Wednesday 30 March 2016

Watching


They found it, separately.  Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in small groups.  They all instinctively shied away from each other, accepted without argument that certain hallways would remain locked to them.  What did they want to see each other for, anyway?  They didn’t.  They didn’t, and they wouldn’t.

Once they had all arrived and found themselves their own shadowy corners, the teenage boy appeared.  He went to a courtyard in the middle, surrounded on all sides by brick walls with windows that opened from the inside.  On a white sheet spread out on the concrete ground he very deliberately started placing red plastic drinking straws.  No one watched him and he paid attention to no one else.

Over time the straws began to form an intricate pattern.  Those hiding in the brick building did not want to look at it, and when they did, they pretended not to understand.  Was it a formula, they asked?  The kind you needed to be a math genius to understand, perhaps?  They were not math geniuses, so they would never understand it.  Satisfied, they slid away from the windows. 

But the group of pirate boys living in the trees overhead did not leave.  They watched from the tree house they built high in the branches.  They knew what the red straws on the white sheet meant.  They knew it was a key.  A key to a map that would lead everyone in the building to the one place no one wanted to go. 

No one, that is, but them.

Tuesday 29 March 2016

Lost connections


This is a study in shattering
the shattering of the dust clouds
raging above the earth

the shattering of the net underneath
our breaking connection line
of only the endless clicking as we
swallow the sky

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 act of existing
requires me to let you
go

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 gray sky to raise my muted
expectations to…

Friday 25 March 2016

Another kind of death


There once was a girl.  The saddest girl in the world, because she kept believing.  She thought she was so clever and strong.  She thought she was different.  She thought all of the red lines would lead to one circle that would form a barrier around her forever.  But the red lines didn’t.  They just lead to more red lines.  She can no longer remember the red line she started from.  When she tries to walk backwards nothing looks familiar—all she can see is what is in front of her.  

The boy laying down the red straws does not help her.  He pays no attention to anything other than the red straws, and to placing them on the large, white sheet spread across the middle of the open market.  No one cares about him being there and he doesn’t care about them.  He does not see the girl standing in the middle of all of the red straws, trying to remember where she came from.  Soon there are so many straws leading in so many different directions that she loses hope.  She does not understand the pattern.  Only the boy does.  But to him it is a math puzzle and you either understand it or you don’t.  He is a sort of genius.  He is the one who keeps us all wandering down different lines, so that we never meet.  

We must never meet.  We must never speak to each other.  The boy’s job is to keep us all walking on the same sheet, but never at the same place together.   We must always remain lost and alone.  It is a math puzzle.  There is a solution but the boy genius will never open his mouth.  He talks with the red straws.  They tell his story for him.  And it is a beautiful story, in its own way.  A beautiful story of loneliness and loss and of being lost until all wandering ends.

Thursday 24 March 2016

Tomorrow and tomorrow


where did I go to

just to be loyal            
to one last deception
cycles of wishing
no chance to be faithful

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

here in your believing
triumph is fleeting
from so far away
no tongues left to speak in

so our silence becomes as
cold as the season
each yesterday we kill            
another act of treason

            but could it be             could it be       that she creeps up behind you
            could it be       could it be       that whispers will deny you   

                        no tears and no words             no soul for the selling
                        too much to pay                      to keep her from telling

since pain could not be swayed
a slow train runaway again
            the line for redemption
            from here to forever
and that jail you broke out of
the last portal to heaven

time is a monster                     asleep under the carpet
so easy to trip up on                to cover in never
with purples and yellows                    not just for pictures

but her yesterday sees            
her tomorrow remembers

because your shame hid away
a slow game come to play again
            the mercy you traded
            bursting with color                                                     
and what you thought finished
only just started

