Thursday 31 December 2015

Safe place


February 12, 2007

The Hate List:

109.  How you made me feel like I’m difficult and crazy and no one else could ever put up with me.

Wednesday 30 December 2015

The sound and the fury


and I am thundering through
this what must be
shattering the glass with the howling
wind of disappointment wrapped
around me

because this is a study in endings
of our ending duly recorded but
eroded by time

yes I am alone
that is my tree on the hill
my grey sky to raise my muted
expectations to…

Tuesday 29 December 2015

Encroachment


December 23, 1991

Forgiveness infects a child slowly
as she watches her fantasy fall apart
as she watches reality explode into
slivers of melting ice.
Forgiveness comes slowly to her,
and she hates herself almost as much
as she hates you.

Monday 28 December 2015

The trouble with memory


            Kitty, however, was coping with her own sense of rejection.  In her four and a half years at the University of Wisconsin, she hadn’t seen one sign of anyone from the Interior.  If she didn’t still have the bracelet, she might have convinced herself that she’d dreamt the whole thing up.  She had even started to wonder if the bracelet came from some rummage sale she’d been to with her mother, and that she’d spun a fantastic story around, in her need to feel special.  The more time that passed since her last visit, the less real the Interior seemed, and the less she remembered about it.
            Sometimes in her dreams she could hear the King talking to her but, of course, she never saw his face.  Nor could she recall what the apartment looked like that she’d stayed in during her convalescence.  The much-faded scar where the Minister’s knife had gone into her side failed to jog her memory.  Even when Kitty went to visit the Minister’s grave, she found no marker, presumably because no one had known who he was.  Its absence only heightened her sense of unreality.  Not for the first time did she wish Jack could remember his trip there, if only for someone to validate her experience.  But she seemed fated to just forget more and more about the Interior until, somehow, it would cease to exist in her memory at all.

Sunday 27 December 2015

Belief


Stretch me across your rack, my love
turn tight the wheels
I will not cry
I will not cry 
since of course I should have known
that the moment I found the 
heart to bring you here
I would be so much more alone

Saturday 26 December 2015

Irony


But the peace which comes my love
there is no lock on the door
And now you can shut out nothing
let alone the memory of
the war
Some kind of peace now
one hell of a peace now
All bruised and tattered and sore
as long as it hurts less than the no-peace
you were forever crashing through
before

Friday 25 December 2015

Tomorrow and tomorrow


Back in her room, Kitty opened her jewellery box and took out the bracelet the King had given her.  For months she’d worn it every day, hoping the marble would glow again.  It never did.  The day she had taken it off she’d cried for hours.

Now, here in her dorm room, there was still sadness, tinged with the kind of loss she had hoped she’d never know again.  But as Kitty put the bracelet back in the jewellery box, she heard girls giggling down the hallway; she thought about Shruti, who she was meeting for dinner in the cafeteria, and of her classes that began next week.  She could only hope her new life would help her put the old one to rest once and for all.  

Thursday 24 December 2015

Happy Holidays!


And you can fly away, 
little girl...
what is eternity to you,
when you can fly away?

Wednesday 23 December 2015

Blurred


November 10, 1993

I am having a moment where I know
I am having a moment that reminds me
that no language can translate the silence
of letting go

Tuesday 22 December 2015

The end unexpected


At the gate his father clapped him on the shoulder with a gnarled, weathered hand.  “Son,” he said, “you know I don’t approve.  The Light knows I can’t trust the other boys to take over the pig farm when I’m gone—they’ll probably sell it to those damn butchers on the other side of the family.  But as my own pappy used to say, when the piglets escape through a hole in the fence, you just have to trust that they’ll come back before a wolf gets them.  So that’s what I’m going to do with you.  I’m going to trust you’ll come home before a wolf gets you.  Or a bear.  Or one of them other weird creatures out there.”

Struggling to keep the quaver out of his voice, Bert answered, “Thanks, Pa.  That’s very decent of you.”

