The Hole in the Sky

Diary entry, 1993

“This is where Mommy and Auntie grew up,” Joan tells the kid.  He is obviously unimpressed, but he’s only 4 years old.

“Was this neighbourhood always so ugly?” I ask Joan.  “Wasn’t that hill bigger?”

Ryan laughs.  “It’s funny how much bigger and better everything seems in our memories.”

“They cut down all of the trees,” I inform him.  “And the siding is hideous.”

He nods.  After a while, Joan says, “We have to get back before 2:00 so that I can make the turkey in time.”

The trip back to the childhood home is over, but it has lasted long enough.  I would rather remember how cool the cement felt on my feet on early summer mornings than any of this. 

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

1994

The pen bothered me. So I asked him about it.  “Where’d you get this pen again?”  It was fat and full of multi-colored ink cartridges.

The strange animal character on the screen jumped over a crumpled brick wall with an appropriate bo-ing sound.  “I found it,” he answered.

“Oh.  Okay.”  I walked into the hallway.  But I wanted to know more, so I asked, “Where?”

 “School, I think,” he shouted from the other room.

“Okay.”  But I still didn’t remember.  I knew I remembered at one time—and that was the worst part.

Blasphemy, early 1990s

Diary entry, 2012

WHERE IS THE FORGIVENESS

God took it away

Whatever you think you’re going

to hear

is exactly what I am not

going to say

Letter to Carrie, October 1, 1989

Oh, I guess I have some good news, but I want to complain first, okay?  Okay.

My dad calls me at 9:00 a.m. and says, “Hi, are you mad at me?”  Then he bitches at me for about fifteen minutes since I, the horrible daughter straight from Hell, haven’t written him in a week.  I told him I was busy studying, etc., but he was still pissed off.  Then he says, “Has your mother said something to you to make you hate me?” or something equally retarded, to which I reply, “No!”  Finally I convince him that I am not angry with him, Mom hasn’t persuaded me to hate him, etc.  Then he asks me how I’m doing.  Oh, just SWELL!  You just made my day!  Then he says how he’s buying all sorts of food for me, but I have to see him to get it.  (No, I thought that I’d eat it through a psychic channel.)  Guess that means I shouldn’t be expecting a box in the mail.  Ah, the joys of having divorced parents.  It never ends.  Luckily, I had a class to go to.  Thank god for small miracles.