I’ll Get a Handle on it Soon

I’ll Get a Handle on it Soon

I’ll get a handle on it soon, -I said-
I’m not crazy, -I joked-
I’m just embarrassed over everything
no one knows. -he left it hanging like that-

I’ll jump out of bed tomorrow, -I thought-
I’m only tired, -I whined-
I’m just embedded in concrete curing
in the sun. -he was not sure what he meant-

I’ll drink a beer this afternoon, -I planned-
I’ll meet some friends, -I mused-
I’ll just wait around in the corner booth
quietly. -he was not sure who would show-

I’ll go back home and read my mail -I sighed-
Ghosted postcards -I signed-
I’ll just find the return addresses and
unwrap them -he had lost his contact list-

The last two weeks were heavy with sadness,
not like fog or night darkness, more like
walking in the mud on the way to church.
No one showed up there except
memories of children’s feet,
elders’ invitations,
and the brave soul he had met
last night behind the segment hall
boiling beef in a cauldron fired with propane torches.

They had talked about the Northern Lights,
asked about short form stories and long flute songs.
The birds listened in.

I forget so many of my friends, -I hummed-
I’m not young now, -I moaned-
Phones calls from a generation ago
echo low, -he was not sure what he knew-