callous

Thick bulbous skin compressed by pressure and time moving in a linear, forward fashion. Abrasive attitude with upturned nose and scoff. Non-emotional, not compassionate. Hard. Five fingers on my left hand learning guitar, least of effected my thumb. Years down the line, follows my right hand when I start to learn fingerpicking, particularly, “Blackbird”. At that time, perhaps just my thumb and pointer. Later on, the other fingers followed – but not my pinky. Still haven’t learned to acquaint that one yet.

I remember my crew friends in high school having callouses on their hands. Destroyed by rope, the oars. Utterly destroyed. Shredded, painful red blisters. That’s the thing about callouses. They can blister bad at first. I remember being 14 or 15 at band practice, I didn’t have a pick and couldn’t find one and had to use a nickel, but it barely worked and I tried to opt for my thumb instead; Playing punk music on bass with just a thumb – The blister that formed was so large and burst twice, if memory serves. I remember the pain that brought. I remember looking at Tom at his drum set. Feels like someone else’s life that somehow just got linked to my own. I play 12s now. Play guitar still.

goodbye

If we were parting on better terms, than we would have no use for a goodbye. Unless of course, we’re parting company on amicable terms. After a dinner party, say. Or leaving a bar. I hug you close, heart over heart and wrap your arms around you tight so I may remember the physical impression your body made on mine when I think back at this moment in time, and when you are no longer with me, perhaps I can still conjure the feeling of you somehow; Will you to this room even if you are 3,000 miles away. But memories fade over time. And so does the recollection of physical impressions. It is a “good” “bye”. Good bi. Ha!

Kisses on the cheek, or a firm handshake. Such a masculine action. Wonder how that tradition started. I see a party parting ways, the clearing of the table. Holding someone’s hand in hospice. They say they can still hear you, but I could never believe that. Even if they can, do they even have the cognitive ability to process what they’re hearing? Goodbye to death, or life. When souls depart. That is a big goodbye. Also great TNG episode. Jean Luc Picard in fitted uniform.

dimple

Newborn baby sleeps swaddled in his bassinet that has never been slept in. A blue and white striped cap hugs his fragile head. He yawns toothlessly and gently rocks from side to side. Closed eyes, two slits like he’s still in the womb and forgot about the grand ordeal recently went through. What does he dream about? As he suddenly offers a light smile, two dimples appear in indentations on his cheeks. Mother kisses each one lightly, not wanting to wake up her sleeping babe. It is early morning and the grey sky gives way to a promising streak of sun. Little nose wiggles. Tired mother returns back to her bed and immediately loses consciousness when her head hits the pillow. Baby starts to fuss, as if he knows she’s stopped looking at him.

amber

translucent fossil glowing with the compression of time. a fly stuck in the sap slowly dripping down the side of a sticky maple tree. I hold the glowing stone in my hand and squeeze it a little harder to confirm its energy. A color that is perhaps, translucent gold. It probably is its own color in a 96-count Crayola box. A good color for the hair of a Disney princess. She’s walking down the stairs with big, captivating eyes and a pink dress.

Streaks of sunlight reach across the sky on a local sandy beach. Even if no one witnesses it, it is there and it is humbling and beautiful – except for the drunk who is still hungover and miserable. Clutching an interior towel rod and groaning at the fact that he forgot to close the curtain of his hotel room. How much poison must we put inside ourselves before it all comes out, begging to be released? Sometimes it does not ask. The body knows when it’s had enough. Best not to let it get to that point in the first place.

If Armageddon raises the dead, will these fossils find their bearings? Will the amber melt away and

soothe

Pink liquid spilling into silver-colored spoon goes in my mouth and down my throat like velvet. Tastes like bubblegum. Strange solace when we’re sick. After throwing up and that sense of triumph once it’s over. From 0 to stormy at sea in 60 seconds. A kiss when you’ve just spilled you heart to someone. Hand holding at a moment when you think you’re all alone in the world. Crackers and tea on an upset stomach. Meditation cure headache. Orgasm cure headache. A hug when feeling down. Blowing on a spoonful of hot soup. Highs everlasting. Picture perfect sunset, so stunning you don’t even bother trying to take a picture of it. The moon, when it hangs low and large in the early morning sky. Those magic moments. Hot water bottle resting on cramps. Sleep. Anxiety release. Pain release. Back rubs. Puppy belly rubs. Heat when it’s cold. Air conditioning on the hottest summer day. Water when thirsty on the hottest summer day. Ice clinking against a fresh glass.