Fire, when we were.

Fire, when we were.

man and woman about to kiss each other
Photo by Ana Paula Lima on Pexels.com

our fire” 4/16/18

glen miller orchestra sounds fill the room

mind seduced ‘in the mood

I picture us dancing

I could see it in your eyes

the world could feel our fire

every room lit full of envy

singed by the heat

radiating like a star

from our desire

as we passed by…

I remember, our fire

 

is that the crackle

of rain on the window

or the aged voice

of this old recording

I remember…

our fire


notes… this is very personal on many levels…  although I listen to what ‘some’ would call horrendous/awful music or cookie monster stuff (death metal) but at an early age I was exposed to Big Band era tunes, specifically by my father who used to take us (me and my slightly older brother) to work with him running his provision route back in the day through central New Jersey. We would ride in his truck picking up the meats from the processing plants (ie slaughterhouses essentially) and deliver them to pubs, strip clubs and restaurants…. sort of the seedy side of life when you see a pub in daylight, I remember the musty smells, the sort of… wood gasping out the wounds of the night, sunlight hitting places it shouldn’t dare (much like a vampire’s lair)… it was all so surreal, and in neighborhoods that are now destitute unfortunately,  but always we would be rolling down the road in that big yellow truck  marked “Freddy Kay” (my last name is so easy to screw up my parents would always abbreviate it to make it easy for the rest of the world), just that big yellow truck rumbling down the road, so loud and creaky,  making every bump known and holding on to the rails on turns (for dear life), so distinct, all the smells and sounds, and then there was the radio…

Make believe ballroom time

I had no idea about the music, but it was so… confident, so composed (and had that vintage feel because you could hear the flaws in the recordings).  I loved it.  And now it is just such a reminder of my father and our time together.  You know that time in your life when you think your parents (or one of them) is a super hero ? This was that time.  We were delivering these huge boxes of goods to all these places, sure, I knew my way around a hand truck but a huge cut of raw brisket? not so much. I was a small kid, an undeveloped kid… I was always in the “lower 10%” in terms of growth, and that freaks out parents, but as it turns out, I was normal in the end (well, at least growth wise, everything else is still up for debate).

So, this poem is more about my love for Mirsa, whom I left a long time ago now, everything was just easy with her, it just made sense, but sometimes things just don’t work, I am sure we are both to blame but I really hold myself responsible right or not, I visited her after I left… a couple of times (she lives way far away from me, literally 1000 miles)… and we still had “it”.. the chemistry, I guess that is the worst part, people could smell the connection on us even after a few years of being apart they thought we were together when I visited, that is the crux of this poem, we exchanged emails recently (april) and that was the spark for me to start this journey into blogging and sharing myself with you, anyone who reads this, it reminded me of life, of happiness, of love… it was so easy with her, and the world noticed and I failed her, or we failed each other… but I gained back something I had lost a long time ago.. a passion for life… even if I wish it was with her I have to bring forth that verve… and who knows, someday, maybe my love and I can be together again, I don’t think so, but at least I have some hope for the future, and what more can I ask… but hope, and love… and faith in the same.