The sign said left
You turned right
I went straight
Through the light
And drove away
Into the cold, sweet night
And cried
You held me while I cried and it hurt to hear you thank me for my tears. But that’s all you could give and I knew I couldn’t hold on to the hope of you. So I set out to discover the hope of me.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
My heart is already breaking, it may as well break terrifically and all at once.
Simplify? Emotions are all complicated and wondrous and you can't control them even if they are the kind that hurt, and even those are the result of divinity. Why would you ever not want them? I may not love often, but i love deep and hurt deeper.
Simplify? Emotions are all complicated and wondrous and you can't control them even if they are the kind that hurt, and even those are the result of divinity. Why would you ever not want them? I may not love often, but i love deep and hurt deeper.
Friday, September 19, 2003
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Skin and bones and voice kinda day...
I knew not what the day would bring as I held my breath in anticipation...of discourse in the afternoon.
But during the day, I found patience and the presence of being. Small talk about small things. Music, loud and free. Good Food, nice scenery. Thank you.
It's not so much guilt. It is loss, and hopelessness, and just trying to understand why I'm just so jacked up about it all. Why now? And did I give you the chance to live, Bubba, or did I kill you too soon? And Daddy? Why didn't I give you the chance to make the decisions? I would have saved me a lot of hell. But you stood there so forlorn; perhaps I thought I was saving you from it. And then you took over the burial, thank god.
I am tired of weeping. I only want to understand.
I knew not what the day would bring as I held my breath in anticipation...of discourse in the afternoon.
But during the day, I found patience and the presence of being. Small talk about small things. Music, loud and free. Good Food, nice scenery. Thank you.
It's not so much guilt. It is loss, and hopelessness, and just trying to understand why I'm just so jacked up about it all. Why now? And did I give you the chance to live, Bubba, or did I kill you too soon? And Daddy? Why didn't I give you the chance to make the decisions? I would have saved me a lot of hell. But you stood there so forlorn; perhaps I thought I was saving you from it. And then you took over the burial, thank god.
I am tired of weeping. I only want to understand.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Saturday, September 13, 2003
I awoke this morning in despondence of a dream where I am standing in the stingy rain, feeling too wet. While the heat rises off the pavement, burning my cheeks, burning my heart that beats too fast, I cannot catch my breath. Questions arise in the shadows. Is there something in my heart that I deny? Or am I trying to force meaning and rationalization where they do not belong? And I fear the answer to the former is yes. And I awake in a sweat, soaking wet.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Monday, September 08, 2003
Saturday, September 06, 2003
Death comes steadily, swiftly, on the frosted lips of early morn,
Dripping up into the shallow vanilla sky as the lone soul cries
Over a life yet unlived, and with trembling lips, whispers, I
Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And he passes silently only after screaming to an empty room, No!
And the soul’s sister stares, turns into her pillow to weep and sleep
Finally until she awakes wandering in her gown, wondering, I
Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And she passes restlessly on clouds of sorrow from room to room.
Dripping up into the shallow vanilla sky as the lone soul cries
Over a life yet unlived, and with trembling lips, whispers, I
Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And he passes silently only after screaming to an empty room, No!
And the soul’s sister stares, turns into her pillow to weep and sleep
Finally until she awakes wandering in her gown, wondering, I
Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And she passes restlessly on clouds of sorrow from room to room.
I don’t want to love or watch the sun die against his face. So blow North, Father Wind, and lift the hair from the nape of my neck, cool and tender, and leave the hand pressed against my back for me to grasp.
I could stop rationalizing and thinking as soon as I became focused enough to articulate clearly. I highly doubt either will occur.
In my mind and in my heart the dead and the undead reside in constant sorrow.
I could stop rationalizing and thinking as soon as I became focused enough to articulate clearly. I highly doubt either will occur.
In my mind and in my heart the dead and the undead reside in constant sorrow.
Friday, September 05, 2003
Thursday, September 04, 2003
She held her distance, mild and sweet
Then stepped lightly into their midst.
Out of curiosity? Out of need?
Out of the desire to breed gone bad?
But the lightness of being drew her close;
The taste, the reaction,
And the eyeful of temptation
All the staring into the dazzling bright,
And the need to be around skin and bones;
A voice not her own.
And deep into the caring, she recalled
Just why she had shied away,
As she strives to stop trying
To even understand, to cool her want
Ands simply bask in the brief attentiveness allowed.
But now
sorrowfully bleeds the
Heart of mist that
Falls into the deep red crush that
Leads into the pain of loss and caring.
Then stepped lightly into their midst.
Out of curiosity? Out of need?
Out of the desire to breed gone bad?
But the lightness of being drew her close;
The taste, the reaction,
And the eyeful of temptation
All the staring into the dazzling bright,
And the need to be around skin and bones;
A voice not her own.
And deep into the caring, she recalled
Just why she had shied away,
As she strives to stop trying
To even understand, to cool her want
Ands simply bask in the brief attentiveness allowed.
But now
sorrowfully bleeds the
Heart of mist that
Falls into the deep red crush that
Leads into the pain of loss and caring.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
When Verity walked the earth she carried close a secret smile. She harbored thoughts of skin and bones and a voice not hers; sweet lips curved in an impish grin and the gentle turn of a hip. But the music fell on a deaf heart that already bled in a deep red crush of remorseful sorrow and loss. And she turned away to a new day yet to dawn, crying. She was a brave girl.
Cynder Lynn bled red, bold as day,
Without a care or much to say.
And smiling widely she would remark,
“I really just hate people, that’s the lark.”
Cynder Lynn bled red, bold as day,
Without a care or much to say.
And smiling widely she would remark,
“I really just hate people, that’s the lark.”
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Peach grew from the smallest seed, always watching, always reading, always wondering what was wrong, and always wanting to belong to someone. She raised herself without knowing how, and inarticulately, she walked the earth on coltish legs. Wide-eyed, she’d panic now and then, but went forward into fear and the unknown. Peach was a lonely child in a family of five, an old soul mourning the loss of remembrance of better times. Petty guilt and remorse over inconsideracies plagued her, but her will was strong, bent only by clear and concise decision. Regret, she knows not, only loss. But Peach grew and is growing still. She is soft of flesh and strong of heart. At least, finally, she knows she is not alone, cannot do it alone, and will not have to.
I
I was perfectly happy, and then I met you and maybe you reminded me of him a bit, though not at first. But I wouldn't know how a sister should act, or a brother. I have never known. But now you remind me of him. He was on the right track, but then he died, and I feel I should have helped him more, could have helped him more but for my stubbornness and need to force independence on others. And we’re friends now of a sort, you and I, and you’re trying so hard to get your life back on track, working hard, finding this new girl that I hope will stick with you and love you unconditionally. It’s just that you remind me of him sometimes – in a way. But then he died. And now I worry over you, because we are friends, and I am sick with loss.
Steam coming off the hot blacktop was thick, heavy and moist, difficult to breathe. I thought of you and almost cried, but I am out - in public. The tearing subsided, but the ache in my heart made the breathing even worse. Something’s wrong, I know it. It’s getting better, or rather, getting less – alleviating slowly. But it’s there, a deeply seeded sense of loss. And I cling to your friendship, inarticulately, like a child, while my heart is breaking over I know not what, but I listen to you and that is enough to draw me out of heartbreak. I don't feel I ever really listened to him. And everyone is always leaving.
II
My cycles are dwindling since May when I lost her in my heart - that tiny little spec of hope that was never there, and I wonder if worry is the cause. And when I lose everyone, who will remain? I feel like I have never been without you, and yet sometimes feel we are the victim of a certain sequence of events that we never stopped to ponder. But what will happen if I loose you? I worry. I am sick with loss and everyone is always leaving - except for you. But I am scared just a bit.
And my heart is bleeding...crushed and raw.
I was perfectly happy, and then I met you and maybe you reminded me of him a bit, though not at first. But I wouldn't know how a sister should act, or a brother. I have never known. But now you remind me of him. He was on the right track, but then he died, and I feel I should have helped him more, could have helped him more but for my stubbornness and need to force independence on others. And we’re friends now of a sort, you and I, and you’re trying so hard to get your life back on track, working hard, finding this new girl that I hope will stick with you and love you unconditionally. It’s just that you remind me of him sometimes – in a way. But then he died. And now I worry over you, because we are friends, and I am sick with loss.
Steam coming off the hot blacktop was thick, heavy and moist, difficult to breathe. I thought of you and almost cried, but I am out - in public. The tearing subsided, but the ache in my heart made the breathing even worse. Something’s wrong, I know it. It’s getting better, or rather, getting less – alleviating slowly. But it’s there, a deeply seeded sense of loss. And I cling to your friendship, inarticulately, like a child, while my heart is breaking over I know not what, but I listen to you and that is enough to draw me out of heartbreak. I don't feel I ever really listened to him. And everyone is always leaving.
II
My cycles are dwindling since May when I lost her in my heart - that tiny little spec of hope that was never there, and I wonder if worry is the cause. And when I lose everyone, who will remain? I feel like I have never been without you, and yet sometimes feel we are the victim of a certain sequence of events that we never stopped to ponder. But what will happen if I loose you? I worry. I am sick with loss and everyone is always leaving - except for you. But I am scared just a bit.
And my heart is bleeding...crushed and raw.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
They ain’t gonna see me.
