Monday 31 October 2016

Masquerade

I wanted to suffer quietly and beautifully
but suffering is noisy and deformed
it spits on the sidewalk in front of innocent
bystanders and it makes no apologies
it wipes its nose on its sleeve and it whines
for sympathy it licks the hands of the compassionate
it howls over a broken fingernail
everything reminds it that it exists everything
mocks its existence everything convinces it that it
is ugly it is a freak at a freak show it is
the rotting leftover shoved to the back of
the refrigerator and it makes everything smell as
its final biting and weeping vengeance that
it exists at all.


A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 48

Chapter 48 of my free serialized novel A Slow Twisting Place is available to read now on my other blog--just click here.  Use the same link to read Chapters 1-47.  Enjoy!



Endings


Despair rose up in me like a flash flood, so quickly that it had almost drowned my heart when I heard a snuffling.  The dog who smelled like cake shuffled out from behind an overgrown bush.  “Are you real?” I asked her.  “Or are you going to disappear, too?”

She cocked her head and bared crooked teeth at me, as if to say, does it matter?

I dropped down onto the ground next to her; the setting sun was hot on my neck.  “It's too warm for you,” I told her.  “You should go back into the woods, where’s it cooler.”

But she wouldn’t move. 

Tiredly I leaned back against the damp, cold ground.  I closed my eyes and I heard some more snuffling, until I felt her fuzzy head against the palm of my hand.  We will be safe tonight, I thought to myself.  Tomorrow was anybody’s guess.   Absolute safety would never be mine to have.  It simply didn’t exist. 

Friday 28 October 2016

Cold




I remember the glasses now
the dark plastic green with ridges in 
the base the small slim
crystal that held the dandelion
I brought home for you.
I remember the spectacles I broke
as they lay on your bed
it was an accident it was an accident
they cost the earth you said
I never had a chance
god how you hated me
it was only an accident
I remember.

Unprepared


No one mentioned Debbie’s name at work.  “What happened?” Jonah would ask himself in the mirror each night, just after he brushed his teeth.  One moment she'd been standing next to the cart, complaining about tropical oils.  And the next, he was holding the perfect strawberry in winter, talking to no one.  Only Bill, who Jonah sometimes came across in the cafeteria during his coffee break, said to Jonah, “I’m sorry about Debbie, man.”  Jonah pretended not to hear him.  He just asked if Bill knew who had won the basketball game.

Thursday 27 October 2016

Corners


I met her at the cafe where I liked to read the paper in the morning.  At the time she struck me as nothing special—just another smiley college student waiting tables over the summer.  Only after she gave me the wrong coffee three days in a row did I really pay any notice to her.

During her rambling apology—“I’m so sorry, I just can’t remember if the white doily means vanilla or regular, I keep thinking white has to be vanilla and then I think, no, it’s the opposite, and then I get myself all mixed up”—I didn’t know whether to laugh or tell her to go away.  In the end I did neither.   Eventually I would come to wish I had done the latter.

A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 47

It's done!  Chapter 47 of A Slow Twisting Place is now available to read here.  I hope you enjoy it!


Jumping

Erica calls me a couple of days after Thanksgiving.  We talk for a while about work and debts and boyfriends.  I thought I knew everything but now I realize I know almost as close to nothing as you can get without having fallen here on accident from another planet.




Wednesday 26 October 2016

Addiction

I left you                                                                    
                        I did
that was me who limped behind
who whimpered and begged as
fear threatened me blind

            but I left you
                        yes, I did

Your voice now I must ignore
oh, and it sears and it soars, and it
roars with the ferocity of a
jungle cat

            because I left you back there
            with the imploring stare
            on your face

                        yes, I did

Old truths fill the
black hole where
I buried the leaking need
for you
I know all about incurable wounds

            So much and for so many weepy and
            lonely afternoons
            I meant to leave you
            for so much, my friend
                        and I did

It cost me the destruction of an atomic rage
poisoned the air with its smoke-orange memories
maybe it will melt my blistering heart
maybe it will leave me to freeze in the
drift of its nuclear winter
when the death that crouches in wait for me
crouches close for you, too

            forgive me for pulling this scratchy scarf
            over my eyes  
            forgive me, love, because I was made to leave you

and I did


A Slow Twisting Place, Chpt 47 Update

It's still not quite ready yet, so I'm going to lock myself into a room today and try to plow through it.  Here, at least, is the first paragraph:

Sleep proved elusive.  Prowling around my apartment I felt weirdly wired, like I’d just snorted a line of cocaine.  That made it difficult to relax, and even more difficult to think.  But I had to think.  I needed to find a way out of this acid trip before my head exploded.

