National Poetry Month 2011, Day #22: Good Friday

For Chad.
Written to align with David Gray's song "Fixative."

With only kindness on your mind,
I could only wipe you from my shoe.
Your stomach turned and tried to find
the path we shared but never knew;

but, friend, I still see you through
the sting of sunscreen in my eyes,
if your outstretched hands only knew,

asking how I feel midst the fires,
the very flames that I ignited
from the shards of bridges I still smite --

Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.

On moonlit hunts for broken bread
or through bare strings of ancient songs
sung from the annals of our heads
we both knew wouldn't last for long,

but my lips still shape the words
even if they can't make the sounds,
so on the wind they'll still be heard,

with your ears pressed to the earth,
beseeching dust for second birth,
back to my roots for what it's worth --

Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.

The last time we shared the stage,
the bleeding walls betrayed our age,
your raining shame, my smoldering rage . . .

Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.

I'm ignoring the rear view for dangling pine,
a false sense of clear air left behind,
my ashen prints from your kindling --

Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.
Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.
Don't slam the door, boy, when you leave.