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Gold Bugs II

The search has continued,
and I have come to realize
the lack of significance
in so many things.
That valued token,
the small French bauble
must have reminded you of me.
It is now with me, where it can
now remind me of you
and of our searches.
I’ve placed it among my most
treasured items,
the most precious among them.
You weren’t warm,
and you didn’t smile.
They had forgotten to adorn you
with the shells from your backyard,
the discarded husks of aging insects.
I imagined them there in your hair,
sprayed gold and violet, resting
against the grey beautiful mass.

Notes

Written 1 March 2001 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Gold Bugs II” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Original Version:

Gold Bugs Pt II

The search has continued
and I have come to realize the
lack of significance in so
many things. That valued token,
the small French bauble that must
have reminded you of me —
it is now with me, as you have
more important matters at hand.
And I have found a perfect home
for it, among my own charms that
make me smile. What now? Shall I continue
the search? When I see you again,
will you be anticipating another;
and will it disappoint you if
I haven’t had the strength to go on?
You weren’t warm and you didn’t smile
on that final mortal day. They
had forgotten to adorn you with the shells
from your backyard’s fence. The discarded
cases of the aging insects.
I imagined them there in your hair
sprayed gold and violet against the
gray beautiful mass of hair, enhancing you
and I smiled, as I do when I see your golden cicada.

3.1.2001

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G

in memory of G, a mystery

Strange woman, you left us
wondering who you were and
why you couldn’t go on.
I waited and waited and still
thought I had more time — these
things don’t happen to me —
the strong always survive —
this should be the fairytale.
It’s not. Your secrets were
your secrets — tiny new pearls
in the oyster of your life.
That mussel was enough for
me. You secrets are now eternal.

Brent and I still made noise
(the irritating chatter you always
hated). We didn’t even try not to,
hoping you’d sit up and tell us
to cut it out. We miss you.

I never found a new gold bug
for you and I am sorry. I’m not
sure I really tried. Probably not.

I do not think I was kind to you,
lovely woman. Reverent, yes.
Respectful, yes. Committed, yes.
But kind…? Dear woman, I loved
you deeply. I hate the days
I put off visiting. I hate that I wasn’t
there at the end for you, though
I know you felt me there —
I pray you were somehow comforted
by that.

When I saw you, you were weak — very weak.
You were artificially alive with tubes and knobs
and gauges and buttons — it wasn’t you in
that shell. I could see you fight; try to get back —
get back to what…? I know you didn’t want this.
Pain…medication…doctors…nurses…anger…tears.

I cried for you — hard. Some of the tears were guilt
(I never did enough). Most was pain — separation.
I never wanted you to go and I almost couldn’t take it.

12.21.2000

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Gold Bugs I

Stop hiding secrets in jewelry boxes
with your finest turquoise pieces,
prized possessions from a vacation,
a former home — I never asked.
Can you see me reach my hand to you,
and still hold too loosely?
Can you feel me slip and turn away?
I am only gone a moment;
I must search for another
rare golden bug we have discussed
for so many hours, silently.
I found one in France,
in the heat of a Provincial market.
I cried when I heard you valued that trinket.
Where should I go next?
Egypt, where they have lovely scarabs?
Maybe I should simply spray a cicada shell,
a false and dazzling interpretation.
It seems important to find these tokens;
they enhance your warm face
and make you smile.
Smile more!
When you do, I feel warm
and I long to search for more bugs.

Notes

Written 4 February 2000 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Gold Bugs I” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Original Version:

Gold Bugs Pt I
for G, who is always with us

Beautiful and unpredictable woman,
stop hiding your secrets in jewelry boxes
with your finest turquoise pieces – prized
possessions from a vacation, a former home
(I never really bothered to ask).
Can you see me reach my hand to you,
and still hold on too loosely? Can you
feel me slip away and turn away?
I am only gone a moment – I must
search for another of the rare golden bugs
we have spent many hours discussing,
all the while making no sound.
In France, I found one (and cried when
I heard you valued it). Where next?
Egypt, where they have lovely scarabs?
Or should I simply spray a cicada shell? –
a false, but dazzling interpretation.
It seems important to you (and is to me)
that I find these tokens, these treasures.
They enhance your warm face and make you
smile. Smile more – when you do I feel
warm and I decide to search for more bugs.

2.4.2000

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Miracle

for Jennie Lloyd’s baby

Enveloped in darkness —
surrounded by perfect blackness
(the comfort of mother
on all sides)
Grow gracefully, child of
Love — inside your peaceful shelter.

Your mother is special — young and
full of energy and wonderful
thoughts and hopes and you.
Kiss her often, precious child.

Feel the smile you bring
to her face when
your mother sees herself
in you and sees
things she wishes she could be.

Be careful of the world.
Hold tightly the hands
that guide and protect you.
Know when to run home and
when to soar free.

Sometimes parents need
a shoulder to cry on —
welcome that moment
and comfort those who need you.

Be who you know you are.
Don’t let the world hold you back.
You can be whoever you want.
This world is big and is better
now because of you, child of Jennie.

Notes

Written 20 February 2000 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Miracle” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)