“Good boy.  Oh, and wait.”  His father began fussing with a bulky burlap bag.  “I didn’t want to send you away empty-handed against the orcs, so take this.  Whenever you use it, think of us.  And the pigs.  They’ll be missing you, too.”

From the sack Bert’s father produced a battered dustbin lid—the one, judging from its smell, that had been used to cover the dung.  He handed it to Bert.

“No, Pa, it’s too much-"

“You take it, son.  We’ll just cover the bin with one of Ed’s old sweaters."

Bert nodded, his eyes brimming with tears.  “I’ll use it with pride, Pa.”

“The Light bless you, son.  Now off you get.  We’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done killing orcs.”

Overcome with emotion, and clutching his dustbin lid, Bert opened the pasture gate.  He could hear his father start shuffling back down the road to the family farm as Bert himself stepped into a brave new world.  Determination, glory, and destiny would be his only constants now.

Five years later he was found dancing naked in a pub in Goldshire.

Monday 21 December 2015

Offerings

December 8, 1991

It seems dark, consuming
I just did not know mercy could hide
within this inky cloak.

The driftwood keeps knocking in my head
death toll for who I was
traitor with nowhere to hide
ceramic vase broken
where I stored something
and it is something
something loud, violent, and very much alive
tapped until the crack first appeared
encouraged, tapped a little more
and a little more and a little more
and smelling daylight
dealt the crushing blow
Whoever thought a neglected child
could hit so hard.

This is not the person I wanted to be
this is not where I wanted to live
these are not the memories I wanted
to decorate my hallway with.


Sunday 20 December 2015

Still alive


              At first she was only gone once a week.  But then she started taking private singing lessons on Thursday, in addition to her rehearsals on Monday and Thursday.  Once she signed up for the Flamenco class on Tuesdays Jonah said to her, “Isn't that sort of overkill?”
            “It’s not overkill.  It’s fun.  You would know if you went with me once in a while.”
            Jonah started to say that he was glad she was having fun—that he just couldn't see why she had to be out having fun four nights a week.  But when Debbie slammed the pot onto the range top he decided to let the subject drop.

Saturday 19 December 2015

Cutting



Tired but awake again

because wakefulness is waiting for
my answer
I am ready this time
ready to embrace the disbelief
to refuse the hand that
once could pull me to
my feet

Floating into ache once more

with no morning defense
when the sun broke me like
a cudgel to
the head
stole from me any
last moments for
dreaming

Memory waits still and near for me

I am endlessly choosing I am
at last losing what allowed me to
creep through the hole in the
floor

So tired of attempting

            to end this need for sleeping

Friday 18 December 2015

Empty


It's not that we don't want to talk.  It's that we don't know how.  

We talk in riddles and rhymes we swing from chandeliers we scream at walls we turn away from the bones scattered on the floor.  Who will be brave enough?  No one is guarding the door.  The red straw network was the long way here.  Now we just need a volunteer.

Anyone?

Thursday 17 December 2015

Watching over


December 11, 2013

Hello, monkey.  How are you today?

Swinging around.  Swinging around.  Chaos everywhere.

Wednesday 16 December 2015

The blank mind


And I could hate myself
for grieving over you
I could bury the make-believe
in a shoebox beside the house
next to the butterflies
whose spasms of beauty
are just one breath in
the oxygen tank

Hear me
I am sinking straight through
right down to the briny deep
You were the oxygen tank
crammed full of butterfly breaths
I so very much wanted to keep.

Tuesday 15 December 2015

The world underneath


Every time Kitty’s family came to Nevada, her ten-year-old brother Jack would say in an affected voice, “The desert is teeming with life.”  It was a joking reference to Mr. Henry, Kitty’s science teacher.  In addition to running a fire lab every year that gave the principal sweats in more ways than one, Mr. Henry liked to quote nature programs.  Most of the quotes weren't worth more than a groan and an eye roll.  But this one…this one made sense to Kitty.  She liked how she could look for miles and see nothing but the occasional cactus when, in reality, all around her the desert was—well, teeming with life.  Just life she couldn't necessarily see.  Underneath the rocks, underneath the needles on the cactus, even in the sand underneath her very feet…everywhere.  “Life finds a way,” Jack would say in a fake creepy whisper, this time quoting Jurassic Park, but here in the scorching Nevada heat was the proof.

