Johnny Went Lightly

John Vincent Dejesus, you’ve

left this lad a ponderous loot;

of fondness great, of tales imbued--

for you I ramble on.

A mythic medley of embellished truth,

your youth was told through grinning tooth.

A captive ear, excited eyes,

absorbed, enthralled, in awe, was I.

As a farmhand boy of 11 kin,

you toiled in dirt and drew seed within.

With many mouths and endless needs,

you learned to work, grow inwardly.

Full of the piss that drives young boys,

your motorbike hummed at your employ.

Authority irked your inner free,

as you sped away from that CHP.

To the walnut grove you rushed with ease,

as your tickled feet dangled from blooming bright trees.

Your brothers earned a name for naughty,

perhaps none so greater than Uncle Eddy.

His barroom haunts taught you what fists could do;

don’t mess with Eddy, or he’ll leave you blue.

Your weathered grip, used on tools and bars,

would embrace the rifle in the second World War.

Your boyhood bravery, a desire to give,

a boy in the Pacific, he swims to live.

Helicopter blades wave, back ache,

you crawled onto the island as gunfire await.

Fear gripped your young frame as you squeezed the trigger,

innocence gone, a man now stands shivered.

My early thoughts of grandpa John,

with toasted skin and curly locks.

A man alive with life so bright,

I clung to him like day to night.

We’d jump in bronco, brown and swift;

ruffle feathers down the Brentwood strip.

We’d gather walnuts, 1$ dollar a bucket!

Toss rotten nuts at Grandpa’s butt,

and bring on the wallop.

We’d clean garlic, brine olives, plant veggies, skin fishies;

watch football, play yahtzee, strum uke and weld schwinnies.

You taught me to be free in skin given me,

to state what you want and do as you please.

To treat every stranger as your nearest kin--

to love as he loved;

all with a grin.

Nothing is more cherished,

nothing more awake,

then our time spent with line, out on the lake.

We woke up at dawn, yawned to the pond,

cruised an hour long, then pie at the lodge.

Out on the boat I learned to be steady,

in mind and in body, my patience grew ready.

Not, however, before I was scolded for my haste,

with curse words learned first at the great Diamond Lake.

My grandpa I’ll miss,

and if only you knew;

I never liked fishing, but I liked it for you.

To Miss, I'm Remiss

Like tulle fog carried on delta breeze, you’ve up and left me. 

Empty halls, cold clothes, silent calls, absent arms...my breath sullen, my shoulders fall. 

A blow of primordial proportions, weeping from depths undiscovered. 

Limbs crumble, stomach knots, eyes swim and head numbs with tingled incoherence. The womb has waned--my home, receded into the sea; like forest mist seeking solace in sunbeams.  

No matter what pain postulates, my mom, my love, my blood, the original face of my heart; you’re embrace is not lost, but merely revised; coursing through my vessels, lifting my lungs, contracting my muscles, lighting my cones, moving my bones; you’re the breeze through my hair, the dusk kiss of western skies, the redwood pregnant with dew, the blessed laughs of children at play, the fawn with a belly of fresh grass.

You’ve shed your suit of skin to penetrate deeper within; the body unable to contain your love. My dearest mother, you’ve never been closer. I live for two, now. I love for you, now.  

To compose a portrait of your person, to impress upon your admirers the scope of your brilliant, budding heart, I look to the past, to the fleeting, fluttering moments of joy, enlightenment, tenderness, vulnerability and sustenance you gifted me on this transitory path, this plane of momentary revelation; this mysterious presence we call life.

Selflessness, a mother through and through. My memories, like rings on trees, persist and guide. My gaze often rested on the hallowed visage of the nurturer. With hair that danced like kelp in the sea, eyes soft with a dulce sheen, cheeks flushed as if kissed by peonies, and lips moist with shea cream--I fell hard for the face of this new place. Like an elephant's calf, I was by your side for life. 

Like a boomer in pouch, I clung close. Her smell eased my pensive nature, her voice an aria of intrigue and her willingness to provide for my grubby gullet with little thought of self endured me endlessly. 

Yellowed photos cry with consistency; my baby body, firm in her beaming embrace. I can see the symbiosis blossoming; her purpose and sense of self deepening. She was happy--I so loved to see her happy. 

Society’s shackles sunk in early, as guilt flooded my five-year old body. My classmate gifted me my first non-maternal kiss; upon tearful confession, mom smiled, laughed, and labeled it love. Be calm, young one, we all bleed. 

Rancor ebbed and flowed, attachments sank in and rose, but always know, this path is carved long before these wounds form scars. As oxygen is to water, every piece I embrace is in pursuit of wholeness; a light shined to erase lies. 

More than anything, she loved the faults I bring; a son who feels deep does not make for restful sleep. I drained her, I perplexed her, I frightened her; she gave more, she listened with greater intent, she cried in private. The love I did take was not equal to the love I should have made. 

Her voice, a dose best taken daily, reassured and rested my waking as waves of love from my cellphone ear piece. Daily accomplishments were restless to express; funny anecdotes giggling in anticipation; lowly lows gently pulling on her dress with shoulders slumped. The sun seized to circle if my quota of Colleen was unfilled. 

Practical, patient, stern but caring; her advice was as steady as Etna’s flaring. Her words discerned, her insight pure, her will to calm unmatched and sure. When busy signal’s the only tone that greets, my grief takes hold and haunts like sheets. When the fancy to phone her grips my mind, I’ll breath deep, look inward and bide my time.    

What I’ll remember most is her unflinching devotion. Come hell or high water, she moved earth for her son and daughter. Never did she judge, so much as nudge. Mistakes where noted, solutions promoted. We were always redeemed in the eyes of Colleen. 

A passing this near is almost too much too bear. As if whacked by cyclonical winds, disorientation, extreme pain, mountains of what-ifs and memories remain. Though, through passing, my mother made the cliches clear--it is now, not then, that is here. 

To live through pain, to learn and change; to embody the grace she so graciously made plain. Through taking her best, honoring her rest, and realizing in tragedy, we are still blessed. Because, mom, you gave me 32 years I’ll cherish and revere. And I’ll give you many more, as I’m still here. I live for two, now. I love for you, now. 

    

I'm Sorry, Momma

With misty eyes set against rosacea-kissed cheeks, breath brisk, chest depressed, frame slight--my mother exhaled fears of impermanence in the only moment of vulnerability witnessed during her month-long battle with colon-cancer: "I'm so scared of what's to come."

She wept, I froze--with roles reversed, with womb withering, with the clear severing of the mother archetype imminent, I failed to approximate any role other than scared child. Until the last interaction, I drunk deep the nurturing gaze; battled blindly to uphold hallowed habituations. When the chance to give of self opportuned, to return the love gifted, to provide the warm embrace rather than hoard, I fell into habituated states, familiar narratives; my last chance to provide solace slipped away as quickly as an uncared-for orchid. Where is forgiveness found in such deeds?