                        I could never love you
                        hope made me leave you
                        the damned has its day
                        trust still in the cradle

now here in this leaving
one stopped the bleeding
from a day unintended
night saved for dreaming

where have you gone to
crouched in a circle
you married the flame
this death for your trouble

if only for tomorrow
one last declaration
a lifetime of knowing

I will be faithful

Wednesday 23 March 2016

No turning back

            “Olivia is not well enough to leave behind—if she remains here she undoubtedly will be imprisoned, a fate she does not deserve.  We will have to bring her with us,” Philippe shouted to Kitty, over the roar of the car engine.  “You, however, still have the option to remain.  Your mother will be kindly treated by my people.  Should you wish to stay here, our people here will help you to create a new identity and begin a new life.”
“So much for soul mates, then,” she snorted, but Philippe furiously returned, “I would come back for you as soon as possible.  Surely you know that.”
            Kitty shook her head.  “No!  Just  no.  I’m coming with all of you—where to, I have no idea, but I’m coming along, so stop trying to talk me out of it.  I’m not going to let whoever wants to kill me just hunt me down like a dog.  Aunt Jessica should stay, though.”
            “You can’t leave me here!” Aunt Jessica protested.  “How on earth am I supposed to explain everything that happened?  They might even think I did it!”
            “She has a point,” Eric put in.  “It might be better for Olivia as well, to have her sister near.”
            When Aunt Jessica nodded vigorously, Philippe told Jessica, “But you do not understand--if you come with us, you will never be able to return!”
            “Sounds good to me,” Aunt Jessica shouted back.  Philippe turned to Kitty, his expression uncertain.  “You must remain here—that is beyond argument," he said.  "As for your family, this is not a decision I feel qualified to make on their behalf.”
            “Then I’ll make it!” Kitty answered, and floored the gas pedal.


Tuesday 22 March 2016

Tuesday's child



This is not how I meant it to be.
This is not who I meant to become.
These are not the memories I
expected to replay in my
head as I remembered who
I once had been.

Monday 21 March 2016

Détente

What if I loved you?
I ask him.
What if I loved how you
think about molecules
racing,
or slowing,
about color,
about owl calls in
the night?
Because I know you
do.
You are no weapon.
You are a boy who listens
to the flow of water in a
stream,
who once had a love affair
with equations.
We could end the war,
rather than start it.

George is quiet for a moment.

Well, he says, you will look
up the difference between
reptiles and amphibians
now, so there might be
something in all of this.
How much we will see.
There are still the dolls to
contend with.



Saturday 19 March 2016

Inevitability

I bumped into the memory man
the other day—
(we’ve been crossing paths often
lately)—
I listened to small things which
gave me small reactions.
But when he arched his eyebrows
as if asking, was I ready?
I left the memory man where
I found him and
conveniently forgot where
that place happened to be.
The only thing is that
he knows how to find me
he finds me every day
and every day he asks the question
and every day I say, “No thanks.”
One of these days, I guess.
It will be one of these days.

Friday 18 March 2016

Goodbyes


            “It’s about Mom,” Jonah said.
            Still watching the game, Jack returned, “What about her?  Did she burn another pot roast on Sunday?”
            “Yeah.  And she’s got a brain tumor.”
            Jack whipped his head back toward Jonah.  “A what?”
            “A brain tumor.  They can’t operate on it.  Dad says she’s got a few months.”
            “To live?”
            “Yeah.”
            Jack sat back in the booth.  He looked as if someone had just hit him in the stomach with an empty beer pitcher.  “Holy shit,” he finally said.  “How long have you known?”
            “I found out on Sunday.”
            “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
            “I don’t think they’re really telling anyone.”
            No longer looking quite so shell shocked, Jack retorted, “Not even their own son?”
“Well…you know how they are.”
Jack snorted.  “Do I ever.  But only a few months…really?”
            Jonah nodded.
            “But she still has all of her hair and whatever!”
            “They’re notgoing to do chemo--it won't help.  So Mom doesn’t want it.”
            “What about Dad?”
            “He said it’s up to her.”
            “Oh, great.  He’s leaving critical life-or-death decisions up to the biggest ditz on the face of the planet,” Jack said, and grabbed his coat.  “I’m going over there.  Someone has to talk some sense into her, and it seems like I’m the only one in this family willing to do it.  I’ll see you later.”
              A couple of hours later Jack stomped back into Jonah’s living room.  “It’s amazing we were born with any brains in our head, considering the morons who conceived us,” Jack said bitterly.  “No chemo, no radiation, no nothing.  She’s just giving up.”
            “According to Dad, the doctors said it was hopeless.”
            “And since when do doctors know what the hell they’re talking about?  They were still using leeches on people like ten years ago!”
            “I don’t know about that-”
            “My point is, even if it’s a remote chance that treatment would work, isn’t a remote chance better than no chance?” Jack protested.  “I just can’t believe this.  I had no idea.”
            “Didn’t you notice she’s been acting weird lately?”
            “Who can tell?” Jack shot back.  “She’s always acting weird.  How was I supposed to know that this week it meant she had a fatal illness?”

