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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.