While you're waiting for the rest, click here to Read Chpts 1-46! 




The Weight of the World


It was a difficult, silent drive back to my mom’s.  When I pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition we both just sat there, until Michael said, “I’m sorry you feel I let you down.  But the important thing is that now you know what you’re dealing with.  You can’t go back to him.”

“It’s not that simple.  You aren’t even sure about what happened with Cheryl,” I retorted.  “And if he’d treated her that badly, she would have wanted the divorce, not fought it tooth and nail.”

“The psychology of domestic abuse is a strange beast.  Otherwise why would you even consider staying with him?”

“It wasn’t domestic abuse.”

“He broke your arm.  He made you quit law school.  He doesn’t let you have any money, and you can do almost nothing without his approval,” Michael brutally reminded me.  “If that isn’t domestic abuse, I don’t know what is.”

“Well, you might feel that way, but I don't.  I think I owe him another chance," I said, and opened the car door.  This conversation was over.

Tuesday 25 October 2016

Looking in



This is not how I meant it to be.
This was 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.



Triumph


In the red straw network there is:

*no hope
*no telling
*no entrance
*no exit
*no talking
*no timeline
*no travelling
*no sharing
*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 to laugh at.

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.


Monday 24 October 2016

Blinded


my hand trailing listless in your wake              
no real difference between a choice and a mistake
the stars led me everywhere but gone

if I could I would ask you please     
I would shout it to your stones and rivers and trees

what were we doing here
how could we have been so wrong?


Sunday 23 October 2016

Isolation

I could hear the three of them talking in the kitchen.  His sardonic voice matched his pictures, which did nothing to bolster my nerves.  But there was no avoiding it.  After taking a deep breath I forced myself to crutch into the lion's den.

The three of them were seated at the kitchen table, drinking coffee; when they saw me their conversation came to an abrupt end.  Hawk beamed, and David smiled, but Jesse just stared at me as if I'd sprouted wings and a horn on my forehead.  “Here she is,” Hawk said, like he always did.  “Come join us.”

I made my way over to the table.  David pulled out a chair for me, directly across from Jesse.  “Megan, this is Jesse,” he said.  “Jesse, Megan.”

“Hello, Megan,” Jesse said, but he was frowning.  Unsure of what that meant, I produced only an indecipherable gurgle in return.  “She’s a shy girl,” Hawk told Jesse with a chuckle.  “We haven’t coaxed more than a few words out of her yet, but we’re working on it.”

Still frowning, Jesse replied, “Maybe she just can’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Very funny,” Hawk returned.  “But, go ahead—see if you can do better.”

“I’m sure I can’t.”

“Well, this conversation won’t help,” David put in, and turned toward me.  “Would you like some breakfast?” 

I shook my head. 

“I’ll make you some tea,” Hawk said.  As David kept an eye on his elderly father, now filling up the kettle, he remarked to me, “It’s not easy for a female to break into a household of males.  All we can do is hope that Jesse will find himself a wife and give you a sister-in-law for company.”

Jesse rolled his eyes.  Alarmed for some reason, I blurted out, “I’m sure I’ll be back in Madison soon.”

David went very straight.  Hawk, too, stopped what he was doing.  But it was Jesse who said, “Why would you want to do that?”

“I have to finish school.”

“You can do that here,” David protested.  “That’s right,” Hawk said, “our university is excellent.  Jesse teaches there sometimes.  With your grades I’m sure you’d have no problems getting in.”

“Of course not,” Jesse said.  “You can’t go back to Madison by yourself.  The weather there is terrible—it would be impossible for you to get around in winter.  And you wouldn’t have anyone to help you in case of emergency.”

“There are other disabled people there,” I argued, choking on the word ‘disabled.’  “I could take the bus.  And if I were in trouble, my friends would help me.”

“Those friends will not be reliable,” Jesse retorted.  “You need people around who you can count on 24/7.  Someone you met in class isn’t going to fill that role.  Anyway, I’ve been to Madison, and that campus is enormous, not to mention hilly.  A bus won’t be able to bring you door to door to most of the buildings.  I understand it must be frustrating to have to start over somewhere else, but most of your credits will probably transfer.  Your life has changed—you need to change with it.”

