Birds

I was only eight

Years old

When I watched the birds fall from the sky.

I still concerned myself with

Dolls & passing notes.

But now I was scared to let

My daddy

Go to work.

No eight year old

Knows what

Patriotism

Means. But we did.

The attack of 1941

Never felt like

Ours.

Neither did the gunshots

That took down leaders.

But this day will always

Feel like

Ours.

I still remember waking up to a TV screen

And a silent house.

To a mother & father

With fear in their eyes

But normalcy in their actions.

Years later I read about

Pink mist

Filling the air

And it didn’t feel

Far removed. I understood

What he was talking about.  

The leaping. I

Remembered.

I still remember being eight years old

And watching

The birds fall from the sky. 

(Link to old blog post about 9/11 here)

Above

I don’t know if you have ever looked at the sky—

Sometimes, when I do

All I can see are rabbits in the clouds,

Or mermaids.

Or even mammoth creatures.

But usually, just clouds.

Every once in a while the sky

Turns purple. And we all have

To wait awhile

Before climbing trees.

Even oftener still,

The sky lets loose

A magnificent barrage

Of water.

And we should all stand in amazement.

But,

We don’t.

All of this,

To say that I will always love you. 

What I Saw From the Bed

It was a crack on the ceiling above me that stole my attention. O what a strange shift in the sky, this oddly shaped crack. I couldn’t decide if it was a rabbit, hopping along through the grass, or a seagull, flying along the horizon. But whatever it was, I felt a familiarity with its character. I looked with perfect concentration, hoping to discern the spirit of it, although the quaking underneath me was disconcertingly distracting. I felt the earth move and shake beneath but I was determined to ignore it. A light danced about the room, bouncing across my face and into my eyes from its perch on the desk—too far to be knocked over by an errant hand. It blinded me momentarily with a bright flash of energy and I blinked with the eyes of a reborn woman. I lifted myself slightly, hoping to catch another glimpse of the glorious light, but alas it evaded me, forcing me to settle back into my skin. But instead I stared at the break in the sky again, wondering again, only in my head, what sort of secret mischief it was hiding. I almost began to giggle, hoping I could tell the crack that I too had secrets, that I too was holding a secret in my corner in the corner of my mouth in the corner of my innermost corners where even I dare not venture. And O sweet mark on the ceiling, here to distract and to occupy, and to comfort. I look at it now and see a horse, bucking and bucking and bucking until the rider is motionless beside him! I want to ask why, but the horse whimpers away with his tail between his legs while I’m bucked away as well. I think we share a story, the rider and I. The shaking continues. The walls are bumped and thumped and O I want to shake them with my fists but they won’t let me be no matter how many times I thrash and wriggle and push them away. My eyes follow the shaking walls up to the meeting place and O there is my mark, that glorious eyesore on the ceiling, which has transformed in front of my very eyes into a wave, crashing against the shore. The waves draw me away from the shaking and the breaking and I can’t help but stare in wonder at the beauty that it becomes. How did it get there? How did the waves make their way onto the ceiling to rest in an ever unresting fury of change and motion? They motion to me with old lady fingers bending at the knuckle beckoning me closer and closer with only their fingers and the small whispers. The waves look dangerous as though any moment the boat floating innocently on them will be dashed to pieces on the rocks nearby. But who are the waves and who is the boat and why do they want me so near? Are they here to cause me harm? Suddenly, the crack does not look so welcoming. I almost shout to it, asking if it has malicious intent, but instead I am overtaken by the shaking and the rocking and the bed underneath me that will not simply lie still! I almost have seasickness staring up at the waves and feeling the waves underneath. I glare in fury at the waves which are no longer waves but are dancers, making their way aggressively across the ceiling, dancing and leaping and curtsying and moving their wanton bodies swifter and swifter and faster and faster until I want to shout in fury and in fear at them until they stop. But I open my mouth to scream out my terrifying yelp but fall back before the sound comes out. There is straining above me and straining inside me and the dancers mock me with their elegant hands and their elegant feet and their elegant, elongated, evasive faces. There is jeering from them, forcing its way into my heart while they force themselves upon me. I am forced, I am broken, I am no longer here. The weight on my body cannot stop pushing me further and further away from myself. No! I want to wrap my hands in the quilts and yell no, O no, O no, O no! The dancers are a stampede, a stampede of elephants screaming no in mocking mirth, laughing at my crying face with all of the no and O let me be. But they will not let me be! They will not leave, and he will not leave, and my heart is all the way up into my throat, in my cold straining throat that whispers out prayers into the night of O let me be. No I will not he growls with his body, and no the elephants laugh at me. No I sob for mercy and receive none and no I do not want to be here, staring at the elephants with their eyes staring back, cold and unfeeling. O that the no I cry were heard by anyone, anyone but the elephants who care not at all for my plight. My keening has reached the ears of none. The elephants are no longer what they were—they have transformed, one more time, into a cage. Deep in the jungle and the mountains they are a cage made of ten thousand elephants and just one simple woman with her eyes screwed shut tight and her hands banging against the tall the tall lines that keep her inside and she cannot help but scream no as she tries to force them away and away and off and nothing is stopping them no! She is wild and amazing and I can feel her reaching towards me as I cry no against the rising tides, the untidy ride, the dark black light that pushes me further and no, and no, I cannot be here no.  Lines run up and down and up and down and push together, pinning and crushing and hiding me between the bars of my prison no and I do not know how to stop from suffocating no. And no again and a no as I rise up up up against the sky in one final no!

