A Million Days Hanging On The Edge Of A Calendar

He knew it was over. No words were needed. No pieces of paper that try to squeeze a thousand different feelings into something which holds such limited boundaries. Her eyes told the story. He looked away for a brief second. Afraid. As if the person in front of him were some unwanted beggar on the street corner. Shock quickly filled his heart and then, like a pricked balloon, slowly deflated, spreading that feeling of complete helplessness throughout his soul. He looked back at her with sudden hopes this was all just a dream. But her eyes told the story. In a thousand languages he didn’t understand but understood all the same. He stood on the sidewalk, staring into those eyes. The same eyes he had admired so many beautiful days and so many wondrous nights. So many times he had stared deeply into them and felt himself a part of that wonder and beauty. A oneness. A stillness, deep and dark. Haunting and beautiful. Unreal and comforting. He watched an opaque tear slowly grow in size until it hung like a million days on the edge of a calendar. Deeply seeded intentions swelled up inside the silence of the tear and the roar of the million days consumed him to the point he couldn’t bear listening or seeing the tear any longer.
He reached up and wiped it from her face. He gently kissed her on the forehead, turned with one last look, and walked away from her toward forever, holding the tear in his fingers.

© 2012, Walter Tupelo

untitled

i always thought
the loneliest sound
i ever heard
was a train whistle
at two in the morning
until i heard you crying
from the other room

© 2012, Walter Tupelo

grocery shopping

yesterday i went grocery shopping

i accidentally bumped my shopping cart

into a lady’s shopping cart about my age

the lady that is

the shopping cart was much older

her hair was the color of aisle six and

her lipstick matched the ground sirloin 

in the meat section perfectly

we stood by the cantaloupes and talked for

fifteen minutes before she asked my name

walter, i said, not trying to make it sound too much

like i was stocking shelves

and your name? i inquired of her

tree, she said, quite matter of factly

do you have any children? i flipped out another coupon

yes, I have three children, she said

branch, twig, and stem

before i left the store, i bought a plant

©2012, Walter Tupelo

green

you left your mark on my heart

you scribbled with a green crayon

and connected all the dots until

it turned into your coloring book

you tore out some of the pages and

taped them onto your refrigerator

for all the kitchen to see 

how fine an artist you had become

but you forgot about the pictures 

you left behind

©2012, Walter Tupelo

formal frock

i know a woman

who accouterments in affluent alliteration

she must have matching attire

for every day of the year

©2012, Walter Tupelo

no one home prelude

when I think about calling you

i get all nervous inside

like emptiness imploded

inside my stomach

leaving a crater filled with

every hope and fear that will fit

inside an emptiness bomb

©2012, Walter Tupelo

summer afternoon religion

i’m stranded in an automobile

some side road traveled years ago and

the weeds outside the car are taller than god

it’s summer and blistering heat

i sit in the front seat
massaging the greasy steering wheel

as species of cricketanoisea

sing outside the windows in
seven point one cinema theatre sound

there’s a pond called rileys

not much farther up this gravel road where

all the fish like to get drunk on the weekends
and i wish I had a cigarette

as i sit in the front seat waiting for jesus to mow

©2012, Walter Tupelo