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Persistence

It’s Time to Start Cleaning

There’s a pile in the corner.
Papers, cards, bills, warranties and user’s manuals.
Just sitting there
 waiting to be filed or thrown out.

There’s a pile in the corner.
Been there so long it’s covered in dust.
The dust has gathered dust
and a great dust ball jungle is growing.
Growing.
Threatening to muffle the whole room
in a quiet, dry, grey carpet of neglect.

There’s a pile in the corner.
Bits and pieces of my life
 cast aside
   with a “I’ll deal with this later” toss.

There’s a pile in the corner.
Congratulations and accusations
 all mixed and jumbled together.
Both “we love you” and “you don’t belong”.
Instructions and guidance.
Junk mail trying to sell me one more thing I don’t need.

Too easy I savor the rejections
and block out the invitations.

There’s a pile in the corner.
I pray today I can walk up to that pile
 and look at one or two pieces.
Grieve the losses and celebrate the loves.
Listen to the advice and reject the bullshit.

There’s a pile in the corner.
It’s time to start cleaning.

 - Jose Enciso

Burned House
 
My house was destroyed
burned, almost, to the ground.
Jagged walls and jagged glass remain
And the doorway is vaguely perceptible.
I cannot enter with bare feet
for the floor is strewn
with sharp green shards.
I hold my breath as
decay, destruction, desecration
assail my senses
causing me to recoil.
But this is my house
ugly and disfigured as it is.
Perhaps righting one chair
is my first step
to coming back home. ​

 - Jose Enciso

Another Caged Bird

Does a bird
 long caged
Know how to fly when the metal door
   is flung open?

Does this bird stare vacantly
   at the vast space beyond the threshold?

Is this little one curious about these things hanging at its side?,
 These things with feathers
   These wings never used

The small plastic cups hanging from the bars
Usually have water and seed
And the newspaper below
 occasionally entertaining

Yet flight is who this bird is
And the open door beckons.

Does a bird
 long caged
Know how to fly when the metal door
 is flung open?

Is there even a willingness to try?

What would impel this bird forward?
 To a place so vast
 So beyond the confines of this cage
   This cage, home
   This cage, all this bird knows

Is there memory deep?
 Of generations past
   Soaring
     Proud, Excited, Whole.

Does this memory
 Bring color
   To eyes long vacant
   Long focused only on thin metal bars?

I root for this bird.
Inwardly shouting encouragements.
Holding back the urge to whack the cage.

Remember
 And fly, my little one.

 - Jose Enciso
Picture
Artwork by Rich Arata
Walking a Thin Line

I think I died several years ago
(or maybe just a piece of me)
Just didn’t realize it
Body and mind kept going
Mostly from habit
 and obligation

Some blows come swiftly and sure
Some blows come subtly and silently, over years
Still, the same situation ensues
Soul
 separated
   from body
A cruel divorce

How can you tell
  When you’ve given up?
How can you tell
 When you’re walking down that dark, rainy road wearing all black
   that you aren’t coming back?

How can you tell
When you walk the thin line between hope and despair
 What guides your steps
   What moves you to life
     What moves you to death
   What keeps you here
     What keeps you there

When the incessant voices
 of doubt and confusion
   and the slow, muffled blanket of exhaustion
Blot out
 all faith
 all love
 all good (or God)

Then
 the final gasps break out.

Then
 the torments turn to silence

Then
 relief shimmers
   ghostly in the distance

When you let go of everything you were given
and something evil smiles and watches
as you snuff out the final flicker of your flame

Will someone
 or something

Say
 It’s not time to give up

 - Jose Enciso
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  • Home
  • Poetry
    • Persistence
    • Fire, Protest, Anger
    • Here and Now
    • Seeking
    • Awkwardness
    • Fatherloss
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    • Harsh Truths
    • It doesn't have to make sense
    • The Troll
  • Blog
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