I ain’t gonna let em.
Who they to d’mand.
I give and I gives freely
To those I see fit.
Not you loathsome sonso’bitches.
Heart afire, embers glowing, buried deep.
What’s the point if we all gonna die anyway?
To live, honey, now stop your cryin’ and
Grow your baby Cynder Lynn.
Hard heart, come back to momma,
You don’t need all them, just that one,
And memories of long, puckered scars that
Shine beautifully in you mind.
I have laughed deeply, and I will continue to do so.
Because the world is beautiful in body and fleet of heart,
And I care.
I ain’t gonna let em.
Who they to d’mand.
I give and I gives freely
To those I see fit.
Not you loathsome sonso’bitches.
Heart afire, embers glowing, buried deep.
What’s the point if we all gonna die anyway?
To live, honey, now stop your cryin’ and
Grow your baby Cynder Lynn.
Hard heart, come back to momma,
You don’t need all them, just that one,
And memories of long, puckered scars that
Shine beautifully in you mind.
I have laughed deeply, and I will continue to do so.
Because the world is beautiful in body and fleet of heart,
And I care.
"Sad veiled bride please be happy, handsome groom give her room...Loud loutish lover, treat her kindly for she needs you more than she loves you. I know it’s over, but still it never really began…"
I am just a small speck of a thing in the infinite possibilities of the universe. And if an even more insiginificant grandiosity washed over me for just a very split-second, well then...
"It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate, it takes strength to be gentle and kind…over and over."
I am just a small speck of a thing in the infinite possibilities of the universe. And if an even more insiginificant grandiosity washed over me for just a very split-second, well then...
"It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate, it takes strength to be gentle and kind…over and over."
The ebbing tide eats away the island one grain at a time,
Like the deep sense of loss that grips my soul.
I didn’t need this – lonely contemplation – not now.
I need to be around skin and bones and a voice not my own.
Speak of trivial things, speak of deep issues,
Just…please, speak to me in the confidentiality of friendship,
I cannot lose another.
Worry is in my nature. I want to be a good, kind, and caring person. I want to be whatever you need from me. Let me try? Things just fall into place sometimes, for no reason whatsoever. Strange, it's never happened like that before. Is it the calm before the storm? Or hard years rewarded.
Why would I leave you? Even in your imagination? The road has been long, it has has been difficult, but we are changing and can handle what dreams may come.
Like the deep sense of loss that grips my soul.
I didn’t need this – lonely contemplation – not now.
I need to be around skin and bones and a voice not my own.
Speak of trivial things, speak of deep issues,
Just…please, speak to me in the confidentiality of friendship,
I cannot lose another.
Worry is in my nature. I want to be a good, kind, and caring person. I want to be whatever you need from me. Let me try? Things just fall into place sometimes, for no reason whatsoever. Strange, it's never happened like that before. Is it the calm before the storm? Or hard years rewarded.
Why would I leave you? Even in your imagination? The road has been long, it has has been difficult, but we are changing and can handle what dreams may come.
Saturday, August 23, 2003
I’m gonna disseminate here for a bit, falling apart after an incredible high. I can still feel that thing looming, beautifully. But I can’t touch it and I weep. Though my sadness may be a sense of loss, that’s not “the thing”, and I cry because my journey has been glorious, but I still cannot attain it. I am so close. The realization I desire still escapes me.
I stepped out of me and it was not altogether uncomfortable, but feeling, wanting, I think I wanna go back, draw tightly into that hard little shell.
I stepped out of me and it was not altogether uncomfortable, but feeling, wanting, I think I wanna go back, draw tightly into that hard little shell.
Friday, August 22, 2003
I know, Bubba. I need to stop this sadness and get to concentrating on growing that baby. Don't know why the ennui came. Not right now. But I know it took seed too deep for me to handle by myself this time. I am moving forward and there's something there just out of grasp. I can almost taste it.
I have a will of iron thrust through stone. It can only be broken intentionally, through conscious decision. Even sadness, or dispair cannot breach the forge. I am an intentional being.
I will find you again, in the next life, and we will be different people. Passing again, and stopping briefly, and you'll move on as I move past. Over and over, eyes may meet and arms touch briefly, until we are ready, until we learn the purpose of our descent. I almost touched it this time. But still we were over before we really began. Not what I wanted, but seemingly, it feeling right. And the world moves on with purpose, fast. And in stillness I stand, gazing at the passing sky in all it's glory, furiously passing, and I marvel, sighing deep.
And the deep red crush bleeds in swirls, burning in a ring of fire, melting.
Skye Marie, Skye Marie, you were in my mind and in my heart, but never became. Should I name the future child for you.
I have a will of iron thrust through stone. It can only be broken intentionally, through conscious decision. Even sadness, or dispair cannot breach the forge. I am an intentional being.
I will find you again, in the next life, and we will be different people. Passing again, and stopping briefly, and you'll move on as I move past. Over and over, eyes may meet and arms touch briefly, until we are ready, until we learn the purpose of our descent. I almost touched it this time. But still we were over before we really began. Not what I wanted, but seemingly, it feeling right. And the world moves on with purpose, fast. And in stillness I stand, gazing at the passing sky in all it's glory, furiously passing, and I marvel, sighing deep.
And the deep red crush bleeds in swirls, burning in a ring of fire, melting.
Skye Marie, Skye Marie, you were in my mind and in my heart, but never became. Should I name the future child for you.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
I
Sorrowly bleeds the deep red crush,
Like sadness dripping steadily,
Upward into pools of broken midnight.
All the while regret is lost in sweetness.
II
I almost regret
Friendships.
It’s not the having,
But the losing that hurts
No, the knowing, the laughing,
It’s all good.
It’s just something gone to shadow.
III
Verity walks the still, cold earth, soul burning. Maybe they each got something from the other, something unconditional, indefinable. Something they each required in that time, in that place…just for a bit. Or so I can only hope.
Sorrowly bleeds the deep red crush,
Like sadness dripping steadily,
Upward into pools of broken midnight.
All the while regret is lost in sweetness.
II
I almost regret
Friendships.
It’s not the having,
But the losing that hurts
No, the knowing, the laughing,
It’s all good.
It’s just something gone to shadow.
III
Verity walks the still, cold earth, soul burning. Maybe they each got something from the other, something unconditional, indefinable. Something they each required in that time, in that place…just for a bit. Or so I can only hope.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
I signed the papers with ink like blood and soul. Binding. I wish I could remember the names and the order in which the meds were removed until all that was left was the morphine drip on the steady increase. I cannot recall whether or not your kidneys stopped before your heart. (I believe your heart went last. You held on so long, grasping.)
I told you, speaking in hushed tones..when you finally had no choice...that you had to go. You could not speak, your throat swallowing painfully with the ulcers then finally not at all. But your eyes wept slow tears down a stubbled cheek. Oh my god, but your eyes pled desperately, bore through me with the words you could not form.
No more suffering, no more pain. But I still see clearly that I killed you. It's your body rotting in the earth. And I have no right to want...anything so much as I do...to feel...to be...beautiful.
I told you, speaking in hushed tones..when you finally had no choice...that you had to go. You could not speak, your throat swallowing painfully with the ulcers then finally not at all. But your eyes wept slow tears down a stubbled cheek. Oh my god, but your eyes pled desperately, bore through me with the words you could not form.
No more suffering, no more pain. But I still see clearly that I killed you. It's your body rotting in the earth. And I have no right to want...anything so much as I do...to feel...to be...beautiful.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Came across a random topic just. So innocent. I was there for the lightness of being and I stepped into a pocket deep and still. Once my heart beat weakened I looked deeper...I know, I know, your dead, get over it, but your frailty of body and mind, and your strength of will to live...sigh...yes, Bubba, of course I cried...but I find the strangest things to make me smile - though sometimes it's just a funny grimace and bearing of teeth. I'm still missing you...and the way you talked about men and rolled your eyes.
I
I am at odds. I move around you on tip-toe, through time and space, trying to find me. And yet, I feel beautiful enough to weep. I am lost and you are angry. I care - for others. It is the price of friendship, and no, I never realized I need more than you. More than me. I am selfish, I want that which I cannot define.
II
Words trip lightly out of mouth and onto the page. I pull them from dreams and visions and reality. They are forms as yet unacknowledged, there since the twilight when the dreamscape fades. I don't know what they all mean, they are simply there - fact and fiction, all my thoughts and all my dreams.
I am at odds. I move around you on tip-toe, through time and space, trying to find me. And yet, I feel beautiful enough to weep. I am lost and you are angry. I care - for others. It is the price of friendship, and no, I never realized I need more than you. More than me. I am selfish, I want that which I cannot define.
II
Words trip lightly out of mouth and onto the page. I pull them from dreams and visions and reality. They are forms as yet unacknowledged, there since the twilight when the dreamscape fades. I don't know what they all mean, they are simply there - fact and fiction, all my thoughts and all my dreams.
Saturday, August 09, 2003
SOOOOO, I took the "what ((hidden)) emotion are you" quiz, whose link I found on rumandmonkey.com, [they are my suppliers of 'weapons of mass destruction']...anyway, my answers were pretty cute and upbeat...you'll find my results below and to the right...WOW! I guess that's why they call it a ((hidden)) emotion...hmmm...lot's to ponder in my eighth dimension...
