the rocks withered,
the waters wilted—
not even the feeling of winter
-Bashō
--
--
--
These streets are meant for shinobi, that much is clear
They twist and bend and disappear off into dead ends that
once found, are never found again
I sit on the sun warmed rooftops and look down
at the maze of dirty, tangled ribbons dribbling though
the clusters of degenerating buildings that make up this place
I wonder if there is really a metaphor here somewhere
or if I'm just being pretentious
--
Sometimes it's all I can do not to be
There is a sad and overused joke: a Chuunin stumbles
into a bar. Of course, he sat down next to me
He was still mission-fresh and covered in blood and
he drank like a fish. Never spoke, only stared down into
his empty cup as if it held both the question and the answer
It's the expression that all of us survivors share:
the look of those who have gotten away
--
Sometimes I think that I have gotten away too many
times. This is theory is reinforced the mild September
afternoon that you show up on my doorstep with a
snarky grin and an embarrassingly large cake
It reads: Happy 32nd (You Old Geezer)
Which I found simultaneously amusing and disheartening
You must have seen the look on my face because you
quickly steered us inside and proceeded to eat all of the
bits with lettering on them in the name of cheering me up
--
I can still remember the first time we met
It was hardly auspicious. There had been a leak
in my bathroom sink and I was an hour late
You were thirteen, I was twenty-six
There had been so many others and I can recall feeling rather
jaded and world weary and hoping to just fail you all as soon as
possible so that I could go home— it was a good plan
--
Here is what I didn't account for:
An eraser hitting me in the face
A flash of bright pink hair
--
There is a significant amount of beautiful things
in this world. I had forgotten that, until I saw that
hair of yours, the color of a surprise
And (speaking of surprises) there was that time
that it rained and you were too proud to ask but
I gave you my coat anyway and you wore it nine blocks
home. Strangers on the street looked at us and assumed
and I didn't stop them
--
It's winter now, and everything smells of endings
I saw you yesterday coming down the steps of the
apartment you share with him. The way you smiled
at me made me feel a little like a stranger and I couldn't
help but wonder if that was somehow karmic
I told you that I wished it would snow and you laughed
But I was being serious
It's so green here, always, and it shouldn't be