Paradox of the Rose
Gerald Liston

There was a time when this all made sense to me
but to explain how or why
to let you feel the contentment
that is beyond me
that outreaches my capabilities

Most everything is but a ghost
a hollowed voice lost in an eternal touch
the sweet melodies of her skin
as it painted me with sweat
sacred sweat
passion induced body fluid
revitalizing and sincere
in its sacrifice
as it dried up
leaving my body
refreshed
anointed

The aura of the room
was overwhelming
and sometimes I felt as if all I could do was tightly hold her silken body
up and close to my wooly taut corpse
so delicate she felt in my arms
nestled and serene
and if I moved
she would crumble like the ashes of a butterfly
I couldn’t move
I could only watch the slow dancing
of the incense smoke

But now
all is confused
torrent winds in my head
all is those butterfly ashes
swirling around in my bed
all has disappeared like that incense smoke that I used to watch
with such meticulous eyes
all has evaporated like her sweat
dried up
nothing left but the feeling of what once was there

So many times I have showered
the smell of soap
lingering around me
sardonically
yet the phantom of her sacred sweat
is still abundant
stitched to my psyche
reminding me of my confused presence

This used to make sense to me
the reason I got up in the morning
the reason I went to work
the beauty of the sky, sun, earth
This world used to embrace me
Like…
Like I used to embrace her when we both got home
tired and stressed
waiting
for that moment when
our bodies would intermingle
and we would just stand there holding each other
like a mother holds her newborn for the first time
like how the night holds each star precious and immaculate
as the velvety beats of our hearts
told the whole world that everything was ok
everything made sense

Amazing
how from one loose string
whole worlds can come undone
and become entangled
a rats nest of knots and sorrow
on our bedroom floor
until one day
she tripped
trying to step over this bundle of chaos
falling and hitting her head on our bed
sadness bled out everywhere
staining the carpet
swallowing up all the strings
all the knots
a thick crimson syrupy ocean

Some wounds never heal
some stains never fade
and all you can do is pack the wound full of salt to stop the bleeding
or dye the cloth the color of the stain to hide it
there is a strange paradox to the rose that no one ever talks about
with a rose the flower will eventually die
but the thorns are eternal
it’s ironic that we give such a flower
to the people we love

I still watch the incense smoke
gently swerve back and forth
as it tries its best to soothe me
to show me the strange little path it takes every night into eternity

I still feel the aura of this bedroom
grasp a hold of me in such a way
that I cannot breathe
and all I can do is hold…
Myself
leather wrapped around an old splintered log
day after day
I scrub the floor
I wind up a little bit more of this frizzled string
I untie a couple more knots
I savor what essence is left
of her sacred sweat
and I don’t try so hard to cover it up with
perfumes or soap anymore
even though it has a bitter-sweet aroma
that smells like lilacs
but burns like chlorine

Maybe it never made sense to me
maybe when it felt good
when I was enthralled
I just felt the love
the bliss unquestioning
maybe I never needed an explanation
until it hurt

Maybe one day I will reach through time
touch her, hold her once again
we’ll lay in bed anointed with sacred sweat
and she’ll be butterfly ashes in my arms
I’ll watch the incense smoke slowly rise up
and guide her dreams to a far off place
where they’ll never be lost
maybe I will cut my finger on the sharpest thorn
and water my rose with blood
waiting until those new buds bloom
for me and her
and then as our hearts gently beat again
and the stress and worry of the day
fades away
in her eyes
her smile
everything will make sense again