Friday, August 08, 2003
I
Today, the rain came and it was wondrous
My heart beat loud as the thunder
As I watched through split panes
And I opened the door, slapped by the heat
Sweat pouring, thick as the air.
Steam rose from the hot black top.
More decibels lost and the day goes on
To be glorious.
II
I just needed to be around skin and bones,
And a voice not mine.
Today, the rain came and it was wondrous
My heart beat loud as the thunder
As I watched through split panes
And I opened the door, slapped by the heat
Sweat pouring, thick as the air.
Steam rose from the hot black top.
More decibels lost and the day goes on
To be glorious.
II
I just needed to be around skin and bones,
And a voice not mine.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
The silence is deafening. I want.
The music someday will fade. I fear.
And we will part ways. I regret
Only the loss of you, not the knowing.
I can only love freely and openly.
When I take a step it is mine to take.
I have never lost balance,
Only stepped lightly, skirting the edge,
Looking back, recalling the beat of my heart,
The exhilaration.
The music someday will fade. I fear.
And we will part ways. I regret
Only the loss of you, not the knowing.
I can only love freely and openly.
When I take a step it is mine to take.
I have never lost balance,
Only stepped lightly, skirting the edge,
Looking back, recalling the beat of my heart,
The exhilaration.
It began in restlessness and unto sadness yet it creeps.
I want. Along the lines of listlessness I tiptoe, careful not to fall.
The one thing holding constant is that not mine that cannot be kept.
Cannot be held despite the strength of craven desire, and the deep red crush
That bleeds in the anguish of struggling forth and shedding skin.
I am only sure of wanting one thing.
I want. Along the lines of listlessness I tiptoe, careful not to fall.
The one thing holding constant is that not mine that cannot be kept.
Cannot be held despite the strength of craven desire, and the deep red crush
That bleeds in the anguish of struggling forth and shedding skin.
I am only sure of wanting one thing.
All my thoughts and all my woe, I fictionalize, rationalize. But in the end I sleep a sometimes not too deep sleep and rise again, yet weep still. It’s ok to love honey...I said back a few days. Well, it's ok to leave honey. I wept before you as I will weep after you. I slowly come into focus, though it will take yet a while longer. YOU set a spark to tinder and there's no course except to burn. And I wish it were something you would stay to watch unfold. It will be difficult. It will be beautiful, just like the way you make me feel.
Monday, August 04, 2003
I love you, Daddy, you were never there, but so like you, I see reasons. I understand. I love you, though, because you never judge. And if now is the best time of your life? (And admittedly when we three were small.) I wish you joy. I thanked Annie for this, because, well, when I asked how you were, your response to me? Fantastic. And what about me? Well, I'm absolutely, gloriously, beautiful. I'll see you in October and we'll stand on the terraced ground you built for her, and we'll look out over the sound at the ships in a Grande silence of being. See you soon, and I promise I will try never to judge, only love unconditionally, like you do.
Revision...
I
When did my nipples grow larger?
My breasts heavier?
My hips take on flesh?
When did I become beautiful in my own right?
Comfortable in my own skin?
And was it about that time or later that I grew restless?
Later, I think, much later -
After sadness, after despair,
And but certainly just before I met you.
It is only since that I realize.
I am on the cusp of infinite possibilities,
And the personification of peach evolves.
II
As a new girl steps forth wide eyed and willing,
She is not that one that got drug out,
Kicking and screaming into the world,
And not the one since.
Ah, these years that end three.
I
When did my nipples grow larger?
My breasts heavier?
My hips take on flesh?
When did I become beautiful in my own right?
Comfortable in my own skin?
And was it about that time or later that I grew restless?
Later, I think, much later -
After sadness, after despair,
And but certainly just before I met you.
It is only since that I realize.
I am on the cusp of infinite possibilities,
And the personification of peach evolves.
II
As a new girl steps forth wide eyed and willing,
She is not that one that got drug out,
Kicking and screaming into the world,
And not the one since.
Ah, these years that end three.
Sunday, August 03, 2003
I
I stretched back in response to your hands...
II
I think too much. And if I imply, I don't mean to, and hope you'll always ask me to clarify. I appreciate the unconditionality of our friendship, its simplicity and straight forwardness. I appreciate your patience in walking me through my thoughts until even I know what I’m really thinking and what I really want. I am patient with your silence and stand back...I can do this for you. I am growing...
III
All those years of simply being,
The stillness,
And now when I need to tap that source
I am restless,
Thinking.
I stretched back in response to your hands...
II
I think too much. And if I imply, I don't mean to, and hope you'll always ask me to clarify. I appreciate the unconditionality of our friendship, its simplicity and straight forwardness. I appreciate your patience in walking me through my thoughts until even I know what I’m really thinking and what I really want. I am patient with your silence and stand back...I can do this for you. I am growing...
III
All those years of simply being,
The stillness,
And now when I need to tap that source
I am restless,
Thinking.
excerpt from "Glorianna"...submitted to an editor today...cross your fingers, shugar, cause your my lucky rabbit's foot...
I left the sane world behind when I lit out on the Interstate at five that morning with a full tank, the top down, and a run creeping steadily down my left thigh on a clear path to my ankle. But I had receive a call late the night before that couldn’t be ignored, “Your daddy’s dead and your momma ain’t doin’ so good.”
My daddy was dead? That man wasn’t my daddy, but no one except me ever seemed to understand that; Coop, was always just Coop. He was married to my mother when I was nine or so, and lived in the same house I did, but that’s about as far as it went. He was there, I was there, and we never really shared the same space at the same time. I didn’t call him father, sure as hell didn’t call him Daddy, and probably spoke so little to the man that I didn’t have to call him much of anything. When I referred to him at all, however, it was always as Coop, short for Mr. Cooper, just like everyone else. It wasn’t that I hated the man, but by the time Coop came along, I was old enough to have formed a few opinions of my own and accepting him as my daddy, letting him take my real daddy’s place, just wasn’t in me.
I left the sane world behind when I lit out on the Interstate at five that morning with a full tank, the top down, and a run creeping steadily down my left thigh on a clear path to my ankle. But I had receive a call late the night before that couldn’t be ignored, “Your daddy’s dead and your momma ain’t doin’ so good.”
My daddy was dead? That man wasn’t my daddy, but no one except me ever seemed to understand that; Coop, was always just Coop. He was married to my mother when I was nine or so, and lived in the same house I did, but that’s about as far as it went. He was there, I was there, and we never really shared the same space at the same time. I didn’t call him father, sure as hell didn’t call him Daddy, and probably spoke so little to the man that I didn’t have to call him much of anything. When I referred to him at all, however, it was always as Coop, short for Mr. Cooper, just like everyone else. It wasn’t that I hated the man, but by the time Coop came along, I was old enough to have formed a few opinions of my own and accepting him as my daddy, letting him take my real daddy’s place, just wasn’t in me.
excerpt from " memoir de l'esprit de l'escalier"...a short story yet unfinished...
I found a cool place off the key, a small inlet where we would go to explore, the breeze finding us beneath the Mangrove trees, our small feet skirting the thin edging of sand. Where there was no beach at all, we would wade, knee deep to dodge swarms of mimis laying in wait, but careful not to step on beach glass or coral. A few days during the fall, it was almost cold, and the cool salt air felt good against our too flushed cheeks. Mes Anitas was a child then, her little hand in mine. But I, I was never a child. My body had always stirred for her, even when Herman and I still wore the short pants to church, and she lay against her maman's breast.
I found a cool place off the key, a small inlet where we would go to explore, the breeze finding us beneath the Mangrove trees, our small feet skirting the thin edging of sand. Where there was no beach at all, we would wade, knee deep to dodge swarms of mimis laying in wait, but careful not to step on beach glass or coral. A few days during the fall, it was almost cold, and the cool salt air felt good against our too flushed cheeks. Mes Anitas was a child then, her little hand in mine. But I, I was never a child. My body had always stirred for her, even when Herman and I still wore the short pants to church, and she lay against her maman's breast.
Revisions:
I
I Fly
Ninety on the highway,
Sixty in a forty, and
Forty in an ess curve twenty.
Windows down,
Music high,
I wanna drag it out
Till the engine growls,
High and mean,
Till the chassis shakes
And the tires squeal.
I wanna break you
Like a new toy,
Consume you
Like no other,
Bleed you dry.
II
Back to me,
Framed in the door;
Lower back, thigh, buttock,
Smooth white flesh.
Then thoughtful, in repose,
Naked and divine
I come undone as
Restlessly, my heart swells
In a deep red crush.
Desire.
Still my favorite...
I tremble,
Want to speak, but can’t.
I hear your words,
They caress me, excite me,
Affect me.
And when we’re done,
We’re done.
I touch your skin,
Smell the air,
You move on as I move past.
I
I Fly
Ninety on the highway,
Sixty in a forty, and
Forty in an ess curve twenty.
Windows down,
Music high,
I wanna drag it out
Till the engine growls,
High and mean,
Till the chassis shakes
And the tires squeal.
I wanna break you
Like a new toy,
Consume you
Like no other,
Bleed you dry.
II
Back to me,
Framed in the door;
Lower back, thigh, buttock,
Smooth white flesh.
Then thoughtful, in repose,
Naked and divine
I come undone as
Restlessly, my heart swells
In a deep red crush.
