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Loss

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 LOSS Written By David Steven Simon It begins with the forecast of our disposition. which we depend on like the bedtime reading of Goodnight Moon. Then without warning the world betrays you like your friends did when they disappeared without explanation. Time reverses its course and you are suddenly hell-bent for the asylum of childhood. The Stargazer Lilies become unforgivable. Che gelida manina intolerable and your heart begins to suffocate like Desdemona at the hands of the one who loved her most Despite your cries of anguish and the last-ditch effort of Hail Mary prayers it starts to rain bricks like a biblical curse which like the early stages of Jenga seems manageable  until The Unforgiving decide to accelerate this  game of the Gods and entomb you beneath the stacks Like tomorrow when we will watch her fade away with no assurance from the moon as  the  snowflakes  fall like a flurry of epilogues which covers every name that are etched in stone.
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THE WAITING AMERICA

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I suppose I can succumb to defeat like a gazelle on the Serengeti and allow my fears to sink their razor-sharp teeth into the nape of my neck as I lie there motionless  and wait to slowly die just like my country is about to. I suppose I can watch my joy sail away like the incinerating corpse of a Viking pyre I suppose I can release my faith And cut off all contact to anyone who lives beyond the manifest heavens I suppose I can abandon all hope and wait for the floods to arrive I suppose I can erase my dreams and live with the torment of a blank canvas. I suppose I can divorce my soul and pretend that we’ve never met. I suppose we can cover our mirrors, recite the Kaddish and Howl like Ginsberg. hold an Irish wake perform a Buddhist sky burial march and lament  in a Jazz procession celebrate Dia de los Muertes and watch the ashes of our beloved dissolve in the wide open deep Or we can take a few days  to wobble back up onto our unsteady feet and shake off the deluge the shock and the d
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The Last Leaf

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The last leaf rides the curlicue current wickedly defying gravity an unsupervised what the hell kid free at last as zig-zagging squirrels and merry prankster dogs  suddenly stop  and hold their breath like big top neck craners as the leaf refusing to pull the parachute cord dares to die like Kerouac  in his hellbound ‘49 Hudson. For the grand finale the leaf plummets tumbling and  somersaulting like Monk notes played in a seedy swan dive until    it makes touchdown landing  on the lunar surface of old friends who found  their final resting place amongst the reckless litter  and deadbeat acorns of this heaven on earth.
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A Lifetime of Dances

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There have been A lifetime of dances. The belly dance delivery  The late-night sway The pram-driven air kick The baby pub crawl The first step wobble The handheld promenades The flirtation with waves  The first snow prance The Green-Mile stroll  on the first day of school The years later, Spring Festivals Where it felt thrilling to  Move   with girls Whose dresses rustled  like the tissue paper And ponytails galloped in the wind. The Junior High Friday night-grinding The High School backseat tango  The college dorm seductions The one-knee proposal The very first gambol as Mr. And Mrs.  Which led to  The samba of fights The tango of concessions The waltz of apologies The turning away  When you knew it was over And now all that is left.  Is the choreography of remorse and a dance card filled with second thoughts Until one day In the first-born hours of the afternoon  The ghost Of someone you lost will rise like a mystery to Debussy’s  Prelude à l’après-midi d’un faun And offer you a hand
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On An Autumn Day Like This

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On An Autumn Day Like This Written by  David Steven Simon On an autumn day like this when the leaves  shed their modesty and change like flirty high school girls in a doors wide open pastoral dressing room emerging as scarlet women only to retreat and return in their anorexic bare branch winter clothes I sit  on this pine-slatted Central Park bench autographed by lovers  painted by pigeons and long for the days when everyone was still here until they began to disappear And I was left an orphan of the late November darkness waiting for the light to return which makes  what lies ahead as heartbreaking as goodbye and as fragile as forever.
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