Life did find a way.

Monday 14 December 2015

The Idealist


April 15, 2004

My relationship with my family is basically premised on lies—and I don’t want to be a part of that anymore, particularly since the lies just go on and on.  But at the same time it’s really scary.  I had this dream last night where I was trying to make all of them happy, but when we got together they put a shroud over me while I was sleeping and said that I was dead.  When I got up and tried to interact with them, they wouldn't acknowledge me.  I knew I wasn't one of them anymore.  It felt sad, and just a bit lonely.

Sunday 13 December 2015

Wrong direction


in the world all grey I wanted to feel
zephyrs and sunrise against my face

it looked so warm
                it looked so warm

from the other side

so I strapped on my wings
took to your sky

                blinded by a million sparkling dreams
                snowflakes falling into infinity

the howling drums of wind and war echoing
around me…


and then the
candle
went out
                               



               

Saturday 12 December 2015

The breakthrough


April 26, 2014

In the year (fill in) nothing happened.  There is a sad story to tell her that has no significance whatsoever.

Eventually we will all have the same problems.

Who would have thought that yogurt with prune would be so delicious?  Or banana Weetabix.  Well, actually that sounded pretty good from the start.  Weird, but good.

In the red straw network there is:

*no hope
*no telling
*no entrance
*no exit
*no talking
*no timeline
*no travelling
*no sharing
*no laughing
*no smoking
*no milk with cereal

Thank you for respecting the rules.  Carry on with your business.

But your legs get a little bit heavier.  And the strings get a little bit longer.  And the knots feel a little bit tighter.  And the joke gets a little bit harder.

A harsh beautiful place, this memory horizon.  If you squint your eyes you can see the moon.

There isn’t much I can see anymore. 

I am losing.  You don’t just suddenly stop losing.  You think about why you’re losing, you despair that you are losing, you blame the universe for losing, you write self-pitying poems about losing, you come up with reasons why losing is not really losing, you give yourself pep talks about losing, you brainstorm how to stop losing, you develop five-point plans to halt the losing, you wonder if we are all really losing, you become heavy and tired with losing, you think maybe if I get a haircut I won’t keep losing, and then you find that after all of this you are still losing.  And not only are you still losing, but you are now losing by so much that winning becomes unrealistic, so you start coming up with easier goals, like “accepting,” or “taking small steps” or “adapting.”  But in the end you will just be losing again.

This is when you stop and realize that you never actually believed.  Why?  Was it a man in a mask and bad make-up who took that away?  A woman with witchy hair and a purple mantle?  A balding man with a soft voice in a basement room?  Or was it just the old run-of-the-mill no one ever gave a crap about you or let you believe, so you never learned how to?  Did you have to come up with some fantastical story to make the humdrum, boring, heard-it-a-million-times annihilation of the self story more palatable?  Would that make losing better, somehow?  If someone breathed in your ear that you were born of the dirt and will blow into dust?  Does that make it more romantic, more tragic, more ACCEPTABLE?

I don’t think so.  It just makes you an even bigger loser, because you can’t even lose with your integrity intact.  Of course, if you had any integrity you probably wouldn’t be a loser.  If you had even the tiniest sense of self you might have whispered back, but I will fall from the sky and detonate like an atomic bomb right in front of you.

But we are not winners.  We are mantras.  We are encouraging words sent to each other in emails that we won’t really mean.  We are inspirational quotes on posters with rays of light piercing clouds while beautiful people look on.  We are the two-sentence explanation that solves what ails the protagonist.  We are the ones who know, not so deep down inside, that next year will be no different from the last.  We are the dozens of therapists who ran out of therapeutic techniques to lay siege against our fortress of failure.  We are winning at losing and you will never stop us.