Thursday 17 March 2016

Out of reach

They say riddles are clues
but clues in a fortress
If only the dragon would let me pass
Ah little girl, he says
you must solve the first riddle
to prove you are ready
I ask him what the first riddle is
and he laughs
He says that is why I am not ready
He says I know the words
No one stops my ears
but me
He says the riddle is my first clue
That I will hear it when I am ready
I say this is another trick
another stall
But he says no
he is the master of ceremonies only
I am in charge
I will know the riddle when I say it out loud

Wednesday 16 March 2016

Gone Off and Lonesome

I have been pining for you, old friend
I have been searching my organs for
clues of your existence
I have been listening to the buzz of
the lamps, my friend
I have been understanding that we
are all without evidence

Because you are the intervening cause
you are where I buried my investments
I have been searching the heat registers for you
only to find cotton balls that missed the garbage
can

I have stood on my toes and screamed
through my stomach
I have flown off the linoleum by the force
of my breath
I plead to the cobwebs for you to listen
I wake up with charlie horses at 3 am

When I lost my travel book centuries ago
burned the ancient forest where
you were my favorite tree
You are the reality I cannot close in on
what flew through my hair that I
mistook for permanency

I would like a chance to hold you, old friend
I would like to touch your materialness
But I beat against the kitchen table instead
keeping time with rhythmic 
loneliness

Tuesday 15 March 2016

Angels


            In the morning, after Rick had gone downstairs, I put on the dress I’d worn to the exhibition.  It felt like a crime against beauty, to just leave it hanging in the closet.  I then slipped out the backdoor and made my way to the cliffs.  After walking a little ways I found a decent spot, far from my usual destinations, and hidden by some trees. 
            For a while I stood there, staring down at the beach.  I thought about how Ethan would only take the kitchen garbage out if I removed the bag from the trash can first, whereas Rick always emptied it without my asking.  He was so perfect in so many ways.  But I could no longer navigate the warzone inside.  I hadn’t left a note for him—I hadn’t left a note for anyone—but he, of all people, would understand why.  As I watched a man walking his dog in the distance, I felt a wave of guilt.  It would be terrible for whoever found me.  I hoped they would forgive me for it. 
I lifted my foot off of the grass.   Just as I started to lean forward, something yanked me back.
            Rick
How had I not heard him come up from behind me?
            I tried to fight against him, but neither my strength nor my determination proved any match for his.  “Stop it!” he barked.  He was gripping both of my arms and gazing down upon me with an anguish I’d never known he could feel.  “There’s another solution,” he told me.  “One that doesn’t involve self-annihilation!”
            “No there isn’t,” I retorted.  “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to leave you, but I’ve tried everything-”
            “Stevie, listen to me,” Rick interrupted. 
Something about his voice made me go still. 
When I looked up into his eyes it was as if I could see all of space and time extending before me.  

Monday 14 March 2016

The coming fire


The dragon is in the fireplace
I see his glowing eyes
this time I cannot be afraid
there are no clues only riddles
they whisper to me
The dragon smoulders so
near the butterflies
but they do not mind
I hear riddles all day long
words but not in English
no one wants me to know



Saturday 12 March 2016

What can never be


I am not well, I tell the dragon

Yes, he answers, I know
But last night I heard you
I heard you nearly speak the riddle
out loud
You stopped yourself
Why?

You are mistaken, I answer
I do not know the riddle
I am tired, and I am not well
I cannot be alone
I am scared and exhausted with the effort
of being awake
It feels like I have been awake forever
I dream of snow
of running in it
of hearing the crunch of my footsteps
on the ice
I dream of diving into the water
so deep
and not needing air
I wish I had never seen it
never heard of it
never known it
I wish I could only remember it
as I ran in the snow

Friday 11 March 2016

Chaos

She has a memory.  One beautiful memory.  Carefully held in the palm of her hands, so that no one else might find it and steal it.  She must leave it nowhere.  It must always remain with her.  The memory of that one summer morning, while they still slept.  The pavement of the driveway cool on her bare feet as she stepped into the shadow cast by the huge Mountain Ash in the front yard, the sun burning golden at the edges.  No one must have this moment.  This moment must never be touched.

