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.