If I Had My Way

If I Had My Way

If I had my way I’d see everything you say
handwritten so I could not mistake the script;
and then I would wait.

Having words that hurt I’ve dropped so many whys in the air
it is a wonder I do not suffocate on my echoes. But the “what’ I’ve
held, heartbeating in my hand, instructs me better than then answers
I never hear from why.

If I had my way I’d ask everyone repeat
the last thing they said to me, complete with
tone and gesture. It is just that I am locally unsure
how well memory suits me.

Having letters of recommendation, I’ve inquired,
sending those citations with the query. It would have
been better to ask you, face to tears, why the signature
meant nothing when I read it so clearly.

If I had my way I’d repeat that conversation,
with courage, along with a friend taking dictation,
so, both words recorded, I would not fear the hoarded
phone numbers no one shared with me.

Having headaches daily, the kind that grind when
workdays grind like black asphalt until the backroad dead end,
I’m half the help, slow the think, eyes that hurt when hearing buzzes,
and want to lock my door, or find again, someone’s couch where
my faith can be human.

If I had my way, I’d have you read the letters,
sent in hopes of catching the last line drive that
whizzed past my head. And I would turn up the volume,
mute the background noise, so all you hear is the intonation
of sadness that wants to be seen as at least
half a human.

Having headaches nightly, most tears are hidden,
the future vacant. I do not wish to moan or
gasp, I’m on my last legs (it feels each meal)
and I hide so deep, I’ve never known so deep,
in the cave of my Savior where dark is hope and
silence my companion; pain’s best words spoken
without deception or hesitation.