This is just to say. . .

that playing with

matches

late at

night

Lighting

and throwing them

carelessly

on the ground

at a gas station

is probably,

it seems to me

unwise

I spoke to the wind last night.  It whispered to me, "Time to go."  It has been seven years since I last heard that call.  I have never been able to defy that invitation to freedom, but there was so much to keep me here--a home and love.  It was no easy choice.  But I chose.  I packed the things I could not leave behind, some clothes, the five by seven of the three of us in the snow last Christmas.  By now, you will have seen that I am gone.

You will read this in the hallway.  Look around you.   At our portraits on the wall.  At the coats piled high on the rack.   Docile images of domesticity--sedentary still life.  See the wood floor, worn from walking.  In and out, the story of my life.  Right now, I am out.

I ask you not to blame yourself.  You will for a while.  But the only one to blame is me.  Selfishness was always my fault.   I accept this.  Maybe you will say, "that selfish son of a bitch," when you speak of me.  Or maybe you will not speak of me at all.  I understand.   I don't expect you to.

Tell your mother I love her.

Dad

ALARM

Wake up, darling

You are not the only man

strolling the streets

of this city

Do you really think

I am such a fool

to await your call

unmoving 'til it comes?

Do you believe, dear

that you can just walk

through my door at will

and always find it unlocked?

Do you imagine, love

that only you have needs?

That I have no feelings?

That I exist merely for your amusement?

Then wake up, darling

and wake now

If you dream too long

you will wake up all alone

See there our children cast from our hearts to populate the world below. The silence and solitude ended by their laughter and cries of joy.

Our parents above have brought us here, and have given us light and love, in this place we dwell beneath their loving gaze.

Those Above:

See them dance and frolic. What happiness we have given them. Let us give them now the power of dream, so they may raise their thoughts above the limits of their reality.

Those Below:

What new thoughts are these? It seems we go beyond ourselves to realms of art and music. What beauty we have discovered. Our lives are full now with song and glory.

Those Above:

We have done well by our children. Their dreams have opened their eyes and their hearts. Through these dreams, we can show them our world above, and they can rejoice in the splendor.

Those Below:

Would that we could share in this paradise we have seen. All our art and all our song fades in its glory. Pale imitations at best. Why are we so tortured with visions we cannot attain?

Those Above:

All is not well? Our children seem listless and sullen. What more can we give, that their joy will be restored? Shall we show ourselves to them, let them see us in their dreams and make ourselves known?

Those Below:

Ah, they add insult and mockery. They tease us with images of their lives so far above our own, yet here we are bound to this lower space. See how they dance and tease, just beyond our reach.

Those Above:

What more can these children want? We have shown them the beauty of the ages, let them hear the songs of life, yet they reach skyward ever more with longing. What do they wish of us, and how can we make them happy?

Those Below:

Why do they withhold that ultimate glory? To show us all that we cannot have, and leave us stranded in this prison we would call home. . .what injustice is that? If only we could soar above this place, and experience paradise.

Those Above:

Can we show them grander visions? Should they be privy to our own dreams? Yes, then let them hear the music that only our hearts can know, and show them the worlds that exist only in our very imaginings.

Those Below:

This is not bearable. They tear out our hearts with these visions, yet they have rooted our feet to this ground. We build our tallest towers, but come no nearer to them, and when we leap and grasp for those heights, we only plummet screaming back to where we began. How could those who made us hate us so?

Those Above:

Are they trying to join us? Why do they build these towers to the sky, and reach out so imploringly? What is it here that they could possibly want so badly, when we share all there is? But if they wish to fly, then let us give them the means.

Those Below:

Oh, what new torture is this? This pain, these things growing from our bodies! Our creators have chosen some new evil to inflict. As though it were not enough to tempt us with visions of paradise which we could never touch, now they have attacked our very bodies.

Those Above:

Why don’t they fly? Don’t they see that we have opened the very gates of our world to them. They need only soar aloft to come home to us, their parents and creators who love them.

Those Below:

Look what we have discovered. This change, this agony, this torture inflicted on us by our fathers has turned to our advantage. See? We fly. We soar into the heavens. Those above could not have expected their evil designs to turn in our favor. The gates are open, and we enter paradise unopposed. Now is the time to wreak our vengeance, to extract the bloody toll for the evils perpetuated upon us by those evil ones who made us. They will laugh at our misery no longer. Nevermore to be teased and mocked by their images of glory and peace.

Those Above:

What goes here? Why do they come on us in anger and hatred? Already the first of them have arrived, and they exterminate those who made them. What hatred do they bear against us, why do they wish us harm?

Those Below:

We will kill them all. This paradise will be ours forever when they are expelled, and none will there be to deny us.

Those Above:

But we loved you.