I float down like a paper doll burnt up by the sun, my wax wings melting. No is no, I am on the bed again, waiting to occupy myself once more. 

Rewrite

We are both aware of how

The story ends—

The prince leaves the fox,

And that’s all there is.

We’ve read it,

And loved it,

And held it in esteem—

Despite knowing the fact

That all things come to an end.

Through all of the late nights,

Both in transit and here,

We kept trying to define

What drew us so near.

Dancing to January,

And prancing through graveyards,

Lifting our voices

And drinking Hopelandic.

You asked how to tame me

And I didn’t answer—

But you made it happen,

Which both scared me and thrilled me.

There’s so much that’s happened

And so much held suspended,

I need all your fear as I

Navigate this ending.

I want this, I want you,

But not the way it has been.

We need something more

To remain more than friends.

I’ve loved you,

I’ve loved you,

And I’ve loved you

Some more.

But where did that get us?

To this impasse on the floor.

Wake yourself up

And be ready to fight me.

We’re not coming back to this

Place where we’re swaying.

We’ve both been good at

Sweating the small stuff,

But let’s not forget

What got us here in the first place.

You saw a wild fox,

And you wanted to tame her.

She resisted at first,

But then the changes were subtle.

You used to shout from your

Windows to the wind.

At the thought that this

Fox could be falling for you.

The fox loves the prince,

And the story unfolds,

But let’s look for a minute at the

Less often told.

The prince leaves the fox

After finally taming.

The fox is quite brave,

But can’t keep from wailing.

I have a question,

For my little prince.

Are we telling a story?

Or writing our own?

Do we let someone else

Write the end of this tale?

We must decide now

Whether to stay or to bail. 

I Just Can't-Haiku Edition

The Real Reason I’m Late for Work

Late for work-make toast.

But the toaster is not on—

I’m late anyway

Serving Sizes Actually Mean Something?

I’m cooking for one—

So why do I have so much

Leftover pasta?

Losing my Social Security Card Part I

You mean I have to

Keep all of my documents

In some sort of safe place?

Losing my Social Security Card Part II

If I lose my card

I can’t just ask mom and dad

To get a new one?

When Mom isn’t Cleaning Up After You

No matter how clean

We keep this place, it always

Seems to get dirty

If I Want a Balanced Meal

I think I’m getting

The hang of this cooking thing—

But I still burn rice.

When You’re Sick with da Ebola

Every last sniffle

Means that I’m dying—so who

Is making me soup?

I Just Can't

Everything, is going to pieces.

That’s right,

I said it—

I can’t be an adult,

To whomever that pleases.

