everyone

i see sadness in everyone. no one showed up to their eighth birthday party. no dilated pupils, ecstasy, nose rings in the mask. everyone’s thirteen at a slumber party, laughing along with a joke at their own expense. everyone’s a kicked puppy, a skinned knee, a rejection letter. a valentine crumpled under unforgiving foot. & everyone’s the foot. even if just within the cell block of their own cranium. atrium. shoe with the sole falling off. ice cream toppled from the cone to asphalt. rainy days. decades-long droughts. mayonnaise. spigots’ spouts, rubberband, glue stick shroud, gun ablaze, going without. set it down, my friend. show & tell. your very own piece, your very own hell. dead goldfish, grandma, god himself. dried up river beds & anthills washed away. earthquake. tsunami. hurricane. tasmanian devil, no where’s been safe. every battle is different, each war the same. schoolyard bullies, playground fist fights. bed wet sheets in the middle of the night. scolding of the fire, of father’s voice, mother’s hand. the belts of either, both, reprimand. cancer, sclerosis, scoliosis, quicksand. i try not to notice, try not to latch on. to where you’re all broken, where you still hang on. but in the rhythm of the glances, the braille of the beat, i can’t help but cling to your subtle defeat. & this is where the faces come in, try to protect, cover up. push aside the substance, filter sunshine to your cup. but the sediment remains, the sentiment too. sinks in the glass, makes a martyr of you. eyes & knuckles, white & blistered. pulsating, nauseating, cut off your whiskers. & no one’s alone, but everyone’s lonely. no one is blessed, but everyone’s holy. always running for the train, but it never even comes or you’re always just a half-second too late, or hopping on the wrong one, too lost in a daze. in your calendar, in your email, in your clock. in last night’s confessions, prayers, sold stocks. & you’re balding now or shaved head, tangled braids. got the flu, got covid, a parasite in your brain. suicides, funerals, crumpled old age. but it’s loss, it’s lost, it’s grief, lost faith. i don’t have your struggle, your suffer, your pain, but it bleeds from your eyes, your shaking hands, your sunken blue veins. in your tip toes, surefooted steps, your shifting lips when no one is looking. bury it still in your art, your work, your mama’s cooking. the subway isn’t coming until your feet hit the tracks trying to grab the crying girl’s fallen doll. it only ever comes after the fall. after the summer burned up your shade. after the promise of eternal sun made you unafraid. but you are, you are, you were, & you are. we all & we do. just a bunch of broken branches stitched together with twine & spit & bubblegum glue. scotch tape, the sap, melted marshmallow. the sky will be blue again, will be fuschia, will be yellow. but we drip the sorrow gently from tongue tip, pupil, thickets. hoping others don’t hear, don’t see, don’t lick it. taste it. pick it up. everyone their own beaker, their own speaker. turn signal, blinker. the offense & the goalie. no one’s alone, but everyone’s lonely. no one is blessed, but everyone’s holy.