THE OLIVE BRANCH the art of peace

Orange peels and coffee grinds. Caffeine decomposing.
The composition of our breakfast, our time spent together,
lie, facing down, in the waste basket

but this isn’t just our trash, it’s a community dump.
Where pieces of lives and moments un-treasured,
are the consequence of an intentional act to forget,
and they get to know each other through past lives
trying to put together anything whole from abruptly ending stories.

These things can’t be recycled or reused,
they’re not the right plasticity, too damaged,
they are beyond the ability to be loved by someone new.

Sometimes I toss, sometimes I am tossed.
Sometimes the man does not stop to empty it
and days go by and the smell is everywhere
I can hear the brewing coffee, 
I can see your hands tear into the ripened fruit
I am left surrounded by what was left when you left
and it’s not right that the man does not come today
I should file a report, refuse to pay, move even

I should learn to dig holes, to compost my own
And I know that the land is littered and overflowing with enough broken parts,
but I don’t know where else to put the things that don’t belong.

Forgive me my rubble, forgive me my mountain.

I wonder;

In ten years, will we still have things to say to each other,
will we sit bare legged in the park because it’s the only place left
sacred enough for these conversations?

Will we care for our environment the way we did
cursing at litter, throwing it away in our pocket 
forgetting about its presence until the washing machine?

Will you forgive the time I wasn’t kind to my father
will I ever forget how kind you were to my mother?

Will we make love as often and as rich,
will we renew this pleasure endlessly?

Will we share everything and still feel full?

Will we become what we dreamed or will the dream become us
will it even matter the way it does now?

Will we promise to laugh if it ends in flames, 
will we know that our time was perfect because it was present?

This is present, this is perfection itself

While the will’s could flow out of me like a stream into a river,
a river into the sea

I will not waste this moment 
I will not waste another moment wondering

We were a couple of communists
finger painting red dew mornings
making coffee much too strong
stronger than anything we were fighting for/
back then we had these dreams
that life wasn’t what it seemed
but now I’m grey and in between
where we were and the mountain sea
staring back at me/
free free free
free free free/
in that moment I dreamed
that we wouldn’t be 
anything more than two lovers
oh, but what’s more than lovers?
is it free free free
is it free free free?/
jumped in the ocean 
my clothes at my knees
first time I saw you naked/
last time I saw you naked
I lied awake the whole night through
wondering if I should have undressed too/
but we were a couple of communists
killing trees we meant to save
writing a book that’d never end
page after page we wrote to each other
never saying what we wanted to/ 
and I know that’s it’s foolish
but now I wish we kept that book 
the one we thought no one would read
because it was really just a pamphlet
that was free free free
free free free