prose – Kevin Trent Boswell

I See You

To my friends
Who strive to be
Better than you were
Yesterday

I want you to know that
I see you

And I appreciate you

At times, I have been wrong;
Many, many, many times,
I have been
Wrong

On a few occasions, I have been the bad guy

Out of fear, I did things I wasn’t proud of;
Things I’m deeply ashamed of,
Things I hold myself accountable for,
So I don’t do them again

Sometimes, out of frustration,
I was lazy, apathetic, etc.

But I haven’t allowed myself to stay stuck,
Mired in those states indefinitely

I have not been a troll,
Picking fights for the sake of fighting

I ask myself, “Which part of my beliefs
“Are based on shoddy thinking?”

I ask myself, “In what ways have I been
“Less than kind, greedy, or negative?”

And many of you
Have been the inspirations
For my wanting to be
Better than I was

Even when I failed,
Your examples still served
As valuable anchor points
For me to get up and
Try again

I have kept a mental list
Of my friends and acquaintances
Who strive to be
Simultaneously
Excellent and kind

I want you to know that
I see you

And I appreciate you

I know you do your best
To hear both sides
Of important discussions

I know you read books and articles

I know you seek information that is
Outside of your usual echo chambers
To help you be well-informed and
As unbiased as possible

I know you become discouraged,
The same way I do,
When you see the stupid things
That people post, say, and defend

Things so easy to disprove
It’s ridiculous,
And yet, they stick to their beliefs
Like glue

I know you, too,
Throw up in your mouth a little
When people display
An unshakeable belief of,
“My feelings are just as valid as your facts.”

Feelings are a thing
They have many of,
And most of them are
Completely out of proportion
With the reality of the various situations

And facts are things that
They only have a scant few of

I know that many of you have
A vast education under your belts

Some of you are writers or educators
Some of you are scientists or musicians
Some of you are entrepreneurs
Some of you are esotericists
Or mathematicians
Or you are in mental health

Or you work in any of
Dozens of other areas that all require
Brains, determination, and a
Delicate balance of empathy and
Fearlessness

Whatever you do, I take note of how
You have an excellent understanding
Regarding your particular fields of study

Some of you have a Bachelor’s degree;
Others have a Master’s or Doctorate;
Some only have an Associate’s;
Some of you barely finished high school,
Or you got a GED,
Or you dropped out

But even those who dropped out
Have more of a
School of Hard Knocks education
Than some who have Master’s degrees

What you all have in common is that
You don’t hide behind
Your credentials

You mention them only when
It’s essential to do so

You didn’t stop learning

At no point did you decide that
You had “arrived,” or that you
Could no longer learn something
From someone half your age

At no time did you conclude that you are
Wiser, more intelligent, or more righteous
Than anyone else

Because
You aren’t competing
With anyone else;
Only with yourself

I see that quality in you

And I humbly bow
To that aspect
Of your nature

I see most people barking at each other
From places of fear, bitter hatred,
Ignorance that refuses to be corrected,
And from places of privilege;
People who cannot or will not
Show compassion for those
Who did not have the same advantages

And then, I see YOU

And the difference between
You and them is like
Night and day

You quietly go about your lives
Being friendly, but
Standing up for yourselves
And for others

More importantly,
You do it without any pretentiousness,
No “holier than thou” attitude

And I gotta say,

You fuckin’ rock.

I see you apologize
When you were rude,
Without habitually
Repeating the offense

I see you admitting when
You didn’t know something,
And graciously thanking someone for
Politely educating you about it

I also quietly assign you cool points
When some vulgar troll tries to
Rudely school you
Or assassinate your character
And you smack them down,
Put them in their place,
Without stooping
To their level

Some of you do this by
Sticking to the facts,
Some of you just block them,
And some of you utilize your
Wicked, rapier wit to
Eviscerate them

And I smile

And yes, there are many things that
I’m incorrect about,
And many of you are
Much more knowledgeable
In these areas than I am

And there are a few things
That I know more about
Than you do

But we
Give each other
Respect

Because
We both know in our hearts that
Each of us

Is sincerely trying
Much harder to

BE RIGHT

Than to merely

Appear right

I appreciate the times when you
Are patient with my stupidities,
Of which I have many

I appreciate the times
When you could have
Decimated me in an argument
Because I didn’t know
What the hell I was talking about

