first words last words

If words matter, which ones. The infant's inaugural sounds that grown-ups assign warm-hearted meaning to? She said mama! He said mama!? Hear it? No. Yeah. They said dada! They said momma dada nana poppa sissy bruth cuz booboo coocoo. Or maybe it was really a smart-aleck bit of gibberish that only the baby understood. Or a Dadaist manifesto. Try: gimme gimme love gimme love more love gimme shelter gimme more attention gimme dryness milk food more more now now quicker. 

And last words. Will they be an aphorism, an epigram, a saying that all by the bedside can later quote. Words bronzed in your heart, branded into memory. A word or phrase tinged with wisdom, bitterness, humor, irony, brilliance, mysticism, holiness, profanity, vulgarity, vanity, regret, gratitude, humility, pride, inspiration. Love. Generosity. Surrender. Personality. Or something else. Or else nothing. The long metallic note the roshi sounds at the end of the meditation session. The aural pebble in the oceanic roar, echoing infinitely into indescribable ineffable silence. Last words. (Google them. Good search topic. If Google even exists then. If AI has not replaced human or humanoid speech.)

What about between the two, what about the myriad or myriads times millions of words spoken (or merely imagined) between that alpha and this omega, between the first terminus and the last, between the first gurgled garbled mewlings, the oral scribblings and doodlings, at the departing station and the broken mumblings, screams, or ringing emptiness sounded at the last stop, the train's brakes screeching to a halt, the steam billowing upward, a stock movie scene. What about all those words, between A and Z (or whatever your language's alphabet begins and ends with, or whatever your private idiosyncratic memory consists of). The unimaginable flood of syllables strewn, streamed, leaked, and hurled, secreted or sworded, all untakebackable.

First words.

Last words.

In-between words.

 

sleeping on the other side of the bed

The coldness of it, the stiffness. Its newness, unused and absent the human imprint. Mine or anyone else's. For the longest time, a set of pillows on that side, away from the end table and lamp, museum-like, virginal. Pillow props. Faux companions missing their heads, and bodies for that matter. That side of the mattress not virginal. That's a convenient fib, but let's not get into that, not today. It's a good thing I didn't say "almost virginal," because, well, that's not even oxymoronic. It's lexically lazy. I switched to that side because I feared ruination of the year-old bedding. Trapped in the imprint of a nightly journey, bearing the weight of dreams, seasons, and fantasies, my habits having embossed that side of the bed. Nocturnal branding seen from an aerial view, i.e., from the loft's high ceiling, the contour lines of my personal topographical map impossible to hide or erase. I am surprised at how I've adjusted. The light on "the other side," "the far side," is bright enough for me to read in that space, a necessity. It's a shorter trip to the bathroom. I assumed I'd do this other side thing for a night or two. It's caught on. It has a momentum I never expected. Do you insist? Really? You're going to go there? The whole business about flying solo versus partners, paramours, assignations, guests of the demimonde, one-night stands not getting traction of their own into six-month sequestrations, the lonely man in his lonely bedroom. No, it ain't like that. I'm slightly offended you swerved in that direction, you fuck. How long will this last? More concerningly, how would I adjust to a bedmate? Could I have merely flipped or repositioned the mattress? Not without looking like a one-man Marx Brothers sketch. I've heard people say, "You can act yourself into a new way of thinking." Counterintuitive, and all that. I'm hoping that's the case here. That Sleeping on the Other Side of the Bed will translate into my becoming another person, one with another perspective, figuratively and literally. The Sleeping on the Other Side of the Bed Person. Can a left-handed person become right-handed? Not this guy. But can a right side of the mattress person (me, from an aerial view) become a left side of the mattress entity? So far, yes. There are other dynamics at work here, opportunities for growth. They say, "Don't go to bed angry." "Don't let the sun go down on your anger," etc. Add to this: the perils of the Silent Treatment. How does one apply this to someone who is flying solo between the sheets? How does this pertain to a single occupant in a queen-size bed? One thing is sure, no one to blame for "stealing the covers" except moi.What's next, a shower immediately upon waking, before my breakfast rites? Never.

as if possessed

we called it a loan so give it back

you got behind on your payments, didn't you

so did I so did I, I did

return to sender became our mantra

who owes whom, you said

we signed no papers

I didn't owe nobody nothing triple negative

we lost count not that we ever counted

 on anything

payments you ask what payments

no cash no credit no receipts

no currency no coin of the realm

and now they're talking repo

as in repo man or woman

as in repossess a heart take it back

as if a heart could be possessed, owned, loaned

in possession of one's faculties

self-possessed

forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors

possession is nine tenths of the law

search and seizure as if possessed

breach the peace

round up your posse

reply by replevin

in other words give back

what never was  

the night dawn

before the dew burns off 

academy awards

The American Academy of Lexicographical Propriety and Rectitude hereby announces its inaugural list of American words to be purged, disappeared, nulled, sidelined, or silenced.

Roughly modeled on France's Académie française, which was founded in 1635 and is composed of 40 members, or "immortals," AALPR monitors, documents, and seeks to influence the use, both written and oral, of American English in both the English-speaking world and beyond. Although some of its members — the identities and number are a closely guarded secret — have lobbied for powers akin to a verbal guillotine, the organization wields no formal, or informal, enforcement powers, no matter how sharp its verbo-judicial blade.

Despite the cautions and warnings of linguists, lexicographers, academicians, misanthropologists et al., the Academy doggedly (yet not caninely) presses forward in its privilege-laden, quixotic quest to distill, filter, purify, purge, or protect the Mother/Father Tongue.

The Academy's charter limits the number of words for each year's list. Applying an arcane algorithm of astrological coordinates and geomagnetic metaphysical pulses, a maximum of nine words are allowed for banishment and eternal destruction.

To wit:

impact (v.)/impactful (adj.)

millennial

adulting

Kardashian

efforting

utilize

hack (n.)

empower (v.)/empowerment (n.)

bougie

Contradicting the judgmental "obliterate me" nature of the aforementioned word list, the Academy nevertheless recognizes the fluid, organic nature of language and invites readers to amend, rectify, posit, deposit, or edit the Academy's selections. Furthermore, nominations are open for 2020.

burying the dead, and others

this interment no death dirt tossed the blue yellow butterfly flowers curlicued on the tabled urn her hard-earned urn beside the appointed Book of Common Prayer petitions we recite in common we mouth to the wind her uncommon age virtues demeanor generosity laughter tears we leave these severed maternal ashes for others for strangers to plant no not ashes cremains into the ground it is not her and it is not the ground yet the table the surrogate altar and it is not her here not quite do not look here said the angels at the tomb the gardener a simple hole in the ground a pale rose on the table an alstroemeria bouquet on the gravestone ashes to ashes burying the dead burying this dead engraving her memory what remains

let the dead bury the dead let the dead bury their own dead Jesus snapped hurried harried not my problem as if to say more urgent matters burn at hand such as now and the living above the dirt those of us still born still breathing

bury as in hide conceal protect shelter preserve

others

as for others entomb their reckless ecstasies those exalted maelstroms we loved to call love singing o happy fault o happy day night

bury it all bury it cheap or dear bury it deep

where every singed seed 

stalks the grave ground's readiness

where watered ripeness raves