I’m up all night worried

And I’m sick all day trying.

And where’s the money coming from for

All the clothes that I’m buying?

School’s hard

And life’s hard

And right now I’m a mess.

And could someone please tell me,

“Do I look fat in this dress?”

Grocery bills kill me

And my feet hurt all day.

I already have three jobs,

With two more on the way.

I want to eat healthy but

I’m not rolling in money,

And let’s not forget,

I have to feed my bunny.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

They all ask smugly.

“Why yes”, I reply,

“And he’s not even ugly!”

“So marriage, maybe?”

To which I have no answer,

So I smile ‘til they ask,

“And babies, soon after?”

I know that the world’s full of

Hunger, and riots.

But I’m just stuck here trying

To stick to this diet.

The Wi-Fi is a joke

In this dark, dusty apartment.

But even worse, let’s not

Talk about that stain in the carpet.

I walk to work,

And I walk to school too.

So shouldn’t I not have

To exercise too?

I almost miss the days

When my mom was the boss.

That woman knows everything,

And I’m at a loss.

Google gets me through things

And mom’s knowledge does too.

But their advice contradicts!

How should I know what to do?

I can bake any cake

But I can’t seem to cook rice.

I screw up so much

I could even ruin ice.

But speaking of ice,

I had ice cream for dinner.

It hurt my poor tummy,

But did I learn my lesson?

No! Of course not.

I had ice cream again.

My whole night will be

Spent curled up pain.

Did I mention the breakdowns?

Lots of screaming and crying.

And cussing, and punching.

You’d think I was dying!

But they can’t happen whenever,

Or at the drop of a hat.

I schedule them now,

Cause no one wants to see that.

Some friends are getting married

And others are single.

But that won’t stop any of them from

Trying to make you mingle.

You’ll protest and point out

That you’re happily taken.

But they want you at all parties

And events in the making.

Being an adult is

As hard as it seems.

But you can’t just complain,

Aren’t you living the dream?

I miss childhood days

When napping was encouraged.

Napping, oh napping,

Why did I think you were worthless?

Heating, and electric,

Water bills and more.

Groceries and rent,

And hidden fees galore.

Schoolwork and work-work,

And finding time to be sane.

When it all blows up on me,

There’s no one else to blame.

At the end of the day

After not a single win,

I’ll just call my mom,

And ask to move back in.

To the Moon

will I ever be ready?

when it comes down to the day

the hour

the minute

the second

will I be ready?

I’ve always tried to tell myself, yes.

yes I will be ready

yes I am ready

yes of course without a doubt

there’s no hesitation

no fear

no moment of precipicity and balancing action.

I’ve been ready from the start.

but, am I ready,

little one?

am I ready to be expanded

and consumed

and frightened by the unknown sounds and creaks that will keep me awake through the night through the day through your cries and your coos through the echoes of a not-so-lonely life?

if only. If only.

I could wake up and hold the world

in my arms and

comfort the world when it cries

and kiss the world to assuage fears

and love the world so it knows me best.

you. You are the world and the moon and the stars

and the rocking of the earth as it tilts into me.

you will always be my world,

even now,

before we’ve met,

and before we have even gotten the chance to meet.

“Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, ‘I love you right up to the moon—and back’”.

Old Friend

It’s you and me again—

Sitting like friends on this

Old hardwood floor.

The windows of this

House are covered in dust

And the memories I've

Shared with you.

It’s you and me again—

Remember when you helped me

Get through the time

With the boy

And the bruises

And the late nights

And the moon?

It’s you and me again—

O dear old friend.

We've made it this far—

Sometimes I’m worried

I can’t wake up without you.

It’s you and me again—

If we sift through photographs

And old timey stills

You’re always there,

Lurking in the shadows

Just a hint of

A secret

In the corner of my mouth.

It’s you and me again—

I've held you near and dear,

And I've trusted you to care.

But lately,

I've felt your tug

On the ends of my hair

Keeping me from getting close.

It’s you and me again—

I can’t tell if you’re sad,

Or hurt,

Or angry.