Desire.
Still my favorite...
I tremble,
Want to speak, but can’t.
I hear your words,
They caress me, excite me,
Affect me.
And when we’re done,
We’re done.
I touch your skin,
Smell the air,
You move on as I move past.
Peach...soft and sweet on the outside, inside, a hard little seed.
Peach...sexual connotations in art and literature, the breast and buttock.
Peach...smooth skinned and fuzzy, cherished in the summer months.
Peach...pies, chutneys, jams, and jellies...versatile only to an extent.
Peach...the peach tree takes years to grow before it will bear fruit.
Peach...the Texas peach is smaller, less flesh, larger seed, so much better than any other.
Peach...ink on smooth flesh...picture coming soon...
Peach...sexual connotations in art and literature, the breast and buttock.
Peach...smooth skinned and fuzzy, cherished in the summer months.
Peach...pies, chutneys, jams, and jellies...versatile only to an extent.
Peach...the peach tree takes years to grow before it will bear fruit.
Peach...the Texas peach is smaller, less flesh, larger seed, so much better than any other.
Peach...ink on smooth flesh...picture coming soon...
Third month of testing. I already know that I’ll need the medication. I feel more beautiful now than ever. But my spirits remain low...is the ability to procreate the essence of womanhood? In May I was ecstatic. But she would have been a Capricorn...like me, and I would have known how to raise her. But any other, I just don't know...and my spirits continue to remain low.
Saturday, August 02, 2003
I
Get over it. He’s dead.
II
And when the morning comes, I breathe deep the crisp air
I am awake. I am alive. I am eager for the new day.
I am restless, on the cusp of something gloriously unidentifiable.
III
I want to be acknowledged, and you do that for me. Thanks.
IV
"Two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..."
We could have had each other, but we didn't.
Stupid fucking angry youths.
We grew up lost and lonely in a crowd, unprepared.
Get over it. He’s dead.
II
And when the morning comes, I breathe deep the crisp air
I am awake. I am alive. I am eager for the new day.
I am restless, on the cusp of something gloriously unidentifiable.
III
I want to be acknowledged, and you do that for me. Thanks.
IV
"Two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..."
We could have had each other, but we didn't.
Stupid fucking angry youths.
We grew up lost and lonely in a crowd, unprepared.
I
Unconditional love.
Not expecting anything in return.
There is no judging or presumption,
No control.
Only the longing and restlessness,
And acceptance of reality.
II
There’s something looming in the shadows.
Changing and growing and seeking meaning.
Who am I if not the essence of my change?
And how do I identify that exactly?
III
I realize, now,
In this time and place,
That it is my heart breaking,
Breaking over me. It always has been
And I could never stop it.
I long to matter
In the grand scope of things,
And I am afraid.
IV
In the flesh
And an ache so deep.
I would break my own heart to save yours.
V
All cataclysmic years end in 3...when I molt and emerge, ten years later and the last seems almost...bearable.
Unconditional love.
Not expecting anything in return.
There is no judging or presumption,
No control.
Only the longing and restlessness,
And acceptance of reality.
II
There’s something looming in the shadows.
Changing and growing and seeking meaning.
Who am I if not the essence of my change?
And how do I identify that exactly?
III
I realize, now,
In this time and place,
That it is my heart breaking,
Breaking over me. It always has been
And I could never stop it.
I long to matter
In the grand scope of things,
And I am afraid.
IV
In the flesh
And an ache so deep.
I would break my own heart to save yours.
V
All cataclysmic years end in 3...when I molt and emerge, ten years later and the last seems almost...bearable.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
I
You put my hand to your heart.
It was beating fast and you were breathing rapidly.
I swallowed deeply, almost choking.
"Faster, pussycat, kill, kill."
And I pulled my hand away.
II
And what of my love hate with Tuesday? That was a Friday.
III
And I stepped lightly out of my depths
and out of my mind...
and not nearly twice as beautiful as the nearest rainbow.
Oh, god, the touch of flesh, the smell of skin.
The taste of the morning dew as I breathe deep, nostrils flaring.
And in my palm, lightly cupped, giving,
I lean closely into a brave new world.
IV
Sleek and lean, she prowls
and the prey fights back - only sometimes.
She cleans her paws and basks in the sun,
sated, fat and full.
You put my hand to your heart.
It was beating fast and you were breathing rapidly.
I swallowed deeply, almost choking.
"Faster, pussycat, kill, kill."
And I pulled my hand away.
II
And what of my love hate with Tuesday? That was a Friday.
III
And I stepped lightly out of my depths
and out of my mind...
and not nearly twice as beautiful as the nearest rainbow.
Oh, god, the touch of flesh, the smell of skin.
The taste of the morning dew as I breathe deep, nostrils flaring.
And in my palm, lightly cupped, giving,
I lean closely into a brave new world.
IV
Sleek and lean, she prowls
and the prey fights back - only sometimes.
She cleans her paws and basks in the sun,
sated, fat and full.
I
Ah, you boys, your flattery delights me,
thrills me to no end.
I'm glad you look deeper, and see me,
and like me anyway.
(I share myself rarely with few.)
Like me even for my love of lust
and destruction and
absolution. Even for my imperfections.
Today, I am acknowledged.
II
Thank you, I like you for you too.
Ah, you boys, your flattery delights me,
thrills me to no end.
I'm glad you look deeper, and see me,
and like me anyway.
(I share myself rarely with few.)
Like me even for my love of lust
and destruction and
absolution. Even for my imperfections.
Today, I am acknowledged.
II
Thank you, I like you for you too.
I
If you seek
The depth of her
You will find
A cold steel ball.
Where the stillness calls
And the darkness flows
And blood drips into pools below.
She, the keeper, and
She, the guardian, and
She, the mistress of the ball.
II
I danced today,
In lightness of step
Feeling absolutely,
One-hundred percent
Gloriously beautiful.
If you seek
The depth of her
You will find
A cold steel ball.
Where the stillness calls
And the darkness flows
And blood drips into pools below.
She, the keeper, and
She, the guardian, and
She, the mistress of the ball.
II
I danced today,
In lightness of step
Feeling absolutely,
One-hundred percent
Gloriously beautiful.
Monday, July 28, 2003
I
You don't ever mind
Garlic, onions or sweat.
You kiss me anyway
And I let you.
II
You thrill me to no end.
III
The shadows ebb and flow,
Gently crawling, through
Twilight as the dreamscape fades
And I am restless
IV
Hovering
Almost, but not quite
Yet discernable.
Then a spark;
An idea, a thought, a dream
And it was there all along
Inside me, waiting
Simply to be acknowledged.
You don't ever mind
Garlic, onions or sweat.
You kiss me anyway
And I let you.
II
You thrill me to no end.
III
The shadows ebb and flow,
Gently crawling, through
Twilight as the dreamscape fades
And I am restless
IV
Hovering
Almost, but not quite
Yet discernable.
Then a spark;
An idea, a thought, a dream
And it was there all along
Inside me, waiting
Simply to be acknowledged.
Sunday, July 27, 2003
What do I want to write? Something different. Something fresh. Something real. Something entertaining. Something Peach...and I'm gonna do it. I just started and I'm apprehensive about putting these things on paper...it'll be called, "Raising Myself from Scratch; Memoirs of a Texas Peach." or something like that. And it scares the shit out of me to write it. Here’s a brief excerpt of the very rough draft...
"First let me say that this is fiction. Oh, it’s a true story alright, some of it. It’s just that memory and perception, well, aren’t always accurate. I knew this, have always known this, but the first time I truly realized it was in speaking with my mother one time. As I recall, she wondered when we stopped being such good friends. My non-committal replies obviously didn’t satisfy her on this one. And yes, I heard her, but didn’t want to bring up my sixteenth birthday when I didn’t get jack-shit, but we went shopping and spent a cool few grand on her, running up the credit cards just before the divorce. It was 1986 for Christ’s sake, mom, the clothes sucked! Needing time to chill out, I asked her to repeat the questions, but she became terse. Of course I bit back with sarcasm and replied that it was probably around the time I turned three years old, mom. That led to a blissful quiet that lasted several years."
"First let me say that this is fiction. Oh, it’s a true story alright, some of it. It’s just that memory and perception, well, aren’t always accurate. I knew this, have always known this, but the first time I truly realized it was in speaking with my mother one time. As I recall, she wondered when we stopped being such good friends. My non-committal replies obviously didn’t satisfy her on this one. And yes, I heard her, but didn’t want to bring up my sixteenth birthday when I didn’t get jack-shit, but we went shopping and spent a cool few grand on her, running up the credit cards just before the divorce. It was 1986 for Christ’s sake, mom, the clothes sucked! Needing time to chill out, I asked her to repeat the questions, but she became terse. Of course I bit back with sarcasm and replied that it was probably around the time I turned three years old, mom. That led to a blissful quiet that lasted several years."
Saturday, July 26, 2003
The Dreams Are Vivid
***
My older brother, who is younger than I, sat across the room and spoke meekly, “Can I have a coke?”
“What kind,” I say, “You want a regular coke?”
“Yeah, just Coke.”
I dug change from the bottom of my purse where it spilled from my wallet the day before when I paid the parking fee. I left to fetch his drink, and vaguely recalled the drinks were sixty cents and that I could get a root beer for myself. The machines at work never had root beer. The drinks were cold, my hand numbing from the long walk.
