A granddaughter's Wish

Constantly moving internally—

memories flashing rapidly.

What happened five minutes ago becomes blurry,

but the events of 1960 are vivid and magnificent.

If only we could change places, things would become clear.

Instead of struggling for the words, they would spit out of your

mouth like a rocket launching into space.

Instead of walking through life in silence, you would hear

babies cooing, street performers singing, and guitars on the corners.

Instead of losing your once endless appetite,

you would eat French cuisine and pasta with pleasure.

 

If only we could change places, you could be young again.

Until then, I embrace your stories and memories of the past,

and I know you will create history tomorrow.

 

stepping larger than the stomach can drink

 

Protruding the surface—cutting waves into flesh

deeper than the intention of the thirstiest soul.

Traveling closer to the inward core of humanity,

until doors block emotions out, and people are left

drinking, singing, and stuttering deep into the surface of night.

Voices calling, and words become jumbled among the music,

which dollars are forced into machines only faint enough to hear.

People stepping across peanut shelled floors with skid marks,

wondering when the night will draw near, and tomorrow

will become today.  Another mind, heart, and soul struggle

while rolling mindlessly away in office chairs underneath obtrusive lights. 

Shuffling papers, wanting to write, and trapped in a room

thinking of you and a typewriter.  

Passion before paychecks, songs before silence.  

Wanting to propose, but unable to commit to anything

outside of this 8 to 5.  Lights in the distance become blurred,

and it is your heart I feel through the keyboard of the day,

and your body that touches me in the night.