But I’m just ready.

Or at least, I hope so.

It’s you and me again—

You stand between all that I stand to gain,

And for that,

I must bid farewell.

I won’t forget when we stared at the moon

And you kept me safe from them.

It’s you and me again,

The way it has almost always been.

I remember a time,

When you weren't around—

It’s hard to say goodbye to an old friend. 

Names

Divine—

You take my heart and pluck

Me forward to my knees

Where I've fallen so many times

Before.

Peace bringer—

Within my own walls

Of both heart and mind

And in the world as well you

Calm the seas.

Friend—

Like a listening ear

Ready to know my secrets,

You lift me by my arms

In your own.

Prince—

Even the stars

And the sun and the moon

And the very air we breathe

Worship you.

Brother—

It has been far too long

Since I have said your name.

Remind me though, that

You’re still

There.

The View from Here

I was raised up

From the dust of a hazy summer flame

And a false prince

And a childhood romance

And a dark suitor

With green eyes and a crooked smile.

Fingerprints have made their way

Down my heart

And my hands—

My hands that were only

There to guide out of

Fear

And to reach out in love

And then to cry out

With words

I had never said before.

High above,

Above it all,

By the edges of the sea

Under a moon kiss

You followed the lead of those before.

I’m a statue

And I’m a crime.

I raise my

My eyes—

One eye,

Both eyes

To look forth from my pedestal above.

I've been here before.

I know I've been here before.

But you've seen the scars,

You've seen the bent back

And the twisted hands,

And you want me there.

More of me.

Either your standards are low,

Or I’m better than I thought.

Saturday Morning Showers

I

Saturday morning showers

Are my favorite.

With not a care in

The world

At only nine years old

I already used

Showers to

Contemplate.

II

Plinking and dropping

All over my

Hair and my

Face and my

Eyes and my

Teeth.

Water, water, everywhere.

I’m much too happy

To ever care

If the hot water runs into my face

Or if the water turns cold

For even one split second.

Because I secretly like

The cool, clear streams for just that one moment

Pouring down and down and down

Enough to make me shiver

But not enough for me

To cry.

But only in a Saturday morning

Shower.

III

I always complain

About showering at night.

Mornings are better.

IV

The air is

Always too cold

After a long

Saturday shower.

There are goosebumps everywhere

When I step out.

I quickly run,

Light-footed

With towels galore

Wrapped tightly so

As not to sneak a peek.

And land myself in a still and shivering pile right on the carpet in the living room in the sunspot of sunlight as it slips through the pulled back curtains and the dingy glass window so that I can warm myself like a cat because even cats need baths every once in a while when they get themselves all slippery and slick with the mud of a brand-new day.

V

I have to move

From my sunspot

So that mama

Can vacuum.

She puts on some old

Synthesized music

And begins to dance,

Swaying her hips back and forth

To the time.

Her hips no longer slim

Like a youth

But widened.

A badge of honor

For birthing four

Screaming and

Laughing

Babies

Into a world

Of Saturday morning showers

And lilac trees

And dead-end streets

With blackberries to pick and

Thorns to scratch.

She always cleans on Saturdays.

Lit Up

My skin was filled with

All of the star monsters who

Taught me how to glow

Snip Snip Snip

You set to work, like a painter at an easel, or a cellist with his instrument—and I the work of art.

Hours pass, me posing, both of us reading

The world slipping by in an endless tunnel of

Your walls and my heart.

This large and looming circle of love with your name written on it,

And the minuscule square you expect me to work with.

A snip snip snip here,

And a snip snip snip there.

I cut down my circle of love to fit inside the square.

The changes are gradual, but the

Possibilities are endless.

I close my eyes in an effort to stem

The terrifying thought that I am less than a person

To you.

Each limb has been redrawn on drafting sheets, with pattern pieces

Cut to fit my oddly shaped person.

And on the assembly line I go—

You charge it up,

Cutting me out as I move through the stages of production.

Snip snip snip here.

Snip snip snip there.

One night I fall asleep with your words

Painted on the inside of my eyes

And I awake with the sun,

Unblinking—

Because my eyes no longer blink.

