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

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.  

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

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

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.

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

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.