“Well, I need ice,” he said, sitting across the room, staring hard at me.
“You need ice,” I said to the wall. I poured the water from the plastic hospital pitcher that couldn’t keep snow cold outside in winter, rinsed his cup while I was at it, and then headed back down the hall for ice.
I carried plenty of cash in my purse; hadn’t done that in years, not since we cut back on eating out, and not since we started using the cash card for everything in order to record our expenses. Cash always spent too easy, but it was mostly singles for parking and cokes, or an occasional bite to eat for myself.
***
You lay frightened in the bed, barely lucid, eyes staring wide. I never wanted to be strong. I wanted to crumble and fall. I’ve been weary, tired of dealing and coping with the hardships of life, but I rose, stiff from sitting, knees drawn close by aching arms, and I went to you, wondering what you must be thinking…
***
There’s a lady beside my bed, smiling calmly. I think I know her. Yes, yes, I do know her. “You’re shirt’s purple”. No, that isn’t what I meant at all.
“Yep, that’s right,” she says. She smiles pretty, with her eyes and with her lips. She looks happy. She grins funny, with her teeth, stretching her mouth wide, and I grin back. Her shirt’s my favorite color.
“You’re my sister. You’re a girl.”
“Right again, buddy boy. How you doin’ there, huh?”
“You want some coke?” the man asks. I forgot that he was there beside me and I have to think hard. It’s important that I remember him, “You’re my father, right?”
The lady answers for him and I look at her face again, “Coke?”
“Here ya go,” the mans says, and I watch the lady smile while my mouth tries to find the straw.
***
You lay frightened in the bed, barely lucid, eyes staring wide. I came upon you once, screaming to the empty room.
***
I sat in a corner watching you, but mostly stood, leaning on the bed rail, holding your hand. Your brow and nose shone with weeks of neglect and I washed my hands again. Looking in the mirror, feeling guilty, I wet a washcloth and patted and stroked your face. The hospice nurse said you already knew, but it was good to say aloud. And while Daddy watched you, I knew his words wouldn’t come. I talked close and spoke so soft, I wondered if you could hear me at all through your staring gaze. I told you that the doctor wanted to stop dialysis, that it wasn’t working, that without it, your kidney would fail and without your kidney, your heart would stop. I asked you if you understood and saw the tears roll from your dull, flat eyes. I gave you what I could and told you not to worry, that I would take care of everyone. I tried. I recalled a few days previous when you looked at me with all the wonder and delight of a child, and you knew me in a way. But I didn’t know it was already too late then and I grew tired and exhausted and knew I needed to sleep, “Don’t wait for me Bubba, okay?…you go when you need to go.” I said and touched your hand. I was hesitant to leave you, but I slept deeply. The phone rang and I didn’t need to know. You left early that next morning. I looked at my husband and he at me and hung up the phone. I turned, sleeping longer and deeper. Daddy would be home and we would both need coffee. I had done what I could and it was his turn.
***
I sometimes wonder if you’re on that beach I gave you. Warm sand, warm sun, cool breezes, and clear blue ocean. A peaceful place, the only one I had to share. I visit in my dreams now and then, but I never see you.
***
My older brother, who is younger than I, sat across the room and spoke meekly, “Can I have a coke?”
“What kind,” I say, “You want a regular coke?”
“Yeah, just Coke.”
I dug change from the bottom of my purse where it spilled from my wallet the day before when I paid the parking fee. I left to fetch his drink, and vaguely recalled the drinks were sixty cents and that I could get a root beer for myself. The machines at work never had root beer. The drinks were cold, my hand numbing from the long walk.
“Well, I need ice,” he said, sitting across the room, staring hard at me.
“You need ice,” I said to the wall. I poured the water from the plastic hospital pitcher that couldn’t keep snow cold outside in winter, rinsed his cup while I was at it, and then headed back down the hall for ice.
I carried plenty of cash in my purse; hadn’t done that in years, not since we cut back on eating out, and not since we started using the cash card for everything in order to record our expenses. Cash always spent too easy, but it was mostly singles for parking and cokes, or an occasional bite to eat for myself.
***
You lay frightened in the bed, barely lucid, eyes staring wide. I never wanted to be strong. I wanted to crumble and fall. I’ve been weary, tired of dealing and coping with the hardships of life, but I rose, stiff from sitting, knees drawn close by aching arms, and I went to you, wondering what you must be thinking…
***
There’s a lady beside my bed, smiling calmly. I think I know her. Yes, yes, I do know her. “You’re shirt’s purple”. No, that isn’t what I meant at all.
“Yep, that’s right,” she says. She smiles pretty, with her eyes and with her lips. She looks happy. She grins funny, with her teeth, stretching her mouth wide, and I grin back. Her shirt’s my favorite color.
“You’re my sister. You’re a girl.”
“Right again, buddy boy. How you doin’ there, huh?”
“You want some coke?” the man asks. I forgot that he was there beside me and I have to think hard. It’s important that I remember him, “You’re my father, right?”
The lady answers for him and I look at her face again, “Coke?”
“Here ya go,” the mans says, and I watch the lady smile while my mouth tries to find the straw.
***
You lay frightened in the bed, barely lucid, eyes staring wide. I came upon you once, screaming to the empty room.
***
I sat in a corner watching you, but mostly stood, leaning on the bed rail, holding your hand. Your brow and nose shone with weeks of neglect and I washed my hands again. Looking in the mirror, feeling guilty, I wet a washcloth and patted and stroked your face. The hospice nurse said you already knew, but it was good to say aloud. And while Daddy watched you, I knew his words wouldn’t come. I talked close and spoke so soft, I wondered if you could hear me at all through your staring gaze. I told you that the doctor wanted to stop dialysis, that it wasn’t working, that without it, your kidney would fail and without your kidney, your heart would stop. I asked you if you understood and saw the tears roll from your dull, flat eyes. I gave you what I could and told you not to worry, that I would take care of everyone. I tried. I recalled a few days previous when you looked at me with all the wonder and delight of a child, and you knew me in a way. But I didn’t know it was already too late then and I grew tired and exhausted and knew I needed to sleep, “Don’t wait for me Bubba, okay?…you go when you need to go.” I said and touched your hand. I was hesitant to leave you, but I slept deeply. The phone rang and I didn’t need to know. You left early that next morning. I looked at my husband and he at me and hung up the phone. I turned, sleeping longer and deeper. Daddy would be home and we would both need coffee. I had done what I could and it was his turn.
***
I sometimes wonder if you’re on that beach I gave you. Warm sand, warm sun, cool breezes, and clear blue ocean. A peaceful place, the only one I had to share. I visit in my dreams now and then, but I never see you.
I
There's that expression
And you're suddenly
Out of the moment
70 miles per hour.
I don't have to know
(A lull in the traffic
And silence fills the
Lapse.)
What you're thinking,
Only that you are.
II
My autobiography title will be, "How do you raise yourself from scratch?"
My eulogy will be, "She lived not too quietly."
III
Teach me to dance,
Beat, deep and pounding, rush.
And I will come alive.
IV
The white peach
Famed the most sweet,
Here, they grow
And bleed into a deep red crush.
True southern girls
Are just born to it.
There's that expression
And you're suddenly
Out of the moment
70 miles per hour.
I don't have to know
(A lull in the traffic
And silence fills the
Lapse.)
What you're thinking,
Only that you are.
II
My autobiography title will be, "How do you raise yourself from scratch?"
My eulogy will be, "She lived not too quietly."
III
Teach me to dance,
Beat, deep and pounding, rush.
And I will come alive.
IV
The white peach
Famed the most sweet,
Here, they grow
And bleed into a deep red crush.
True southern girls
Are just born to it.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
I
Today, I
Laughed deeply and heartily
Today, I
Smiled genuinely.
Today, I
Took not one, but two deep breaths,
And chose to rise above them all.
And therefore, tomorrow, I
Shall do more than persevere.
II
If I can have but one brief kiss or touch or smile, I will last the day. If the day passes and I do without, I will say, ah, well, there's always tomorrow.
Today, I
Laughed deeply and heartily
Today, I
Smiled genuinely.
Today, I
Took not one, but two deep breaths,
And chose to rise above them all.
And therefore, tomorrow, I
Shall do more than persevere.
II
If I can have but one brief kiss or touch or smile, I will last the day. If the day passes and I do without, I will say, ah, well, there's always tomorrow.
I
You catch me off guard when my mind is elsewhere. (Isn't it always elsewhere?) And just that single second in time thrills me. Then as the heat settles into a deep red crush, I fan my face. The moment is complete and we move on to the rest of the day.
II
Silence. Verbally non-adroit. My fingers bleed with words my tongue cannot form. I communcate in other ways. Expressing joy, I revel in a heightened sense of touch, smell, taste, the sight of you.
You catch me off guard when my mind is elsewhere. (Isn't it always elsewhere?) And just that single second in time thrills me. Then as the heat settles into a deep red crush, I fan my face. The moment is complete and we move on to the rest of the day.
II
Silence. Verbally non-adroit. My fingers bleed with words my tongue cannot form. I communcate in other ways. Expressing joy, I revel in a heightened sense of touch, smell, taste, the sight of you.