They’re just open.

Painted bright and painted happy

On the flat face of a paper doll

Arms not meant to move

And heart not meant to beat

And blood not meant to flow

And eyes not meant to cry

And a smile as permanent as

A mountain.

I can feel the flutter of the paper birds as their wings move me up

And up and up and up.

Towards the sun where my new wings will melt

And the ocean will catch my gently

Dropping paper

Body.

Snip snip snip

Snip snip snip.

I was too human for you.

The Dive

All around me girls dove hands first, head second, followed lastly by the feet, all creating a smooth, arching slice through the air and into the dark water. Their feet took them up and off the dock, propelling them into the coolness beneath us. Sunshine walked across the dimpled surface that their heads broke through when they finally came up for air. Each time someone dove, from the moment they bent their legs and thrust themselves deep into the lake, until the moment they surfaced with a gasp and a shake of their hair, I held my breath in anxiety.

The water didn't scare me. I had slid from my sitting position on the dock many times, first slipping a toe in and then pushing myself carefully off the wood and lowering my torso into the water. There were salamanders in the water, and sticks that sometimes cut my feet. I spent hours moving through the shallows, playing in the canoes, and floating slowly across the surface, dipping my ears just below the waterline to block out the noise. The water didn't scare me.

When I was five years old, or somewhere around that age, I stepped off the edge of a pool, jumping in eagerly, without reservation. Five feet of chlorine and water closed over my head, four feet of water below. And I just kept sinking. My little thighs worked with all their might, picking me back up towards the surface until I frantically came through and opened my mouth. My lungs filled to their breaking point with the air around me, causing coughs and sputters and general movements of relief.

At some point in my childhood I read a scary story—the kind your parents don’t let you read but you get in an under-the-table manner from the kid at school who wore the same sweatpants every day and always looked defiant. A high school boy in the story told a girl he loved her, and later that night she came to his house. He was outside by the pool, waiting for her in the dark. “Jump” he told her—and she obeyed him. She dove into the pool, and hit the empty floor with a crack. Unsuspecting and now dead on the floor of a pool.

Camp only lasted a week. At times it felt like an entire glorious summer, stretching forth forever. Other times I could feel the seconds slipping by, and I wondered how time could move so quickly away from me.  The days had escaped me, and my time at camp was coming to an end. The last day was emotional, despite having only spent a week with these people. On that final day I spent my time at the lake, sitting on the edge with my toes dipped into the water, letting the wet lap against my heels as they swung suspended above the surface. All around bodies were leaping into the air with shrieks of laughter that ended abruptly when they plunged deep down beneath the water only to resurface with eyes shut tight and smiles stretching from ear to ear. My heart pounded in response. None of them were scared, and nothing was holding them back. They were happy. They were brave.

Unbidden, I was suddenly standing, walking backwards from the edge. I stood, poised and ready to jump. My legs bent, my arms stuck out awkwardly above my head, and I threw myself off without thinking. I flailed slightly, my legs couldn't straighten, and my mouth was open when I dropped below the surface. I went down and down, losing sight of the light above me, and eventually turning myself to drift back up. A feeling of panic shot through me as the graceful and malicious stems of seaweed wrapped themselves around and around my ankles. Panic was unnecessary—it took a few kicks to free myself from the tangles. The feeling of slime and darkness lingered even as I made my way desperately to the sunshine. I clawed out of the water, choking and self-consciously aware of the giggles of anyone who had seen my ungraceful attempt at diving.

The dock loomed next to me and I pulled myself up, hand over foot over leg over head over toes until I collapsed in a heap on the ancient wood. I spread my body out, and lay in silence, letting the air cool my burning skin and blinking up into the sun. Spots of light danced across my vision and in my peripherals the thick trees burst upward towards the clear sky, permeating the magnificent blue that hung in a perfect suspension. My heart rate slowed to a soft meandering pace, allowing me to breathe again. In and out, and in and out again, my lungs welcomed anything but water. I was stillness, even though around me the chaos charged on without a second thought. Suddenly, I felt a longing to rise. I stood carefully, peeling my body away from the boards and checking my bare thighs for slivers.