I lowered my eyes, afraid that any moment I might start screaming or crying or both.  Your life has changed.  He made this pronouncement so matter-of-factly, but I was the one living it, not him.  Anyway, just because he was my much older biological brother didn’t give him the right to lecture me.  “I want to go back and finish my degree,” I said.  “I’ll be fine.”

My pronouncement was met with total silence.  Amazing how these three men I hadn’t even known a year ago felt  they had the right to make my decisions for me.  “Well, that’s nothing we have to worry about now,” David finally said.  “Let’s just concentrate on your physical therapy for the time being.”

“Excellent idea,” Hawk agreed.  I thought I heard Jesse snort, but I couldn’t be sure.  All I did know was that I had just been patronized in the worst way possible.


Saturday 22 October 2016

Saturday morning


And in your heart and in your heart,
listen...
I keep everything in the graying sky as I
wait, locked outside --
the deep freeze will be quick.
But I don't mind.
To be warm is a lie I lost
the reason to tell.

Friday 21 October 2016

Happy Hour

I waded through the throng of yuppies gathering for their evening cocktails at Sophie's, already irritated.  How was I ever going to find a seat at the bar?   Louise knew I hated meeting her here after I’d finished playing receptionist for the day, but somehow I wound up in this yuppie hell at least two days a week.  Eight more weeks and I’ll be back in Madison, I reassured myself.  Then this crap summer would be just another memory.

As usual Sophie’s reeked of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.  The visuals weren’t much better: in December the management stuck a massive white Christmas tree decorated with ceramic doves in the corner, while the rest of the year it housed travelling art collections arranged in bizarre patterns across the wall.  The weirdness of the art only added to the suffocating “happy hour” atmosphere.   Happiness could not have seemed further away, as office workers flocked to meet their upper-level management soul mates and usually ended up sad drunks instead.   I qualified for neither of these groups, yet here I was.  Again.


Nothing

I remember how something could
break every word you spoke,
make you sound like you were
choking.

I would watch your face as it
disappeared
at least one million miles into
the stratosphere,
your voice drifting alongside
like a bullet that has no mark.
Shot stray into a crowded night.

And the light halted against your back,
as you danced that frantic ballet 
suspended midair
because the floor bottomed out years
before.

Now as I float alone
I remember how I
used to ride in the car,
thrust my head out of
the window.
Because it was spring.
Because it felt good.

A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 46

Chapter 46 of A Slow Twisting Place is now available to read here!  Now is a great time to catch up with Chapters 1-45 because I will be taking a short break before I post Chapter 47.  So join in and see what all the fuss is about!


Thursday 20 October 2016

Aftermath


All of the followers had gone, sucked into the girl’s funnel cloud and carried off to god knew where.  What remained lay on the ground, broken.  The restaurant would not be serving again.

I was wondering where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me.  We stood and looked at each other for a while, before she said, “You think you’ve won.  But the spell is broken for you, too.”

“I know,” I answered.  “But at least I can live with myself.”

“We’ll see about that,” the witch replied.  She then disappeared, rather against her will, I thought, into a cloud of foul-smelling smoke.


Lost



You cannot keep what you did not
know you would forever 
have to hide.
Forgiveness comes cheaply outside.
In here I stand alone in a
million miles of prairie grass.
The storm is rolling in and I
am bankrupt once again.

A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 45

Chapter 45 of A Slow Twisting Place now available to read here!





Ghosts


When I opened the cage and released the girl, she howled past me, a cyclone powered by atomic pain.  I crouched against the wall and covered my ears but I could still hear her screams, the terrified shouts of those in the lost restaurant, as she raged deadly witness against them.

Wednesday 19 October 2016

Wishing



I will find you even 
though I know
On this dream the 
night has declared
war.

Unspoken

It was cold even though the rain had ended and the sun now peeked out from behind the clouds.  In Wisconsin the coldest days were always the sunniest.

His father came up from behind him.  “Farmer’s Almanac says it’s going to be a wet winter," he remarked.

Jonah nodded, lost in an abstraction.  “It's nice, isn't it?" his father said, gesturing toward the headstone.

"Yeah.  It turned out well."

"Used them for your grandparents--they did a good job then, too.  Very reliable." 

