Forest Hill – November 2021

ever since my memory remembers
I would visit him every second Tuesday
now was more important than before
he was not going to live much longer

it was an hours drive from home
at night, you could see the spirits forming in the trees
his house smelled like a furnace
mixed with air freshner

across the road was a shed
the wooden barn next to it had magical properties
sometimes in the winter,
warriors of ice would come and cook hotdogs on the open-fire

I stumbled upon his cold, historic figure
not a blemish on his face or mind
his hair gray
from all the chemicals in earlier life

he had a harlequin mind
filled in like a colouring book
his skin a collection of tiny open and closed doors
waiting to be invaded by abstract thought

he had paralyzed her with her own words
that was the real reason she left him
because he was the exact red-and-gold traitor
she saw in cowboy movies

at first glance, he seemed so permissive
she made the mistake of trusting her instincts
when it comes to dealing with supernatural beings,
she needed to master the primacy of emotions

my nostalgia for this place was hijacked
the moment he chained me to a rock
and threw me to the bottom of the river
I stood there, stunned like a pig before slaughter

years later I realized I was that man
so I must now deal with this impossible partition of life
I have to retrain my brain to forget those feelings of discomfort
until I can again crush those flowers on forest hill

my dad always said we were children of stories
stories of love and appetite
the longing for something greater than ourselves
he would say: do not worry child, the lions king kills for us

but for now, I drink whiskey,
the great drink that summons all angels and demons
knowing full well that tomorrow
I’ll wake up with a little less sorrow