Maybe the recognition is enough and actions are unnecessary? Maybe I'm a coward making excuses. Either way, I move forward and into the next day. On one hand my middle name is perseverence and adversity. I must have really fucked up in my last life, because I'm paying for it in this one. On the other hand, heaven is a whole in the heart of desire and I awake gladly into the new day. So it's a wash. And I'll take it.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
I
I Turn, face to the warm, bright sun
That fades into the cool night of
Goodbyes and fleeting shadows.
The firm earth supports me.
II
If you ever reach the core of me,
There’s a stillness, a quiet.
Pray, turn away, and run.
For all my cool flesh and softness
The emotions, the bruising easily,
Is simply the meat of the fruit,
Sweetness and pure bravado.
Deep inside lies a seed sown,
An old soul, tired and
Weary of the world.
A hard core.
III
You came and went this morning. I never saw you, but you left behind a warm towel and I pressed my face to it, breathing deep.
I Turn, face to the warm, bright sun
That fades into the cool night of
Goodbyes and fleeting shadows.
The firm earth supports me.
II
If you ever reach the core of me,
There’s a stillness, a quiet.
Pray, turn away, and run.
For all my cool flesh and softness
The emotions, the bruising easily,
Is simply the meat of the fruit,
Sweetness and pure bravado.
Deep inside lies a seed sown,
An old soul, tired and
Weary of the world.
A hard core.
III
You came and went this morning. I never saw you, but you left behind a warm towel and I pressed my face to it, breathing deep.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
I
Did I use you
to kill the pain?
to redirect the focus?
If so, I need more.
II
So, really, can you have a permanant or long lasting relationship that's part-time, now and then?
Cause I care for you a lot, but I don't want more than we've had. Just longer lasting.
I like the way you make me think outside myself.
III
I don't need time or space - that just gives me the opportunity to think.
IV
I've slipped into a cool funk, but dragging myself back.
Did I use you
to kill the pain?
to redirect the focus?
If so, I need more.
II
So, really, can you have a permanant or long lasting relationship that's part-time, now and then?
Cause I care for you a lot, but I don't want more than we've had. Just longer lasting.
I like the way you make me think outside myself.
III
I don't need time or space - that just gives me the opportunity to think.
IV
I've slipped into a cool funk, but dragging myself back.
Capricorn: "It is important for you to not over-analyze every little detail of your situation at this time, dear Capricorn, especially when it comes to issues regarding love and romance. It could be that you are jumping to ridiculous conclusions based on purely circumstantial evidence. Don't lose sleep over things that you don't even know to be true. Release your stranglehold on certain issues, and concentrate on simply rebuilding your own self-confidence. " LMAO....sorry, but sometimes horoscopes and personality type assessments have a grain of truth...
I
Another fucking useles tuesday
hits me hard between the eyes;
But I see you first thing
and the simple sight of you
makes me smile.
II
Where you been Cynder Lynn?
You sure took a long time coming...
Hovering beneath the
surface, simmering silently.
Not like that girl I drug screaming
and kicking out into the
world, wide-eyed and unwilling.
Another fucking useles tuesday
hits me hard between the eyes;
But I see you first thing
and the simple sight of you
makes me smile.
II
Where you been Cynder Lynn?
You sure took a long time coming...
Hovering beneath the
surface, simmering silently.
Not like that girl I drug screaming
and kicking out into the
world, wide-eyed and unwilling.
Monday, July 21, 2003
OK! I'm gonna be brave and give up something more than random thoughts...this is the shortest of my stories, so it's fairly flash...the last revision was in April...
Bruises
A few weeks ago I slipped stepping into the tub, landing bare-assed on the floor, right leg extended toward shiny white porcelain, bruising the bone and knotting desperately. A few days ago, I slipped while de-icing the car before work – work that ended up being closed the entire day, not just until noon – the other leg, not so big a knot. Cutting a corner too close at the café recently, molding striking soft flesh, barely missing the connection between leg and thigh, just tender to the touch. Back right calf, barely there, almost faded, left outside kneecap, two places –I hadn’t noticed them before today. Should I circle them and make a notation in permanent ink – tub, doorframe, side of fireplace, dog. Or start a diary – dear diary, turned too quick while standing still, hit x with y, x much harder, resulting in level one bruise. I wonder does my husband notice them as he runs cool fingers along too hot flesh. He never mentions them. He doesn’t wear his glasses when we sleep, though; they just get in the way.
I think of my grandmother and of her arms, soft and fleshy, sleeveless against the morning chill; later in life, her skin became paper-thin, only two layers, the material touching too close, bruising, cool baths, Ivory Gentle Flakes. I should have paid attention more, maybe… My grandfather noticed, we were reminded with a soft reprimand each visit – you know mother bruises easy, watch her condition, now – and we would hug her gently at arms length. The house remained – probably until her death – aglow in a burnished orange haze, the curtains never opened and never replaced. She would don dark glasses when stepping onto the long porch in the early evening shadows, rarely approaching the steps. Steps where, until the age of ten, I drank Cokes in green glass bottles and ate Moonpies from the wrapper. Bare legs extended and face toward the sun, I would bask in the warmth of it all. It would be more than ten years before my father and his father reconciled. It would be another ten before my brother and father reconciled. I wondered what other unseen bruises had been carried by my grandmother besides transgressions of which I was vaguely aware.
I sported marks on the back of both arms from allergy shots for almost a year; each arm, twice then once a week, alternating pollen and mold by the arm – pollen was the bruiser. People asked, I told them. Stress last fall resulted in a slight irregularity, they took blood, and the needle left a creeping bruise in the crease of my elbow. People asked, I told them. There are others of varying depths and color that lay unseen by the naked eye, I wear these on my sleeve sometimes and in my eyes, my heart breaking with deep regret and sadness and loss; crying in my car every morning for four months, tears spilling to sad songs that made me think too much, my father’s big eyes, helpless beside me as we watched without recourse. Seeing eyes could never know my last words before I left my brother to die that night – left to die without me.
I wonder how something so innocent as life can be taken so cruelly; why people are how they are, their actions, their motives, and I wonder if their bruises, like mine, are hidden deep, just below the surface, each an island unto themselves, eaten away by the ebbing tide, but always there.
Bruises
A few weeks ago I slipped stepping into the tub, landing bare-assed on the floor, right leg extended toward shiny white porcelain, bruising the bone and knotting desperately. A few days ago, I slipped while de-icing the car before work – work that ended up being closed the entire day, not just until noon – the other leg, not so big a knot. Cutting a corner too close at the café recently, molding striking soft flesh, barely missing the connection between leg and thigh, just tender to the touch. Back right calf, barely there, almost faded, left outside kneecap, two places –I hadn’t noticed them before today. Should I circle them and make a notation in permanent ink – tub, doorframe, side of fireplace, dog. Or start a diary – dear diary, turned too quick while standing still, hit x with y, x much harder, resulting in level one bruise. I wonder does my husband notice them as he runs cool fingers along too hot flesh. He never mentions them. He doesn’t wear his glasses when we sleep, though; they just get in the way.
I think of my grandmother and of her arms, soft and fleshy, sleeveless against the morning chill; later in life, her skin became paper-thin, only two layers, the material touching too close, bruising, cool baths, Ivory Gentle Flakes. I should have paid attention more, maybe… My grandfather noticed, we were reminded with a soft reprimand each visit – you know mother bruises easy, watch her condition, now – and we would hug her gently at arms length. The house remained – probably until her death – aglow in a burnished orange haze, the curtains never opened and never replaced. She would don dark glasses when stepping onto the long porch in the early evening shadows, rarely approaching the steps. Steps where, until the age of ten, I drank Cokes in green glass bottles and ate Moonpies from the wrapper. Bare legs extended and face toward the sun, I would bask in the warmth of it all. It would be more than ten years before my father and his father reconciled. It would be another ten before my brother and father reconciled. I wondered what other unseen bruises had been carried by my grandmother besides transgressions of which I was vaguely aware.
I sported marks on the back of both arms from allergy shots for almost a year; each arm, twice then once a week, alternating pollen and mold by the arm – pollen was the bruiser. People asked, I told them. Stress last fall resulted in a slight irregularity, they took blood, and the needle left a creeping bruise in the crease of my elbow. People asked, I told them. There are others of varying depths and color that lay unseen by the naked eye, I wear these on my sleeve sometimes and in my eyes, my heart breaking with deep regret and sadness and loss; crying in my car every morning for four months, tears spilling to sad songs that made me think too much, my father’s big eyes, helpless beside me as we watched without recourse. Seeing eyes could never know my last words before I left my brother to die that night – left to die without me.
I wonder how something so innocent as life can be taken so cruelly; why people are how they are, their actions, their motives, and I wonder if their bruises, like mine, are hidden deep, just below the surface, each an island unto themselves, eaten away by the ebbing tide, but always there.
Once, I walked along side Hope, the white buffalo. I would run my fingers through her course pelt and speak to her in gutteral tones. I hung from bone and sinew that ripped at the tender flesh of my chest and contemplated the great spirit. I ran with the wind, and fell like a stone when the whites came. I was a man, a warrior, and I died along side the river listening to the cry of women and children. I have been a women since, I am a woman now. But sometimes I dream of running wild and free and I wake to the smell of long meadow grass, and know sadness for the death of Hope.
