DAVE MAC

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THE DAY MY FRIEND DIED

the day my friend died
i left work
i changed my shirt and shoes
and
i wept like a child
the day my friend died

the day my friend died
i thought
reason is always the reason, i know
but there is no good reason for this
there is no way you could ever convince me that this is right
or good
or purposeful
or pre-destined
or anything other than simply fucked up
that's what i was thinking
the day my friend died

the day my friend died
i understood that this was simply what was
no rational mind could argue that it was otherwise
it was in some ways not difficult at all
to accept
after all reality is reality and nothing else
and no amount of wishing it were something other than what it is
will make it so
no amount of raging against the winds
will leave the dust unmoved
no amount of prayer
will suddenly manifest a benevolent god
inclined to rescind the situation
reason is reason
and ultimately trumps emotion
but goddammit i didn't feel very reasonable
the day my friend died

the day my friend died
i wished i'd said more
wished i'd said less
wished i'd done something just a little bit differently
felt like an idiot for even thinking this way
the day my friend died

in the days since
the day my friend died
i've felt almost nothing but sad
check that
i have felt true joy
at having known him and what we've done together
i have felt outrageous anger
at what will be missed by the world
i have felt pangs of strange resignation
as i struggle to settle this in my head and my heart
and i have felt an unusual calm
a surprising, almost automatic reshuffling of elements
a refocusing of my vision as i try to find my position
having been knocked so brutally out of it
the day my friend died

all of this is true and good
and i am grateful for it all
but reason tells me to look at the whole of reality
and the reality is that all of this is
colored
flavored
distorted
distended
harmonized
and filtered through
the immense sadness that has overcome me since
the day my friend died

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SHADOWS & SILENCE

another moonless night
another useless day
a few quiet moments
in disquieting times
we'll take our peace
where we find it

even in a 3AM weed-fettered patio where everything is shadow
everything is shadow
even the refinery across the rooftops to the south
even the sound of the helicopter as it creepy crawls the city
even the neighbor's cat, eyes glowing with suspicion

another heartless day
another listless night
and in quietly momentous times
we'll pick up our pieces
where we find them

even in the hole in the bottom of the bucket
even in the storm drains
even in the pile of ash and butts dumped out of someone's car ashtray in the handicapped
spot in front of Vons

the pieces are the peace
our peace is in pieces
and we'll find it where we find it
in moonless shadows
and in the stunning silence

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CERTAIN ONLY IN HER
FOR J.W.

She was the sanest of all the crazy women I knew at the time
and that was kind of odd considering that of all of them
she was the only one to have spent time in restraints

much of her pain and glory was routed directly through her mother
a brilliant artist
a woman both beautiful and poisonous

her daughter seemingly inherited all the painful passion
but her few weapons she had to earn or fabricate on her own

she wrote with fury about men and daughters and getting stoned
and the wariness we inflict on our children
she sang brilliantly of clinic defenses and take back the night
she wept cruelly every time a man left her

her fault was certainly not in loving me less than I loved her
I was a master at self-delusion and reveled in my own anguish
as if it were quilt and fire on a winter's night
no, her fault was in not loving herself better
in shattering herself in the laps of those who cared
in letting the shards fall where they may
in never glancing back as her friends wept and bled

she was a careful woman, precise and exacting
in all her wondrous ventures
and sometimes I wonder where her precision has taken her
but remembering how much less of a friend she ultimately was
I simply smile silently to myself
anonymous in my quiet concern
uncertain of what she meant or means
certain only in her brilliance