I Light a Fire

I light a fire for you,
Not with a stick
Or a rock,
But with my soul
Which suddenly exists
Because you touched it
However randomly
With your own
Internal flame.
Light me up.
I am here.
Ready to burn.
Ready to illuminate.

Alphas

Men, with no authority over anyone else,

Kicking their dog, reprimanding their dog,

A little toy breed that is

Unable to afford a gun license,

But is fully able,

To validate its master.

Simply by being small.

Men, yelling at their wives,

Teaching their boys not to cry,

Teaching their girls that their future husband

Needs to be their king (not by words: by action)

Sitting down

Pot-bellied after mowing the grass

Drinking a beer and watching the game.

He will hit mom tonight.

The world told them, 'Make your kingdom!'

But they have no kingdom.

They work jobs that do not lionize them.

The bosses they listen to get younger

And younger.

The world told them in a whisper,

'You alone are qualified!'

But what has this wrought?

No promotion.

Kid is a fag.

Talk radio.

Beer.

Beer.

Beer.

Men: but on the inside, boys.

And they were beautiful once,

But those days are gone.

Surrounded

I am surrounded by ghosts,
My body is a map of their travels.
Every scar, burn, stretch mark,
Every pound of flesh that expands their map
Is guidepost. Is landmark. Is roadside attraction.
See here? When I flex my forearm, made firm by labor?
This introduces a long blue river to the map.
When I am surrounded, I imagine erecting a dam,
Building a fence or wall,
Drilling deep into the blue that comes with flexing,
And I feel comfort in the idea of retreat.
Yet I move forward,
Through discomfort and on to understanding,
Until the river disappears,
And the landscape
Returns
To uninterrupted flesh.

There Is No Space Between Us

One night, when I was the manager at the Drop Inn Center, I had to exit a very large and aggressive man from the shelter for sexually assaulting one of our female clients.

Typically, when you are exiting someone from a shelter for non-compliance, or having a difficult meeting with them (one where you suspect their ire may get up) you make sure someone else is present, and you are in a place with very clear exits.

I was about 27 at this time, and cocky. I would often do one-on-one discipline/exit with a variety of unpredictable characters.

I didn't behave differently in this situation. I asked the large man if I could talk to him, took him into the lobby of our intake area--where it was just he and I, and the only exit out of the room was through him. I told him the news. He didn't deny it. He looked down for a second, and then locked eyes with me. "So I'm out, right?"

"Yes." I said in a neutral tone.

He stepped up to me, and put his chest in my face. Our bodies were touching.

"You're in my space." I said, suddenly feeling the weight in the room.

"There is no space between us." he said.

What followed involved me trying to get away from him, him following me, chasing me, cursing and threatening me, telling me he was going to break my back (and I believed him). Eventually a more seasoned co-worker got hip to what was going on, and slid himself between the two of us, coaxing the man outside with a cigarette and the observation that, 'You don't want to go back to jail, man'.

I had a tall pair of brown work boots that I always wore in those days, and I was literally shaking in them.

I learned from that lesson--In the past, I was a hard learner: rather than following good advice, I usually needed to leave a little metaphorical blood on the floor before I found myself accepting basic wisdom--and from then on, I had someone else present during those tough conversations. I also worked on my delivery, and built up some empathy for the people I interacted with.

One thing that has stuck with me above all else from that night, almost in a kind of spiritual way, was that ominous threat: "There is no space between us."

Over time, as I recovered, I learned to respect what a cool line that is. When I would tell the story of that night, the impetus of my telling would shift from, 'Man, that was scary, and that's how I learned to not act like a cowboy', to 'Damn. That was an absolutely awesome and terrifying line. I wish I could pull off that level of intimidation in a pinch!'

And the line shifted even more after that. My son was having a bad day one day, and didn't want to talk to me. I gave him his space for awhile, but he seemed really down. I did some deductive reasoning, sat down with him on his bed in his room, and proposed my guess as to what might be bothering him. He looked at me, teared up, and hugged me. He asked me how I guessed. "There's no space between us', I said.

It was a transformative moment.

I have had the opportunity to use the line a few more times since then, but it has also become a rallying cry and motto with me and the boys. Whenever we are separated for awhile, we say it to each other: 'There is no space between us'. Whenever we are feeling lonely in this world, we realize we are not alone, because there is no space between us.

It is funny and strange how we are able to use life experiences, and appropriate language that was intended in a wholly different fashion, to build and move forward.