Dash

As a kid

you were supposed to be

scared of cemeteries

after all, that’s where people stop living

and what’s the point of life if not living?

But little Blake Lackey looked down

at the marble marker which

signified the spot

where someone he never knew lay

He had never talked to this person

heard this person speak

felt this person’s touch

or heard this person’s hopes and dreams

And as he looked down at the date on the marker

reading “1918 - 2002”

Blake was puzzled

not by the overwhelming complexities of death

not by the mortality all humans face

not by the weeping group of people

whose tears seeped into the ground

but by the dash in between the dates

The dates that sandwiched the dash weren’t important

it was the dash!

It wasn’t the person’s name or quote on the marker

it was the dash!

That little dash

mashed together every moment in that person’s life

That little dash

passed two centuries and millennia, and had stories to tell

The dash represented a girl

born into poverty in midwestern America

family, straight strapped for cash

but that dash had something different to say

The dash worked night and day

passing classes and amassing assets

While the people who sheltered the dash fought and screamed

The dash went to school where she was taught and dreamed

of places far away

and started, nay, set into motion

a plan.

But unfortunately for dashes, plans have a way of falling apart

not like a car you can put back together

more like a thousands strings which could’ve made a sweater

The dash found another dash that was too dashing for her

they painted murals with the lines of their lives,

but like some other dashes,

the dashing dash left

This is where nothing goes right for our dash

The dash held within her another dash

waiting for it’s chance

But the dash couldn’t find a way to pass school

so she picked up her hyphen child

and went to the wilds of the concrete jungle

She found work, new dashing dashes,

each bashing her worse than the last

as her little dash grew, problems bloomed

with him and the men who our dash

so affectionately brought in

Our dash grew up, and her little dash too

In fact, little dash enjoyed crass displays of

showing the ruling class that they could kiss his ass

he spent his time riding buses with black dashes

but he was looked down upon by the white masses

More than a couple of times, our dash was the last

line of defense between little dash and a good bashing

Now, little dash grew up and had even tinier dashes than he

and our dash grew so proud, but older as well.

With nobody to spend time with, our dash grew not only lonely

but longer as well.

Now our dash had never been one for bible class

so one sunday, our dash got a lesson

on how her dash could last forever

but she also went to temples

learning about how she could have different dashes than her own

or how, maybe, the way our dash crosses people’s paths matter

the dashes afterlife was one of her choosing

allowing her line to lean any which way

But there I stood

My 7 year old brain’s cogs

churning but finding no answers

but the dash stuck

and the dash stayed there

but the dash was moving everywhere around me

I had realized that we were all dashes

passing along everyday life

some parallel, some perpendicular, some coming in at all angles

some squiggling, some giggling, some skinny and some jiggling

but we were all dashes.

All of us.

So I ask you

What will you do

with your dash?