in the creek bed for the baby trout to feast on, and I will have begun the long list of projects I’ve been eager to start.

[hishandsshake]

As I age

I find it harder to lie

In a way that doesn’t make some

Part of me numb

Wisdom and comfort aren’t the same

Aren’t mutually exclusive it seems

So I am okay

For once

Today

But my hand has fallen asleep

[hishandsshake]

I am haunted by the way things fade away

I am hopelessly addicted to loss,

Empty spaces that ache with the ghosts

Of universes built and crumbled over years

Worn lines around your mouth,

Each stretch an echo of time gone

Moments captured and held captive

By the melted gloss sticking to the back

Of another…the once red eyes faded

From too many hot days in the trunk

Of a ‘96 civic that has long been picked

And pulled for parts by junkyard mechanics

Chassis on blocks, a friend in rust alone

The stories these weather damaged seats could tell

I am drawn to forgotten things

As if I had nothing of my own

That I would love to leave behind

[hishandsshake]

She’s like a balm to him

I love the way he smiles

When she lights up his screen

He finds comfort in my arms

I want him to pursue

That which makes him happy

He reassures me there is room

I assure him there is time

Additions are not meant to subtract

He hums out of key

Along to the new playlist he’s been building

And I nod along happily

Knowing I am not the limit

To his love

My wife sings under her breath

With a spark in her eyes

I think this is finally home

[hishandsshake]

How crude to be born

With and Of

Sin

And to be given no options

But to die

To heal

That which we are led

To think is broken

How silly to believe

That kind of faith isn’t hollow

For there is nothing

To live for

When all your guilt

Is absolved

By disappearing

[hishandsshake]

And still

And still

And still

I am looking over my shoulder

You followed me once

You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?

You haunt me like I haunt myself

Torture, darling

I hate how you shadow my old favorites

Still hunting for me

Even while putting yourself in my way

Go away

If avoiding me is really what you want

Stay away from me

Because I’m tired of running from you

[hishandsshake]

I wanted to talk about participation

But I am woefully uneducated in such matters

I have sat on the fringes and observed

So long that I can’t remember

If I ever knew how

I suppose it’s mostly my own doing

My last lingering method of self harm

Solace in loneliness even if it breaks me

I am a paradox, craving connection

With a desperation so frenzied

I cannot suffer being awake without vice

And yet, criminally embarrassed of myself

During social interactions that I must

Sprint to solitude or perish of perception

How cruel of me, I say to myself in the mirror

Just before I cover it with a sheet

[hishandsshake]

It’s such a strange feeling

Somber and comforting all the same

Knowing that the only reason

We are afraid to die

Is the fear that we would fade away

From life, from memory, gone

To be forgotten is a terrible thing

I’ve heard, it is the symptom

Of having no one left who loved you

But I don’t think so

I think to be forgotten

Is to be remembered again

Maybe a runaway scent in the street

An old joke we used to share

Out of the corner of your eye

You see me in the car passing

You on the highway and

When you blink, a stranger blinks back

To be forgotten is to be recovered

Rescued from the dusty quiet in the attic

Brought down once a year

For family to peruse the old photos

And reminisce of your favorite coffee mug

The one with the stain you refused

To bleach because it held

Too many memories

The story will get warped over the years

But they’ll never forget that time

You ran the neighborhood together

Skinny dipped in the backyard

Belted Reba at the old pizza karaoke joint

Loved them even in their lowest

Soared their highs like you’d never land

And laughed til you burst

To be forgotten is to find the spare key

Fondly shaking your head

As you turn the lock and say thanks

That it was there

[hishandsshake]

It’s done

I decided to find another way

Unemployment is unceremonious

But I am taking the out

I must not become the devil

I’ve been running from

I must stop letting little bits of

My soul be sold over the course of

Eight waking nightmare hours

While I scream and rage from inside

Not when I come home

And she breathes all around me

Unspoiled and inviting, chirping and howling

I have a map to finish, a dog to wash

Wood to cut, a rather small kitten to nurse

A universe to tend to, a kitchen to build

Land to heal, plants to grow

I shouldn’t be wasting my time,

Selling it like this to those who

Couldn’t give two shits less

About the work I do for her

When all she asks

Is that I exhale

And water the pines

[hishandsshake]

Having been diagnosed from childhood

With the overpowering inability to

Finish what I start

It’s no wonder I fell into a line of work

That makes me repeat the same short

Sweet salacious sequence of steps

To completion

And repeat

It’s just incredibly frustrating

That the task I am doing

Is the selling of little bits of my soul

For profit of a large, all consuming beast

Incessant as it devours the livelihoods

Of the unfortunate and vulnerable

Who come to my desk

I hate repeating myself

And yet I came back to this

Gods, I wish I was good at something else

[hishandsshake]

December 4th, full moon

I was struck by a strange urge

Powerful and irresistible

To bend until I broke

To shift and contort and writhe

To extend as far as I could

And so I did, with singular goal

To free myself from the

Binds pulled taut around my bones

And the heavy shroud

That protects it all

It’s built for quite some time now

I realize as I dislocate from

My body with wet, fleshy pops

My skin began to split

How curious to see what lies

Just beneath your own surface

Is it like everyone else after all?

My bones elongate like fracturing

And filling the gaps

My heart pounds like an explosion

Maybe the first explosion

As I burst apart, time is

Mercilessly irrelevant

The moon hangs sharply somehow

It’s my last thought as I

Finally discard the tattered old

Remains of me

Bones abuzz anew, freshly shedded

My ears pick up sounds I’ve longed

To hear for years and my nose

Twitches wildly as my paws tremble

The urge has transitioned

The night becomes

An expectant lover

And I, eager to please

My body hums with euphoria

[hishandsshake]

Kinder, softer people than I exist out there

It still bothers me that I’m not one of them

Maybe with time, with astringency

I will be

For now,

I’m not done sanding just yet

My hands are still rough

From the membranes

That were our life together

If it’s really going to sink in

That’s it’s all over

If I’m really going to sleep at night

I have to scrape you away

And pray I don’t tear apart more

In the process

[hishandsshake]

She is justification

Vindictive and passionate

She fuels the fire of my vengeance

Filled wings with righteous fury

In her eyes

The eyes of nature taking

Matter into her own decisive hands

Eyes of untamed wilds protected by

Unnamed beast and unknown

Powers, casting forgotten curses

With words as simple as

I’m here

[hishandsshake]

A bad day weeds its way into my gaze

Minor inconveniences mounting

Amassing into a mountain that

Cracks and caves, tumbling down

And burying me in the rubble

Leftover from every last straw since

The morning’s malfunctioning

The world is glitching today

[hishandsshake]

These hands grow harder to overcome

Their grip becomes surer, despite my

Uncertainty dwelling unceremoniously

Uninvited and unwelcome, uncouth as

It torments me daily, dallying on what ifs

As if we have the time today

And yet, my arms have begun to show

Sinewy progress and my voice grows

Incrementally deeper with each day

That dawns, foretelling of a morning

I will wake up, and my labor will have

Begun to bear fruit of the fortune I was

Handed.

My hands are rougher, my voice gruff

And I hurtle towards the horizon,

Increasingly aware of the creak in my

Bones, age burrowing into the background

Of my anxieties like a bureaucrat

Picking at pages in the ledger of my life

And auditing all my decisions with

Precision of a dagger

My hands shake still, sometimes out of

Exhaustion, but mostly out of habit

But they carry more than they have

In the years since I isolated and invested

My interrupted attention to the parasocial

Pulling the plug was apparently beneficial

Who would have guessed.