But you didn’t ridicule me,
You just pulled me aside and
Politely shared some
Of your wisdom with me

I see the “average” people
Who are genuinely well below
What average used to be

And they want to be rewarded
For their mediocrity

Then, I see YOU

Sharing your excellence,
Your experience, your humor,
Your charm, your skill, and your kindness

And you ask nothing
In return

I see you

And you

Keep me

Going

Wednesday Night Group

during his therapy session,
while each were sharing,
respectively, what they felt
was their higher purpose in life…
Jerry spoke up

undeterred by his own rudeness
in cutting off a fellow confessor’s
heart-wrenching story
of loss and liquid lament,
mid-sentence

Jerry spouted out,
with a strangely calm resolve,

I think that I was meant to do a lot of cocaine.

it was peculiar that he raised his hand,
since he clearly wasn’t willing to wait even one more second;
he’d started speaking, before his arm had even reached
full extension

there was, after that…
a noticeably uncomfortable
five or so seconds of…
silence

numb jaws,
flushed faces
perplexed looks

Jerry continued

I believe in the perfect perfection of God’s Will.

Nothing has ever occurred
that was not originally
of God’s intent.

Furthermore,

and here, he smiled broadly,
clearly pleased with his own, peculiar, thought process

God is nothing at all
like people have assumed.
God is like a reliable toaster
and He always pops out perfectly toasted bread.

I do a lot of cocaine.
And so I conclude that
I was meant to do a lot of cocaine.
Because, if it wasn’t God’s will,
then God wouldn’t allow it.
God wants me to do a lot of coke.
It’s part of the divine plan.

quite a bit more…
silence

those in attendance checked in,
with the inside of themselves,
that yes, they were indeed awake
and not just dreaming
in their beds

the woman sitting beside Jerry
felt her tongue
growing heavy and thick

the usually quite reliable and familiar-feeling
muscle in her mouth
now plummeting down into new,
strange unfamiliarity,
functioning as little more than a
old, motel carpet with a bad, floral pattern;
lying in the way of her breathing,
collecting fuzz and dirt and hair
from the boots and flip-flops of loud, annoying vacationers
and conventioneers from Indiana, police conferences

one throat cleared…

this sound was a decidedly clear signal, as if the
all-clear flare had just been fired up into the newly interesting air,
signaling to the combat-weary troops that they could,
once again, raise their heads out of the tired trenches

a solitary cigarette ash fell onto a designer shoe knockoff
one, older man shifted angrily in his wobbly chair
and managed to slosh a bit of coffee
on his brand new, polo shirt

several others nervously sipped their own coffees and sodas
while others sat in amazement
and some in a giddy but hushed, chuckling amusement

Tom, the group’s bemused leader arched forward in his chair,
placed his elbows on his knees
with an unusual force,
trying to anchor his anger
and remain diplomatic, despite the outburst against order
and after releasing his clenched jaw,
he somehow allowed himself to say

Thank you for sharing, Jerry.

Anyone else have anything…
anything…
at all?

Kevin Trent Boswell

From the new book, Next

Now available, on Amazon

Enthusiasm

The Divine Healer works through their hands
Those hands wrapped in latex,
Connecting and disconnecting tubes,
Wires, IVs, pushing gurneys, handing out tools,
Pulling charts close to see through the tears
Holding up those who are no longer able
To stand for themselves
Holding the hands of the terrified mothers,
Fathers, brothers, sisters, wives and husbands
As they check the vitals
Wiping away the sweat from patient’s brows
Giving their colleagues a thumbs up
When they manage to wrestle one back,
However briefly,
From the infinite void
Wringing those hands into fists
As the frustration and fear and
Righteous anger hit the boiling point
Stroking the cheeks of those who are
In the very throes of death

Through those nauseated nostrils,
God endures the stench of bleach, blood,
Latex, alcohol and unidentifiable cleaners
Pushing through that palpable sense of fear,
Usually noted only by dogs
Now an ever present part of
The olfactory landscape
The scent of patients who have
Shit themselves or pissed themselves
The nervous farts in close quarters
That somehow make their way past the masks
The strange, surreal scent of fresh flowers
Coming from out of nowhere,
As the Angel of Death slips quietly,
Unseen into room 318
Those noses that itch but cannot be scratched
That need desperately to wipe away the snot
But cannot be wiped