The two men stood silently for a moment, considering the engraving job.  Jonah was about to comment on the etched flower in the corner when his father told him, "I'm moving to Florida."

Jonah looked over at him.  “You are?  When?”

“Tomorrow.  No point in staying here.  The realtor says I’ll make a mint on the house, and I have a condo down there.  Bought it with your mother right before she got sick.”  His father cleared his throat.  “Be nice if you could visit.  The condo has a guestroom.  You’re welcome to use it.”

“Thanks.”

His father nodded.  “Okay, then.  Tell Jackie I said goodbye.”

“You’re not going to tell him yourself?”

“He’s busy tonight.  Something about a poker game, and I didn’t get a chance to tell him before that.  The movers are coming Saturday.  You mind checking in, to make sure they’re doing things right?”

“…Okay.”

“Maybe you can come in April.  April’s real nice there—not too humid.  We could go to Disneyworld, or Universal Studios.  Always wanted to take you boys there when you were young, but...”  His father cleared his throat again.  “Okay, then.  Talk to you soon.” 

“Talk to you soon,” Jonah echoed.  He watched his father shuffle off to the parking lot before he returned his attention to the headstone.  Beloved mother and wife, it read.  Strange how something so true could sound so meaningless at the same time.


In this world



Did you tell me I would be broken
when you made me special
Did you call me hopeless
when I begged for forgiveness
Because now I am crawling
waiting for tomorrow
With a today so very desperate
that yesterday is hiding
There is no more point here
I shout into the echo
But I can feel nothing
other than this burden
Special for your weakness
Special for my survival
Special is what kills me
I cannot defy it

But I am sane and you are not
and here we are and there I was
when I cannot breathe out loud
lest you hear me moving

Far out of your orbit
spinning in slow motion
Trying to shout louder
than a kitten’s mewling
Will the planets find me
all my silent crying
Now I can feel nothing
only my plates shifting
Into old arrangements
nothing ever changes
If you could have loved me
let me be ordinary
The world would have opened
the stars would have held me
But now I am so special
the goddess of your nothing
What you poured inside me
it was not for growing
It was all for killing
what was only dying
to be loved at all...

A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 44

Chapter 44 of my free serialized epic A Slow Twisting Place now available to read here!


Tuesday 18 October 2016

Suffocation


In this tidal wave of 
failure 
we sink further into 
our own unknown

drowning with the 
final question:
what else could we do?


A Slow Twisting Place, Chapter 43

Chapter 43 of A Slow Twisting Place is now available to read here.  You can also use the same link to catch up with Chapters 1-42.  Happy reading!


The Abduction Myth reviews

Delighted to read two genuine 5-star reviews for my novel, The Abduction Myth, on Amazon in two different countries!  I didn't even realize the U.K. review had been posted, so it was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.  A huge thank you to the reviewers!

U.S. Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KI6XNJU

U.K. Amazon:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01KI6XNJU

So please do have a look at The Abduction Myth, it's on sale right now for $0.99/£0.99!  You won't be disappointed.  

Unexpected


I buried the doll behind a tree.  Just as I was arranging some sticks and dead branches to camouflage the grave, a small, champagne-colored mass of fur appeared from behind a bush.  

Either it had no legs, or its legs were camouflaged by its fluff, because it barely cleared the ground as it walked over to me.  It was impossible to feel afraid of the creature, though: something about it was strangely appealing, even if its head seemed too large for its body, and its face was so flat that it almost curved inward.  

The creature considered me with dark, globular eyes.   I just stood there, uncertain, until it barked in a friendly sort of way.  Only then did I realize it was a dog.  “Hello,” I said. 

The dog bared crooked teeth at me in a comical attempt at a smile.

“What are you doing here?” I asked it.

The dog snorted.

When I then sniffled, drying the last of my tears with my sweater sleeve, the dog shuffled over and gently head-butted my ankle.  I leaned over to pet it, which the dog seemed to like very much.  Suddenly grateful, I kissed its head.  It smelled like vanilla cake.


Monday 17 October 2016

Inevitability


We are the paint peel chipping.
Dangling over the prickly
bushes.
Waiting with an eye
toward falling.
I wonder who I will be
when I am cut and
bleeding—
I wonder who I will be
when I have
given up.

It is like the blanking of
a color screen.
The bleaching of forest
green carpeting.
Hold my hand for just
a little while--
we are moving
and fading
on and on.