on neglect.

Lately, I have neglected quite a few things—
I’ve neglected to analyze.
I’ve neglected to deconstruct, understand and reassemble.
I’ve neglected to archive impressions
and reminders of time and place.
My month and my mouth have run away from me again.

I neglected to gush about
the heart-wrenchingly beautiful
sunset drive up to the lake in July.
About the lush fields of corn—
pearled cobs hidden beneath the unpeeled pages of their husks,
crowning thick and sturdy stalks of such great stature—
stretching for miles beyond
the milky, twilit and strawberry-dipped horizon—
seemingly endless and immeasurable like the uncharted oceans,
stirring up buried sentiments described by anxious explorers and cartographers
of the 15th century, when it was still believed the world was flat
and they feared sailing off the side.
About the warped and weathered, wooden sidings of the country houses,
the bones of each home exposed beneath the chipping paint washes
and dappled coats of the sun-bleached stain finishing.
About the dilapidated barns swaying lazily in the breeze
in time with the linens pinned to sagging laundry lines
and the whirling southern cross windmills.
About the farmer’s markets, flaunting their freshest fruits and greens,
and the antique shops filled to the brim
with brittle, pink depression glassware, world war china dolls,
baubles, trinkets and other whimsies
that would tempt even the most seasoned
treasure hunters, collectors and hoarders.
About the brick, bible-belt churches
framing panes of glowing, stained widows.
About the blushing sun slowly dipping in the west the entire drive,
a faithful companion, never truly sinking,
and waxing brilliantly like a luminous watercolor painting,
as if nectarine, peaches, raspberries and plums
were mashed with a mortar and pestle and the juices were used
to smear the sky.
I swear, I’ve never seen as many colors
as I saw in the sky that evening.

I have neglected to document my observations
about the drive home from friend’s houses each night—
about Vanity and Columbus Gold
and the other peep show clubs I pass on Bethal Road
and the strippers with their glass slippers and broken hearts,
about the suburban mothers selling their prescription pain killers
to psychotropic capricorns under the cover of night,
about the flickering street lamps and the blood red moon,
about the traffic lights
and how sometimes love is like staring at the back of one
because I can’t read the signals
and I never know if it’s safe to proceed.

I neglected to write about the death of my dear friend’s mother—
about how bittersweet the death was, because her daughter instantly received
the pain her mother was finally relieved from after so much suffering.
About how the daughter is much too young to lose her mother.
About how bad it felt to grieve.
About how good it felt to cry.
And about the tragically beautiful wisdom passed on
to all who attended the funeral—
that death shouldn’t raise questions of “why,”
but “how” can we move on and continue to live despite it.

I’ve neglected to remind myself
that I always did like doing things the hard way
because of how rewarding it is when I finally do succeed.

And lately, I’ve neglected love.
I’ve put it on the backburner,
and, surprisingly enough,
I don’t mind one bit.
You know something is terribly wrong
when your mother worries about your ability to attract a mate,
but I’ve neglected worrying.
I haven’t been lying awake at night anymore,
wondering if I’ve already met the love of my life
and let him get away,
or reliving nights under the yellow light,
lying beside another, as those who love each other do,
even though he didn’t.
Instead of worrying, I’ve been enjoying every ounce of August—
attending drunken slumber parties in basement bomb shelters,
collecting all the cards and hearts, and shooting the moon.
Harmonizing, writing songs, brewing magic and casting spells.
Rolling up my sleeves, taking a moment to slow down and breathe.
Drawing landscapes on broken guitars with oil pastels by the pond,
taking late afternoon dips in the river,
spending every waking minute with my kindred company
and truly celebrating the season
and everything life has to offer.