Upon the evening of my demise, the birds slowed in the sky, a hovering stillness. And silence grew to defening porportions. All I knew was the beating of your heart and the pulsing of your veins. All that engulfed was the darkness and a deep seeded hunger that burned with the taste on your lips and the grazing of teeth.
I
I will never deny you
Words or food
Or the smallest piece of me
That bit there
Between desire and need
II
Peaches are best in the summer months. Plump and sweet when juice runs down tanned skin. How else would you eat a peach except greedily? Hungrily, as if there were no other delight in the world.
III
When did my nipples grow larger, my breasts heavier, my hips take on flesh. When did I become beautiful in my own right, comfortable in my own skin? And was it about that time or later that I grew restless? Later, I think, much later - after sadness, after dispair, and but certainly just before I met you.
I will never deny you
Words or food
Or the smallest piece of me
That bit there
Between desire and need
II
Peaches are best in the summer months. Plump and sweet when juice runs down tanned skin. How else would you eat a peach except greedily? Hungrily, as if there were no other delight in the world.
III
When did my nipples grow larger, my breasts heavier, my hips take on flesh. When did I become beautiful in my own right, comfortable in my own skin? And was it about that time or later that I grew restless? Later, I think, much later - after sadness, after dispair, and but certainly just before I met you.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
June poems for robert...
I
When you left,
you left a hole
I anticipated your return
I would lie awake nights
as the air turned cool
And the trees shed their tender skin
I wept most days
but still no you
I gave you my beach
in your dying days
And I think of you there,
Toes sucking sand
cool breezes drifting out to aquamarine horizons
Surrounded by golden boys
Laughing and playing
eyes bright and smiling at me
As I embrace myself
and try to breed
As I grasp life with no intention but to live and know
II
You will never again know the touch of soft, tender, silent lips treading silent kisses across your arm, or the look of need, whispering softly, indiscernible over inebriate desire. You took desire in life. I can only hope you find peace in death.
II
Thanos courted me as a child
But I was not afraid, and will never deny what was
I can only hope you lie in his gentle embrace,
Loved as I was, purely for my soul
Undated June poems...
I
I step outside myself and into the bright sunlight.
Breathing deep the smell of you,
Savoring the touch, the taste,
I pause to wonder just how long we could have made June last.
II
I love
My southern summers with their heat
And the sound of cicada waxing, waning.
I love
Those lazy, languid days when desire throbs
Unrequited and the coolness of your skin burns.
I love
The soft flesh of your lips pressed against me
And the flush that creeps steadily, intensely, deeper.
I love
Unknowingly as my heart aches in silent splinters, unspoken,
Unacknowledged, held at arms length, forced into the depths of
Never-Never, gone the way of fairy kings, softly into that good night.
III
“And he toucheth hir wombe ful softe”
Januarie to May, Chaucer's Merchant's Tale
I
When you left,
you left a hole
I anticipated your return
I would lie awake nights
as the air turned cool
And the trees shed their tender skin
I wept most days
but still no you
I gave you my beach
in your dying days
And I think of you there,
Toes sucking sand
cool breezes drifting out to aquamarine horizons
Surrounded by golden boys
Laughing and playing
eyes bright and smiling at me
As I embrace myself
and try to breed
As I grasp life with no intention but to live and know
II
You will never again know the touch of soft, tender, silent lips treading silent kisses across your arm, or the look of need, whispering softly, indiscernible over inebriate desire. You took desire in life. I can only hope you find peace in death.
II
Thanos courted me as a child
But I was not afraid, and will never deny what was
I can only hope you lie in his gentle embrace,
Loved as I was, purely for my soul
Undated June poems...
I
I step outside myself and into the bright sunlight.
Breathing deep the smell of you,
Savoring the touch, the taste,
I pause to wonder just how long we could have made June last.
II
I love
My southern summers with their heat
And the sound of cicada waxing, waning.
I love
Those lazy, languid days when desire throbs
Unrequited and the coolness of your skin burns.
I love
The soft flesh of your lips pressed against me
And the flush that creeps steadily, intensely, deeper.
I love
Unknowingly as my heart aches in silent splinters, unspoken,
Unacknowledged, held at arms length, forced into the depths of
Never-Never, gone the way of fairy kings, softly into that good night.
III
“And he toucheth hir wombe ful softe”
Januarie to May, Chaucer's Merchant's Tale
Portraits
DANI
Sadness filled the dark room where Dani Lynn sat. The silence engulfed her as the screen glowed harsh against her faded tan and short blonde hair. But even working couldn’t take her mind off him. With every word she wrote, her thoughts turned. Every sentence. Every breath. She wanted to reach out and touch his heart. His mind. She wanted those things that would never be hers. She dressed for him on any day she thought brought hope, and she sighed most nights, lovelorn.
Dani had his flesh, though, and yet not completely. She could never adorn him with the marks she ached to leave. She could never have him in the abundance she craved. She thought too often of his flesh. Warm and smooth beneath her hands, stirring and hard beneath her mouth. It excited her to have her mouth on him, pulling and tugging, sucking. It excited her, his quickness to come, his appreciation of her gentle, imperfect curves. It excited her and left her wanting. He was also quick to leave.
Dani didn’t kid herself. She knew she would never walk with him hand in hand beneath the glorious sun, the soft sounds of summer drifting on the too warm breeze. She would never look at him longingly, openly for the world to see. Or lean back into his warm embrace for comfort. Her desire for him was hers alone, and she would hold it close and keep it safe, guard it well. Caressingly, lovingly, she would bring it out on those starry nights, and touch herself while thoughts of him drifted hazily off into a softly muttered, oh. And then silence would again engulf her.
No, Dani didn’t kid herself, but took what he allowed and was thankful. He brought her to the brink and she was afraid to lose even a single instance of feeling alive.
Dani turned toward the bed and slid beneath the cool fresh sheets, and touched her husband’s warm back. She pulled the linens close and huddled tightly on the edge of the bed and slept fitfully, dreaming of the unknown.
VERA
Vera sometimes thinks of her brother, not the one she grew up with, but the one her mother miscarried the year before she was born. She feels bound to him, that she may be leading his life, that if he had survived, Vera herself, never would have been, that it’s not her mother’s Murphy blood that continually thwarts her, but his fate – interrupting.
He haunts her dreams and many waking moments. He has for years. And yet, there is the briefest occasion when she sees him so clearly she could weep. His name is Sadness, Remorse, Despair, and her love for him is unbearable, unshakable, and even palpable at times.
He kisses Vera on the cheek and her heart bleeds for the touch of him. She wakes, to too cool flesh still responding to the heat of his touch, and ponders Freud, and though he reminds her of her father, tall and lithe with dark hair and the sallow skin of the Portugese, yet he does not necessarily have the look of him. And what did Freud say of women? We are the non-entities.
DANI
Sadness filled the dark room where Dani Lynn sat. The silence engulfed her as the screen glowed harsh against her faded tan and short blonde hair. But even working couldn’t take her mind off him. With every word she wrote, her thoughts turned. Every sentence. Every breath. She wanted to reach out and touch his heart. His mind. She wanted those things that would never be hers. She dressed for him on any day she thought brought hope, and she sighed most nights, lovelorn.
Dani had his flesh, though, and yet not completely. She could never adorn him with the marks she ached to leave. She could never have him in the abundance she craved. She thought too often of his flesh. Warm and smooth beneath her hands, stirring and hard beneath her mouth. It excited her to have her mouth on him, pulling and tugging, sucking. It excited her, his quickness to come, his appreciation of her gentle, imperfect curves. It excited her and left her wanting. He was also quick to leave.
Dani didn’t kid herself. She knew she would never walk with him hand in hand beneath the glorious sun, the soft sounds of summer drifting on the too warm breeze. She would never look at him longingly, openly for the world to see. Or lean back into his warm embrace for comfort. Her desire for him was hers alone, and she would hold it close and keep it safe, guard it well. Caressingly, lovingly, she would bring it out on those starry nights, and touch herself while thoughts of him drifted hazily off into a softly muttered, oh. And then silence would again engulf her.
No, Dani didn’t kid herself, but took what he allowed and was thankful. He brought her to the brink and she was afraid to lose even a single instance of feeling alive.
Dani turned toward the bed and slid beneath the cool fresh sheets, and touched her husband’s warm back. She pulled the linens close and huddled tightly on the edge of the bed and slept fitfully, dreaming of the unknown.
VERA
Vera sometimes thinks of her brother, not the one she grew up with, but the one her mother miscarried the year before she was born. She feels bound to him, that she may be leading his life, that if he had survived, Vera herself, never would have been, that it’s not her mother’s Murphy blood that continually thwarts her, but his fate – interrupting.
He haunts her dreams and many waking moments. He has for years. And yet, there is the briefest occasion when she sees him so clearly she could weep. His name is Sadness, Remorse, Despair, and her love for him is unbearable, unshakable, and even palpable at times.
He kisses Vera on the cheek and her heart bleeds for the touch of him. She wakes, to too cool flesh still responding to the heat of his touch, and ponders Freud, and though he reminds her of her father, tall and lithe with dark hair and the sallow skin of the Portugese, yet he does not necessarily have the look of him. And what did Freud say of women? We are the non-entities.
