Beautiful

I used to think the sun
tasted beautiful, but then
you told me that “beautiful”

can only be how something
looks and I couldn’t fathom
how beauty could be so

confined.

Death or Dream

Afternoon. Sun. Grass.

Baseball. Laughter.

But wait. Look up.

A plane. No wings. Plummeting.

Move.

CRASH.

But wait. Look again.

It’s his plane.

His. His. His.

Mine.

No. I can’t.

Change scene.

Grocery store. Checkout line. Paper or plastic?

Oranges thump across the conveyor belt.

A child cries. Annoyance.

But wait. Think again.

See him. Alive. Not dead.

Him. Him. Him.

Mine.

Find him. Go back.

Change scene.

Wreckage. Smoke. Coughing.

Silence.

Sweat-tracks through dirt-stained skin.

Breathless.

Find him.

Large metal debrisĀ screech.

Him. Him. Him.

Dead.