Photographs

Just as time will fade the paint on the corners of the front steps, chip the glass on the coffee cup, Slowly dry the ink in the pen, slowly age the man.

It will slowly chip away at love.

Tough words or tired bodies when we were young, we used to say everyone else just settles….

Now we barely talk anymore

Somehow we don’t even look at each other and it’s just okay.

For days on end we pass each other without anything other than a silent resentment.

When do you know you’re reading from a script that’s killed you off?

Occupying a movie set that’s packed and left…

Does her mind know, or is it her heart?

Does he know? Or is he so far removed that he believes everything is fine

At status quo

What’s the point of signaling a flare

You’re like two ghosts haunting the same house in different centuries

There’s nothing here anymore

It’s all cold

It’s all empty

And no one knows why..

Any cold drafts are blamed on the weather…

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Letters to a Nurse #20

All of her hair, it’s always been red and her lips, they’ve always been red. Her temper, her passion, has always been red. Her fists have always been made.

And I’m lost, when she lets her hair down. When our eyes meet, it feels just like coming home. Touch for touch, a new star being born,

Meet me in the night, morning comes too early, we haven’t got time to wait, we can walk through the fire, I feel like I’m forgetting parts of you my lips need to touch.

Will another year pass? How many hours are in a day? Everything burns blue when she is away…and it rains every day.

Everything in this house burns red when she is near.

-regardingsamuel.com

Bleeding Ink #1,233

(image source unknown)

“Please keep writing. I like your penmanship and your poetry. Your words are beautiful.” She said.

She lived on the other side of the world. A place I had only heard of from people who had heard from someone who had heard…

Out here, we want to feel strongly about things that we borrowed.

Religions.

We like what they give us. But – we don’t live in their houses…

We’ve never seen their shadows or their demons. We seperated ourselves from them with a body of water. And declared them our own.

She was a writer

She wrote about her questions and how she watched classmates disappear. Never knowing if they were alive. Growing up surrounded by fighting and being told they had to choose. Between fighting or an education.

She wrote about love

And growing

I felt so entirely separated from these things…

Time has a way of slowing us down

Graying hair

And speeding up…

Someone said the world would be better without a Jew

And someone else was crying because they read an article saying Maya Angelou died today…

I didn’t have the heart to tell them, she passed away in Twenty Fourteen…

I was standing outside a grocery store. When a girl wearing a Dupatta walked out. And a man turned and said “what the?? I don’t want to get blown up.”

A few days later , I was talking to an older man when he saw a couple walk by. A white girl and a black man. He erupted. “That’s unnatural. The animal kingdom doesn’t even mix species. It’s a sin. And disgusting.”

Time passes

But

It was just yesterday

Wasn’t it…

We borrow things.

We make them our own.

Without understanding the depth of what we’ve taken.

“Keep Writing please. I love your words.”

She was muslim.

sometimes I look for her and wonder where she went

How she is

If she, herself, continued writing…

If she kept her faith

And if I even kept mine…

Letters to a Nurse 19

It’s light here

This space

We’ve made together

It’s light here

Our backs against the weather

what we have

We’ve made

Against the winter

Against the night

This space

Just for us….

Adulthood may be dark

The future of our discontent

But right here

At home

Right in the now

This moment

Today

the ingredients

For all our tomorrows

Quickly becoming yesterday

It’s light

With you

It’s always light

In mid November

Leaves on the ground

Overcast

gray sun

First frost

It’s warm

It’s light

It’s Home

-Regardingsamuel.com

Ethan Bethune

Letters to a Nurse #18

maybe the past has a way of reminding us

We’re not that far from who we used to be

I just wanted to say

Thank you for loving me

You’re a good nurse

A good friend

And when I’m with you

I feel so lucky

And when I’m not with you

I miss you…

I miss you…

The bed is empty without you here

Champagne can only do so much

I miss talking with you

Someone should really

Tell the others

What marriage is really like

How you have to grow

The unspoken rules

What you find yourself carrying

And how we change

no one else will do

Not a soul in a room

There’s only you…

Starlight

All the flowers grow

At night

And

The roots

Grow deep

And we are not saints

The dust doesn’t just stick

To our shoes

In the morning light

It’s behind our eyes

It’s in our lungs

And we have the cough to prove

Maybe I’m not a poet

But I see you across the room

Hair fire red

tougher than the rest

A fast machine

When the lights go out

The moon in your eyes

Giving the wolves

A reason to scream

You’ll make me believe –

But that’s not why I’m here

Because 6 out of ten nights

I just want to be close to you

And I’ll walk the line

This isn’t us against the world

You’re the only world I’ll ever need

As long as you love me

I’d walk with you

Every night

And we would wait as the gardens grow

And the earth is reborn

-regardingsamuel.com

Photo origin – Ethan Bethune

Writer’s Log #20

There is something about records…

No streaming.

No alerts

No ads

No bings

No whistles

It’s slower.

Like coffee percolating…

You have to turn it over.

It’s enough to make you slow down and dance in the kitchen with your wife.

No ads no alerts

Just you

Granted, marriage isn’t perfect you know.

You have the nights where you have to get up and sleep on the couch. Because the love of your life keeps kicking you. Or they’re a sauna that just keeps burning.

The dog comes and checks on you, just to make sure you’re ok. But then he goes back to his three blankets and a pillow top.

You’re out here on a stiff couch and a pre war blanket that barely covers your ankles.

But you love them. You chose them after all. And records have a way of reminding you of those choices. If

you let them.

Everyone talks about life being so hard. About writing being so hard. About work being so hard.

Just get up and do something.

It’s good to work.

And it feels great to have made something.

Marriage, it’s live rounds and fox holes. It’s hot summer nights. But what did you expect? You expected one person to be absolutely every anchor and every little thing… to seduce you and keep you and entertain you…

It’s good to have a friend

It’s good to dance in the kitchen

It’s good to slow down

It’s good to wake up next to the one person who knows your middle personality

And loves you anyway.

No bings

No whistles

No alerts

No ads

Just you

And it’s good to be there for someone else.

It’s good to be selfish

And unplug from Netflix

And everything else

It’s good to just be alone in a world

Unconnected…

Where things percolate

And take their time

I think maybe some people find it difficult to be that quiet and together. They are afraid of what they might say or see.

But there it is…

like the side B of a relationship

waiting to be turned over….