Friday 11 December 2015

Truth


Dismantled piece by piece into
a million parts
buried back with Santa at
the Christmas tree farm
what is dead is what is real to
the falling apart
we heard the siren but not the
alarm

I wonder how I will know when
the sky becomes my master
when dreams of yesterday stop
mocking me with laughter
tomorrow is today tornadoes
circling my trailer
I was wrong over
and over again

Thursday 10 December 2015

The unexpected dawn


October 23, 2004

I don’t want this to be my life anymore.

October 24, 2004

But how to give up?  I don’t seem able.

Wednesday 9 December 2015

The life within

Whisper it to me while no one is listening
tell me I am a fool
tell me I am not
tell me something that makes sense
and then prove it

Tuesday 8 December 2015

The glass darkly


And when I choose to come here again                                                                     
will it snow how it did in my dreams
                        will I be

a story worth telling

                                    because the sadness—

it crackles in the night
           
for you           
the mistake worth regretting

                                                the faraway voice        filled with belonging


Monday 7 December 2015

The path not taken


            “Alturis told me about his brother," Megan said. "How you shot him during a raid."
            Andy nodded a little.
            “Did you know what was going on?”
            “Not until the Bergens.  Even then we didn't know it was him until someone tipped us off that what happened wasn't some random thing.  But I thought he’d come after me—I never thought in a million years that he’d go after you.”
            “Well, he didn't really.  He was just confused.  He said good henchmen were hard to find.”
            Andy managed a grim smile.  “I guess so.”
            “It’s not like you can advertise for them.”
“No.”
“But are you going to be all right about the Bergens?  Because it wasn't your fault.”
Andy’s smile faded.
“Don’t let it ruin your life,” she told him.  “They wouldn't have wanted that.”
“Yeah,” Andy said.  His eyes darted around the room.  “Anyway, don’t worry about me.  You just worry about yourself.”  He paused.  “I guess you’ll sell the house.”
            “Yeah, but it was time, anyway.  Hopefully it won’t take too long.  A friend of mine who’s an agent says that everything that happened will only make it more attractive to potential buyers.  I guess there are people out there who like houses with a back story.”
            “People are strange,” Andy said, and rolled his eyes.   For a brief moment Megan thought of Alturis, smiling at her as he talked about how Andy stood on her street corner at night.  But Andy, looking in the opposite direction and fiddling with his car keys, did not notice the change in her facial expression.  “So will you stay in town, though?”
            “Well...I have a friend who’s a principal in Madison and they just had a teacher suddenly retire due to illness, so she’s offered me the job.  I think I might take it.”
            “Really?”
            “That’s right.  Moving forward—it’s the only way.”
            “Yeah,” Andy said, grinning at her reference.  “Well, good for you.  I hope it all works out.”
            “Me, too.”
            In the silence that followed Megan wondered again about the cat who Andy had released all of those years ago.  She wondered if he even remembered it now, or if he had moved forward from all of those memories, too.  “So, anyway,” Andy said, “I just wanted to stop by, because I’ll be heading off to Chicago tomorrow.”
            “ Does that you mean you've made a decision about the FBI?”
            “I talked to my boss when he was here.  We have everything worked out.”
            “That’s great,” Megan said.  She smiled at him.  “Good luck with everything.”
            “Thanks.  And, Meg—it was good to see you again.”
            “You, too.”
            After a brief hesitation Andy turned toward the door.  Before he reached it, he said to the wall, “So I guess you’re going to hate me forever, huh?”
            “Oh, no.  Not at all.”
            “You sure?”
            “I'm sure.”
            “You’ll let me know if you ever need something?”
            “You can be sure of it.”
            “Good,” he said.  And without daring to meet her eyes, he let himself out of the hotel room.