Here's an email I have recieved:
To: HRH_peach@yahoo.com
Subject: nice page
Date: Sun, 20 Jul 2003 09:50:41 -0500
You like to use the word fuck…..hehehehehe
[LOUS] :Sch: Kernlicious [L]
"Quod sum eris"
WELL! dear kernilicious, thanks for your feedback. I can't wait to get a comments seection so that we can discuss things more easily. Yeah, I like to use the word FUCK a lot. First, it's one of my few addictionsand favorite passtimes...that, books, steak, coffee and avocados, sustain me through this hellish life. Further more, I like to drive fast, play my music loud AND cuss, often, and usually at the same time. Makes me feel good. My favorite phrase right now, is "stupidfuckingdillhole". What's yours? ~peach
p.s. I can't spell or type worth a shit, so if you'd like to comment on that...oh, wait, no, that's right, you can FUCK OFF!
tootles, peach!
To: HRH_peach@yahoo.com
Subject: nice page
Date: Sun, 20 Jul 2003 09:50:41 -0500
You like to use the word fuck…..hehehehehe
[LOUS] :Sch: Kernlicious [L]
"Quod sum eris"
WELL! dear kernilicious, thanks for your feedback. I can't wait to get a comments seection so that we can discuss things more easily. Yeah, I like to use the word FUCK a lot. First, it's one of my few addictionsand favorite passtimes...that, books, steak, coffee and avocados, sustain me through this hellish life. Further more, I like to drive fast, play my music loud AND cuss, often, and usually at the same time. Makes me feel good. My favorite phrase right now, is "stupidfuckingdillhole". What's yours? ~peach
p.s. I can't spell or type worth a shit, so if you'd like to comment on that...oh, wait, no, that's right, you can FUCK OFF!
tootles, peach!
Everywhere I go I see your face. I look for you in the crowd. I thought I saw you online once in someone’s part pics, wide-eyed and frightened. It of course wasn’t you. We buried you in the rain. Sweet smells of damp, fresh turned soil. We stood beneath the new cement and tin-roofed pavilion in March. The iris on your coffin were beautiful and deep, just enough for your boys to take one each. And Daddy came home twice that year, each time lost. No father should have to bury his son. No sister should have to watch her brother die in pain. But we did, and we live on. I gave the boys your things and left the rest. I have your high school ring and wear it sometimes, the emerald starburst shining and deep, mesmeric. We had our trials and tribulations. Once you came clean, we even had our talks, and learned not to judge. ~I love you, bubba, peach.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
Here's a little flash prose and poety. Gonna try to get June's stuff in. ~peach
July 17th
I
Oh my pale rider
Thy dagger thrusts deep
And I have wasted your gift – desire.
Afraid, I took the well trod path.
That you chose me!
And my brother dead, my sister lost
Knew you, knows you,
But I turned my back on you,
And simply wept.
That I would know you again!
If you would but grasp my wrists
And fuck me hard until my soul bleeds.
II
Anger. Anger presses down.
I’m tired of feeling guilt
I want to see you bleed
And take the wound into my mouth.
Gently touching with tongue tip,
And suck you dry.
III
I wanna drag it out till the engine growls, high and mean. I wanna break you like a new toy.
IV
I step lightly into the tub, over the turned up waterbug.
“Hey!” I yell, “there’s a dead bug in here!”
“Well, pick it up!” Comes the reply.
And “Fuck you,” I mumble,
keeping my eye on it the whole time, expecting it to move, but it doesn’t.
V
So the Peach says,”Hy, baby, you wanna…”
Her skin glistens soft with superfine…
Then my thoughts turn elsewhere.
VI
The blade thrust deep. And as I pulled up and leaned in, a fine warm spray spread across my cheek. It was like bleeding a pig to butcher.
July 14th
I
My God? My God’ll fuck you up and spit you out and in the next breathe, bring you to heaven.
II
Back to me,
Framed in the door;
Lower back, thigh, buttock,
Smooth white flesh.
Then thoughtful, in repose,
Naked and divine
I come undone as
Restlessly, my heart swells.
July 10th
I
I’m Sorry, Bubba. You will never again touch skin like his or feel that deep red crush break your heart, but I’ve been trying to live lately – for the both of us and that boy the year before me that never was.
II
It’s a peaceful,
ennui sort of day,
spirits sink low.
III
Sweet, salty, slick and sweet, tongues touch and suckle as nipples grow taught. Wrap around me the long length of you; the depth and fire that sears…quenching, unrequited, free and gilted…in a sense…long, deep, hard, fleeting – while I smile broadly.
IV
I tremble,
Want to speak, but can’t.
I hear your words,
They caress me, excite me,
Affect me.
And when we’re done,
We’re done.
I touch your skin,
Smell the air,
You move on as I move past.
July 17th
I
Oh my pale rider
Thy dagger thrusts deep
And I have wasted your gift – desire.
Afraid, I took the well trod path.
That you chose me!
And my brother dead, my sister lost
Knew you, knows you,
But I turned my back on you,
And simply wept.
That I would know you again!
If you would but grasp my wrists
And fuck me hard until my soul bleeds.
II
Anger. Anger presses down.
I’m tired of feeling guilt
I want to see you bleed
And take the wound into my mouth.
Gently touching with tongue tip,
And suck you dry.
III
I wanna drag it out till the engine growls, high and mean. I wanna break you like a new toy.
IV
I step lightly into the tub, over the turned up waterbug.
“Hey!” I yell, “there’s a dead bug in here!”
“Well, pick it up!” Comes the reply.
And “Fuck you,” I mumble,
keeping my eye on it the whole time, expecting it to move, but it doesn’t.
V
So the Peach says,”Hy, baby, you wanna…”
Her skin glistens soft with superfine…
Then my thoughts turn elsewhere.
VI
The blade thrust deep. And as I pulled up and leaned in, a fine warm spray spread across my cheek. It was like bleeding a pig to butcher.
July 14th
I
My God? My God’ll fuck you up and spit you out and in the next breathe, bring you to heaven.
II
Back to me,
Framed in the door;
Lower back, thigh, buttock,
Smooth white flesh.
Then thoughtful, in repose,
Naked and divine
I come undone as
Restlessly, my heart swells.
July 10th
I
I’m Sorry, Bubba. You will never again touch skin like his or feel that deep red crush break your heart, but I’ve been trying to live lately – for the both of us and that boy the year before me that never was.
II
It’s a peaceful,
ennui sort of day,
spirits sink low.
III
Sweet, salty, slick and sweet, tongues touch and suckle as nipples grow taught. Wrap around me the long length of you; the depth and fire that sears…quenching, unrequited, free and gilted…in a sense…long, deep, hard, fleeting – while I smile broadly.
IV
I tremble,
Want to speak, but can’t.
I hear your words,
They caress me, excite me,
Affect me.
And when we’re done,
We’re done.
I touch your skin,
Smell the air,
You move on as I move past.
Capricorn: "There are days when you feel wonderful, without being able to attribute the feeling to any real event. Of course, your rational mind will search for a reason for your happiness. But if you count the number of times when you do things against your will or better judgment, it becomes obvious that logic and reason do not always apply to this world. Don't even try to understand, just enjoy, dear Capricorn!" - LOL! If you knew how much I have tried to rationalize things lately, and how much I have regretted doing so, you'd find this pretty amusing also. ~peach
Friday, July 18, 2003
Ruby Tuesday fell, say goodbye Blue Sky...
June came and went too fast
I was expecting it to last
At least through July
And hopefully into August
Yet as the weather turned,
So did June – overnight,
As I thought too much
And insisted I had been unfair
June capitulated quickly,
Just as I once had.
And now lost to the touch.
(Yet friend to me anew?)
I mourn, the withdrawal
Of that cool, warmth
The protests, waning into
A sinking depth. Loss.
I am angry at the stars
That made me,
That gave me desire and want,
And the cowardice of self-denial.
I am left lost,
Mourning, the cool kiss
Of breezes not yet touched
By my southern summer’s heat,
Putting June first, I
Wonder at what point
I lost July and…
Found no hope for August.
Yet I regret not June's loss,
Just that it came so quickly...
I savor only that bitter-sweet
And briefest glimpse I caught
Of you
June came and went too fast
I was expecting it to last
At least through July
And hopefully into August
Yet as the weather turned,
So did June – overnight,
As I thought too much
And insisted I had been unfair
June capitulated quickly,
Just as I once had.
And now lost to the touch.
(Yet friend to me anew?)
I mourn, the withdrawal
Of that cool, warmth
The protests, waning into
A sinking depth. Loss.
I am angry at the stars
That made me,
That gave me desire and want,
And the cowardice of self-denial.
I am left lost,
Mourning, the cool kiss
Of breezes not yet touched
By my southern summer’s heat,
Putting June first, I
Wonder at what point
I lost July and…
Found no hope for August.
Yet I regret not June's loss,
Just that it came so quickly...
I savor only that bitter-sweet
And briefest glimpse I caught
Of you
Fact and Fiction blur sometimes, one the basis for the other. If you know me - or think you know me - please don't take offense. And the "you" to whom I write may not be you, but someone else, or no one at all. What comes next will be the bleeding of my soul, and though you may find it very profound at times, you may also remark, "what the fuck does Peach mean here"? Really, it may not mean anything at all, or it may be the inarticulate expression of everything. ~peach