Victor Marrero, “Lives Not Lived

Lives Not Lived

Victor Marrero

1 Day after day, as if haunted by a loss, I relive my lives not lived. Like an amputee reaching out with limbs sensed but never there, I clutch lost worlds that passed me by, worlds that orbited suns without me. I greet as old friends the native selves I never knew who were not allowed to be mine, who were taken away or else were not meant for me to meet on my terms. Denials varnish truth where dark boot-prints leave voids in the sky, like black holes in the Milky Way stamping out lights that can no longer glow or escape. What the first constellation left out by negation extinguished whole generations of stars that never counted, never shined.

2 The boisterous guessing game falls on deaf ears. At the edge, teetering on pins and needles, I seek the right answer. I want reason to win, and win it square. But the tarots’ chatter tells another tale. Reveling in obscure divination, mystics hide what I need to know. I should steal away as I see a lie unfold.

Too late to turn back. This far down the line the fallback fails. My brinkman’s forceful charge takes hold to halt the dull rotation that passes for obligation to play for scant return. In the end, like a top’s inertial fate to spin and bore in place, the ballast wheel stops, dead in its tracks. As in the child’s game of ring-around-the-rosy, when ashes sound, we all fall down.

3 For all the power of order over others reposed in me, I am powerless to repel rife disorder. Armed delirium erupts at will in broad daylight. From cells teeming in dark undergrounds, solitaries spew fire and hate. Zealots scorch all common ground. Hard stands. Hard demands as the mighty fall to fear and futility. An embattled crowd’s cause for armament strikes me down to a lesser pose.

Yellow tape marks the star-crossed spot where infamy strikes each time. They call it founding right, fair game, a rallying cry in freedom’s fight. But there is nothing mystic or divine enough to celebrate in mourning. There no one stands upright. Only the victims are left to blame as the petrified hearts that call the shots bow for encores.

4 Consciousness under a lifetime of constant pounding tests the outer bonds where limits cross and conscience snaps. Senseless shocks numb my sensibility. Self-armored now, my defense equals my offense. I am ready for vengeful battle. In this survivor’s shell I am invincible, fortified to repel the next siege of outrage.

Arm for arm, blow for blow, I equal my jailers’ savagery, indulge their kicks. Sentiment thrown to the wind, curse be damned that made me like this, that I can stare down the red fire rings in the eyes of the beast. But more pain cannot hurt me anymore. You created this monster. Now go feed it.