The hidden door

Poetry Journal, 2000

If you hated me you could have killed me                                                                    

                smote me dead

threw the lightning bolt that cut me off at the knees.

But that would have been too easy.

The time that the car narrowly missed me as I

crossed the street,

the time that she pushed me down the stairs but

I stood up, dusted myself off and carried on—

you know it could have gone differently.

When I contemplated the costs of living as they ranked against

the costs of death,

you could have tipped the scales,

pointed the way home.

Instead I shivered, walked past the knives,

and lived to be stabbed a thousand more times.

I am supposed to believe in the superiority of breathing as I

stand here

                gasping.

I am made to believe that all will be understood as you

speak to me

                in pig Latin.

I could embrace what hysterical preachers teach,

denounce those who make me question my faith.

Instead I am too aware of their pain and their fear.

It could have gone another way.

I could have been allowed even this flawed and thorny

path out of

here.

In my dream he held my hand as I wondered what he

was doing there,

entirely too happy and still unable to see.

You take even my midnight comfort away from me.

I seem resolved here, you know, although for what has

not been made clear.

Every hope, every sneaking suspicion, every wild and

grand fantasy I watched disappear like helium balloons in

the pale and infinite sky.

I wanted to hold on but was cut loose,

left broken but still living on the

ground.

It was not to be.

It was not to be.

Rage, 1993

Dream Journal, February 15-16, 2005

I remember only a snippet of a dream from last night.  I was at home with my mom , and I was concerned because our dog had disappeared.  I was the only one who seemed worried about it.  Anyway, it was night and I wanted to go for a walk.  My mom didn’t want to but I did the whole, “come on, please,” thing, so she did.  It was dark and we were walking in what resembled a nice neighborhood I've always liked.  My mom was the one leading us & suddenly we were no longer outside, but walking straight through people’s homes.  I was pretty alarmed by this, so I said something to my mom on the order of, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” but she just answered, “You’re the one who wanted to take a walk” in a sort of smug, condescending tone (I’m pretty sure she was smiling when she said it).  I felt very nervous about it but I kept following her.  Finally my worst fears happened—we passed through a living room where a woman was sitting on her couch.  She didn’t seem very surprised to see us—she also had a weird smile on her face.  However, she told us that the front door was locked & we couldn’t go through it—we’d have to go out some other way.  That other way turned out to be a dirty, nasty looking oven.  She opened the oven door and indicated we would have to crawl through it.  I don’t remember what happened after this.

I remember wondering at some point during the dream, “Why does everyone have their doors unlocked so that we can just walk right through?”

Notebook, 2015

Truth

“The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is.”

― Winston S. Churchill

Letter, 1998

Here it is: the thought occurred to me over the years that if anyone managed to convince you through words or whatever, that your mother knew anything that was happening, that your mother was "in denial," it is as clear to me as my life is my own, that is totally untrue.  It would be completely and absolutely against my nature.  For anyone else to "assume" that your mother would willingly allow you to suffer, that your mother did not love you, that your mother abandoned you, if anyone has even hinted that to you, they have done you a terrible, terrible disservice.  For they have robbed you of the one thing you deserve (and have): my deep, abiding, unconditional love.  No one who had your best interest at heart would even suggest this.  There was never a time when I would not have protected you, had I known you needed it.  Of that I am absolutely sure.

When you choose motherhood, you will know that to be true.  As humans, we may behave selfishly sometimes, but when a true crisis occurs for our child, something happens inside that goes beyond fear and reason...protecting your child.  There is nothing I would not have done to keep you safe from harm.  Never believe for a second that I would put my welfare above your safety.  Never.  That is my truth and I pass it on to you.  It's the only recurring desire I've had -- to give you this reassurance.

In closing, I hope you won't read anything else into this letter except a sincere desire to offer you the benefits your family can bring, to express my love for you, and to develop a new relationship based on complete and loving honesty.  I will not write again until I hear from you.