Explosions in time


This sea                                 filled with raging suspicions

polluted by the debris         of 1000 amazing inventions

not one in which I could believe

were you caught
in the fire storm of a million
conversations
or lost
in a dying admission

because just one thing I can show
and that is I am here                          
without you                         
alone

                

Sunday 6 December 2015

Waiting


The bus began to pull away.  Ignoring the kids throwing paper airplanes around him, Jonah pressed his face against the glass.  As his mother waved at him he gripped the edge of the windowpane, willing himself not to cry.  Someday, he told himself.  Someday I will never have to do anything I don’t want to ever again.


Saturday 5 December 2015

Fury

        when I meant to love you       
their screams made me leave you
heavy as warheads
this fear almost fatal

Friday 4 December 2015

Truce


May 27, 2014

I am tired.

May 29, 2014

Had a funny dream last night.  I was outside somewhere with Matt and the kids when I realized there were four kids with us: 2 girls, 2 boys.  I felt confused, like I couldn't make sense of it.  So I asked Matt how many kids we had and he said three.  I then asked him their names and he told me.  I realized the one little girl I’d been talking to wasn't actually one of our children.  She was dark-haired, probably around 8, and she seemed unhappy.  I was trying to be nice to her and I did feel sorry for her, but her presence freaked me out.  It was as if she were a ghost—no one else appeared to notice her.  I woke up shortly thereafter and nearly woke Matt up, I was so spooked.  I was able to go back to sleep, though.  I can’t remember at all what the little girl and I were discussing.


Thursday 3 December 2015

Starting over

because this is a study in reality
what little of it is there is left to
hold against our one line of
defense

when wishing will not make it so
when the brutality of existing
requires me to let you
go


Wednesday 2 December 2015

Locked inside


In her four and a half years at college, Kitty hadn't seen one sign of anyone from the Interior.  If she didn't still have the bracelet, she might have convinced herself that she’d dreamt the whole thing up.  Lately Kitty had even started to wonder if the bracelet came from some rummage sale she’d been to with her mother, and that in her need to feel special, she spun a fantastic story around.  The more time that passed since her last visit, the less real the Interior seemed, and the less she remembered about it.

Sometimes in her dreams she could hear the King talking to her but, of course, she never saw his face.  Nor could Kitty recall what the apartment looked like that she’d stayed in during her convalescence.  The much-faded scar where the Minister’s knife had gone into her side failed to jog her memory.  Even when Kitty went to visit the Minister’s grave, she found no marker, presumably because no one had known who he was.  Its absence only heightened her sense of unreality.  Not for the first time did she wish Jack could remember his trip there, if only someone could validate her experience.  But she seemed fated to just forget more and more about the Interior until, somehow, it would cease to exist in her memory at all.

Tuesday 1 December 2015

Looking beyond


Recognized your torture, my friend,
but the the coldness of your world
froze useless my hands.
Mercy is a desert with a one way
sign,
strange we never could follow that line.
But I will remember you as the bridges
burning,
I will remember you as the leaves
turning,
and I will dream of you every night
even though I lost it all,
even though I meant to give up
believing.

Monday 30 November 2015

The coming fire


                “Oh, it’s some kind of tumor.”  His mother waved a hand dismissively.  “Who can understand a thing those doctors say nowadays?”
                “But are you going to be all right?” Jonah demanded, a strange feeling of desperation burbling up inside of him.
                “Hmmmn.  Now where did I put that phone number again?”
                “Mom,” Jonah loudly interrupted, “are you going to be all right?”
                “What, dear?  Oh, that.  No, I don’t think so.  Tumors aren't good, you know, and they can’t operate on it for some reason or another.”
                “What are you saying?  Are you going to die?”
                “Well, we’re all going to die, dear.”
                “I mean soon!”
                “It seems that way.  Can you help me find this phone number?”
                Jonah stood there, watching his mother search the roll top desk that used to sit in Grandma Mueller’s dining room.  She’d mis-buttoned the back of her house dress, so that one of the tiny pink plastic buttons stuck out on top by the collar.  “Cheer up sleepy Jean,” she was singing to herself.  “Oh, what can it mean?  To a daydream believer, and a homecoming queen…”