Because she must hold it so close and so carefully, she cannot hold onto any others.  She lets the pictures framed in broken glass fall through her fingers.  There must only be one world.  One world, underneath the tree, where no one else exists.  Let the others sleep.  Let them all sleep.  She is a girl standing in the shadow of a golden halo.  She must never step out.  She must live here forever.

Thursday 10 March 2016

Shadows

There is a dragon in the elevator
He will not tell me his name but
I know it
I’ve heard it in my sleep
He says, stay asleep, little girl
I will not harm you
but I only pretend
I am here and I am alive
If a dog howls, is it sad?
I dare not howl I am not that brave
I am tiny a little speck

Wednesday 9 March 2016

The other side of the wall


George wants to know what we’re going to talk about.

Well, I don’t know, I tell him. 
I guess about what’s on the other side of the wall.

Okay, he says, what’s on the other side of the wall?

Grass, I answer.  And trees.  England.  Dogs.  Cats,
Birds and cows and children and French fries.
Music, some of it beautiful.  Pictures and art.
Questions about steam and smoke and words that
cannot be pronounced.

All of these things and more.

Hmmmn, he replies, I know about most of
those things. 
I’m not sure what’s in it for me.

You can’t want to be inside of those walls,
I protest.
It must be boring, and so lonely.

Boring, no, he says, because I still have
my mind.
Lonely, sometimes.  But I wasn’t made to
feel much.

I could ask what you were made to do,
I reply.
But I don’t think I want to know.

That’s not a secret, he says.  I was
made to think.
And I do think.  I tell you things,
sometimes, when you’re half-asleep,
or not afraid or interested or
desperate.
I wish you were more interested.
I would tell you more.

I know enough, I answer.

But you don’t, he insists.
You really don’t.  I could tell you
about the oceans and why the
rivers flow and what makes
you not want to wake up.
I could tell you so much.
The boys come, scale the walls.
They whisper things to me,
so that I know why.
Sometimes I escape,
but this is my home.
And the dolls with knives
chase me.  Dolls as
big as you are.
I don’t like them very much.

Tuesday 8 March 2016

The night before


I found your horses running scared
with apocalyptic thoughts and
moonlit hair.
This is the dream you gave to me
tonight.

But dead or not, I want to
learn to cry once more.
I wonder if I even could before?
I reach to enthrall your sky...


Saturday 5 March 2016

The road home


“I’m here because he loves you.”
Megan laughed a little, as tears of desperation streamed down her face.  “I used to think that, too,” she said.  “Star-crossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet, kept apart by warring families.  But you know what?  It’s bull shit.  If he’d really loved me—I mean, really, really loved me—he wouldn’t have left.  And he did.  The only person he ever really loved was his dad.”
Alturis waved his knife in a dismissive sort of way. “You don’t know how men work.  We leave what we love.  It makes us feel powerful.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And so you say because you’re a woman.”
“You mean sane.”
“The truth is crazy sometimes,” Alturis said.  He chewed thoughtfully on his salad.  “Or maybe he didn’t want you to see him bald.  A man wants to be remembered with hair.”
“He didn’t know he was going to be bald, did he?”
“Well, look at his father.  Bald as a pig’s bottom."  Alturis gave her a wise look.  “Sometimes, the fear alone is enough.”

Friday 4 March 2016

Alone

Let me tell you what I know about
my broken heart
this is the rhythm of it falling apart
toss the stones in the river because
we are
we are coming up for air again

What did I even know about
guilt and sin
all of the dreams that
I was dying in
it was a curse it was a blessing it
was utter nothingness
until it skidded and came crashing
home

No telling how the earth will
record this disaster
whistling dixie in the wind
as if I had the answer
            ballet with fractured form
tripped up by vengeful rapture
the hammer flung against
the wall

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

Now I whisper to the wind about
my broken heart
failing in slow motion
not a subtle art
toss the stones in the river because
I am
I am here alone at the end