The lake sparkled out in front of me, beckoning me to join, to try again. I raised my arms in triumph and bent at the knees to prepare. I couldn't help the grin that rose up from my heart as I jumped forward and down, into the leagues of beauty below. 

I Can't Take my Mind Off of You

Nothing about you caught me off-guard. Not the way you held yourself, or the listening face that most people did not expect. I wasn't surprised by your fear or the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled. But only when you smiled at me. Me, me, the glorious me, the me of dreams and puppy tails and snails and Mary Quite Contrary, and the public railway line.

“I can’t take my eyes off of you

I can’t take my eyes off of you.

I can’t take my eyes off of you

I can’t take my eyes off of you”

I can see the noises of our farewell rising from the sidewalk with a vengeance. Was there anyone else home? Any soul to see my severely miscalculated attempt at religious freedom? But I did escape, unscathed, an unsightly, esoteric Esther. With a seat before the King, or the Queen.  With my head held high and my hands held higher, praising the tears I cried and the hardness in your voice. O, lo and behold, I can’t be what I've been. Not anymore.

Take a look at me, and where I’m standing. I’m nothing, just a ghost of what used to be, and all of the artifacts that my fingers and toes dug into with all I knew. With the wind blowing one way, and the trees blowing the other, I’ll be tossed around in the middle.

Can you take your eyes off of me?

A quick, gray, dip into the sea for me. A dip and a swim, and a cold unfettered jump away from you, until the salt and the seaweed and the sand are my bones, and my blood, and my hair. Now I can move, now I can breathe; now I can run away from the prying eyes and the sightless stares into my shivering soul and the sighing, the sighing, the sighing that breaks my ears at night.

“I can’t take my mind off of you”.

There’s so much to open, and so much to fear. And so much to find, and so much to hear.

So much to learn, so much to be near. And so much to love, and so much to mirror.

“My mind… my mind…

‘Til I find somebody new”.

Never My Eyes: Diary Excerpt Series Part Two

Every once in a while, someone will say your name. And my little ears will perk up, even though I try to maintain a neutral face. The conversations shifts, as often happens, and we’ll all feel the atmospheric pulse—you are present, on all our minds. Mine, in particular. Nostalgia sets into my bones, those cowering lines, and all the thoughts I suppress bubble over. Up, up, up, until each tendon is extended in a far-reaching plane towards you. No matter what, no matter who, no matter where—I’m all arrows, strung as tight as the rattlesnake. If I close my lips, but not my eyes, never my eyes, I can keep from falling and wanting.

Sometimes, a song begins to play, without my consent, because that’s not how life works, and your cocky, full-blown arrogance is nodding along, because you let me in on this particular secret. All around to my sides, and to my toes, there are peering eyes and the haze of smoke upon my lips and ears, but never my eyes.

And we do make a cute couple, just like she said—but you don’t agree, because you never agree, because you’re special—different, unique, will-o’-the-wisp. You are surely a will-o’-the-wisp, with your wily ways, inveigling the world while ancient bees wave through the air to find a well of hope. I can still feel your hand pulling me through the crowd, letting me feel like a woman.

It’s a rare moment I actually see you unexpectedly, but it’s humbling. O to be young again, like we were when we met, last year. Seems like an age when I see your face—even your eyes have changed. But not mine, never my eyes. When I see you, it’s a soul-crushing grip from someone who forgets how to hold tight.

More often than not, you rise up, unbidden, into my mind. There’s no speaking, no musical warning, nor an explanation of your visage. But there the will-o’-the-wisp is. There, there, there!

Unwilling, unbidden, undesired.

And you are here. And my mind for one moment, can remember in peace. But then, I am brought to my knees, like I always have been before, but with steely resolve nowhere to be found. The fear falls out, outpouring from my ribs, and my lungs. Straight to bits I fall. My legs are dry, as are my feet, as are my hands, and my cheeks. My mouth and nose survive as well. But not my eyes—never my eyes.