God moves through their legs,
Running them down the halls
For the fifteenth time, just this morning,
To answer the incessant, mad calls of
Code after code after code after code after…
Lifting patients from gurney to bed
Then from bed to stretcher, go the dead
Those muscles holding them up,
Refusing to quiver and wilt
Under the weight of an
Obvious abandonment
Refusing to crumple up into a ball
And cry themselves to sleep
Because supplies are needed on the next floor
And someone must take them and
There is no one else to do it
Walking on eggshells at home,
Careful not to touch anything
That their loved ones might touch
Resting those weary limbs on
Uncomfortable cots and pullout couches,
Instead of resting in between those soft,
Cotton sheets on memory foam mattresses,
For the dread fear of infecting their families

God speaks through those mouths,
Slipping into their cars to go home,
After impossibly long shifts
After inscrutable regimens of scrubbing,
Decontaminating, full of the mortal terror
That some spot might be missed…
Out, out! The invisible blood,
Staining the hands, full of imagined guilt
Which is not truly theirs, to bear
Screaming in those parking lots,
Inside otherwise normal cars,
Station wagons and sedans
Minivans and trucks,
Bloodcurdling moans of sadness
A helpless sense of futility,
Beginning as words but crumbling
At last, into spirals of gibberish
A chasm of meaningless mumbles
And heartbroken sobs
God speaks through those mouths,
Calmly reassuring those who have come,
Reluctantly into the belly of the beast itself
Knowing the dread shock of lying side by side
With those who are almost certainly doomed
Speaking softly in friendly tones,
Half for the benefit of the patient and
Half to convince themselves that
“Everything is going to be ok.
We just have to put this tube in,
So you can breathe”
God makes stupid jokes
Through those mouths,
Little, ridiculous comments,
In an attempt to keep everyone’s
Spirits up and to keep them focused
To keep them from completely collapsing
The Angels prophesy through those tongues
Whispering discreetly to one another
In those sullen hallways
“This one won’t last much longer.
We need to discuss who gets that machine next”
The Spirit of love talks through those mouths,
Insisting to themselves that after only a few,
Restless hours of tortured sleep,
Full of sweat and nightmares,
That they MUST roll out of bed and
Force something into their bellies,
To strengthen them for the fight
Assuring themselves that yes,
It is the right thing to do,
To walk back into the mouth of the whale,
To surrender themselves
To its insatiable hunger for more bodies
Those hungry mouths, that cannot eat
Until the end of a 12 or 16 hour shift
Those mouths, full of the
Acid of a gut that produces inordinate
Amounts of stress
Those mouths, dry and thirsty,
Unable to stop at the water fountain
Because they cannot touch their mask
The tongues of insane healers, willing
To dwell in Death’s living room,
For complete strangers
Informing dosages, calling out instructions,
Calling for tools and esoteric medicines,
Strange cyphers, in languages
That only the minds of Angels
Could ever comprehend
God whispers,
One Holy mouth to another Divine ear
“I know.
You did your best.
There was nothing more you could have done”
The Holy Spirit delivers
Those impossibly awful messages
To the bereaved
Speaking the
Unspeakable news to the families,
Telling them how truly sorry they are
For their loss and how
They so desperately wish they
Could have done
More

God sits behind the eyes of them…
Those bloodshot, horror-stricken eyes
Watching, through the tears
Through the sweat that cannot be wiped away
Filling up the goggles that shield them
Against everything except the misery
Those itchy, swollen eyes
That gaze upon the convulsions
Of those who are drowning
Inside their own lungs
God looks with infinite empathy
Upon those who stare the
Thousand yard stare of
A battle-scarred soldier,
One who has been too long in the shit
And has lost too many friends
Who has witnessed entirely too much
Death
And suffering
God looks into the panicked eyes
Of each person on each bed
And knows full well
Of their very real and very reasonable fear
God cries through those eyes
And yet, upon losing so many children
Looks not backward to the dead
But ahead to those
Who might still be saved

The God who is beyond All Names
Shines total love on you,
All ye sacred brothers and sisters
Of the caduceus, the Divine Staff
Which heals those struck by the
Serpent of Death
In the lost and lonely desert

You, who are possessed by God’s essence
Are illumined in the LVX of the All…
The God who is benevolence itself,
Far more loving than even
Those most generous, kind and
Merciful ones,
Those whose Names we all know well
The God who is is beyond
The idea of God
Is touching us,
Through you