Sunday, July 31, 2011
Waking up on the living room floor , she found a "Jesus
Loves You" flyer stuck to her forehead, OMG…
her straight hair was formed into tight ringlets;
it was also apparent that the group experimented
with spray-on-tan last night too; only to suffer her body
with disastrous results. Instead of bronzed goddess,
she ended up looking dirty, jaundiced, Shirley Temple-ish …
a major spray tan fail - some vacation high jinx!
Hiding indoors instead of heading to the beach,
she sank into a full tub attempting to scrub the stain off.
Now she was just blotchy brown and pale white…
her humor intact, she saw herself as coated in Holstein
cow style patches in rusty brown and beige or mammoth
liver spots or giraffe or… she’d run out of ideas.
Friends knew she was prescribed sleeping pills;
it really was unconscionable for them to play their tricks.
OMG… she hopped out of the soaking bath, jumped
into her bathrobe, threw herself to grab her laptop;
OMG… their youTube tanning video was going viral…
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Wondering how much a punching bag
would cost, she considered a pillow…
just not the same sound or spring.
When you punch a leather bag, you feel
the solid contact, the smooth leather,
the movement as it bounces backward.
Nope, a pillow won’t do at all…
it’s too soft and forgiving. Her hand would
collapse into the depth without much sound.
Longing for the respectful smack, she looked
around her miniscule living quarters – nothing…
nothing would satisfy her need to punch out
her frustration; to smack down this stupidity;
to jab, jab, jab until her muscles ached and she
could work up a soaking sweat – rather than
a dainty example of lady like perspiration.
Wondering how Cinderella or Snow White
managed after marrying their prince charming.
Did they live happily ever after or instead did
reality break into the fairy tale relationship?
Sighing she felt the need to breach some
of the rules just to feel somewhat human;
she hoped someday to look back on her ex
with nostalgia and respect instead of
remembering what an incredible jerk he is…
Friday, July 29, 2011
Ice cream is one of the few things that
could still make me happy the same way
it made me happy when I was a kid:
carefree, at ease and perfectly content.
My three favorite flavors were strawberry,
pistachio, vanilla with Maple syrup poured on it…
Ben & Gerry’s plethora of choices wooed me
away from my childhood old stand by choices.
I would be enjoying a spontaneous surge of happiness
devouring an ice cream cone on this hot summer day
except for the late onset allergy to dairy…
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Floating in viscous
Thick but not gooey
Blurred peripheral vision
While everyone else
Speeds by at warp speed
Visible energy trail
Blazing through their time
One foot in front of the other
Never failing to proceed
Dancing out of tune
Out of rhythm with their world…
Remembering the roses
Hearing the birds sing
Disturbed by others
Passing a heavy wake
As they speed through life
Every minute filled
Afraid to miss what?
Do you remember the brown Bon Ami bar soap?
It was a strong soap used to wash car oil off hands
or scrub down skin coated in poison ivy oil.
Well, when I hit the Pearly Gates…
my mother is going to serve up a bowl of it.
Swearing has become second nature…
I’m a total potty mouth – at least when alone.
Such profanity would make mother beat red;
I can still see her face when I occasionally
let a curse slip when in high school; nothing
as nasty as what is said today, I was so naïve,
I never heard the “f” word until I was in college.
No one I knew ever said it; we were shy stay-at-
home girls, well behaved and do-gooders too.
Something snapped – maybe a midlife crisis…
I’m not looking forward to the soapy bowl but
in the words of Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain:
Under certain circumstances, profanity provides
a relief denied even to prayer.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Saw someone amazingly like you yesterday...
freaked me out; I was so startled having left
you so long ago and later moving across country.
My heart skipped a beat or two - partly fear, partly lost
love… we were friends first. I didn't see you as anything
more but you convinced me. I'm obviously not a very good
judge of character. I thought you were the best person I
ever met… I lost so much more than your love.
I was loyal to him but loyalty is like the dog leading the leash.
The dog loves you but wants to go where it wants to go.
Why didn’t he say after the children were born that he wanted
to leave; it would have been far easier… would have hurt like
hell but his sneaking around, lying, disrespecting me while I
tended the children, did all the good wife things and waited…
waited, waited until I was brave enough to check the credit
card bills, phone records and finally confronted him…
I could have hidden everything and you never would have known…
I'm through with men. I will love my friends, cute shoes,
music and my projects but I can't give me heart away again.
It never ends well.
Sipping on a mocha latte, she couldn’t help but overhear
the two women sitting behind her; she wanted to turn and share
a good cry with the broken hearted… she’d given up long ago.
So many mishaps and mismatches in the dating disaster but the
worst to come was a few years into the marriage; how she stayed…
her parents were furious that she hadn’t left sooner; run at full
speed away from catastrophic danger as his anger intensified.
Believe me I have had my share of revenge fantasies; worst of all,
I still love him. I don't want his life to fall apart. I just wish I could tell
him what a jerk he is and that he never deserved me in the first place!
Her mom was amazed that after being separated and divorced for two
years… she believed her mom’s words were, “I never thought you’d
be alone this long.” What would mom say now? Twenty seven years later…
fear is still in her heart; mistrust that she’ll choose another user and abuser.
She gave up completely so long ago realizing it’s some inherent weakness
to rescue the unworthy, give till she was empty, loose herself in “him”.
She gave up when she still had a shape, vigor, a total catch for any man;
she gave in to an internalized terror that she didn't deserve – leftover from
childhood, the pattern of victimization that she hadn’t been able to erase.
She wasn’t bitter; it’s choices, her choices… her coffee was good;
she felt warm inside – simple pleasures enjoyed alone…
Robert Frost said: "A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching out toward expression, an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the word."
Monday, July 25, 2011
Woke up in a bad mood - I don't like this day already…
Even the most charmed lives have a bit of darkness.
I was drama free for 5 years and it was fine. It's not that I lack
confidence or that I hate men.
You were well guarded believe me after he died and here you
are finally moving forward after grieving for all those years.
The odds of me finding what I want are less than my odds
of winning the lottery so I'm done gambling.
Have some more tea… men are more complicated than
you can imagine. They say contrast is necessary for perspective.
I’m not ready to put men on pedestals so I can throw darts at them.
Right now I can't even decide if the snooze button is good or evil.
It’s definitely evil. Mine has a frown face sticker on it!
It's just that I had a taste of a certain level of love and now nothing
else compares. The disappointment and heartbreak just aren't worth it.
Why can't people act the way I want them to?
For the most part, people are un-programmable just like life… I carry
this quote from Louis Adamic around with me… "My grandfather
always said that living is like licking honey off a thorn."
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Dogs rarely look skyward contemplating existence.
Head tilted back staring into star dusted sky suddenly
choking back a rush of tears at midnight…
there before her the expanse from horizon to horizon
containing the deep mysteries of light and space.
Her stifled loneliness slipped out; an eternal longing
to share the night walks with a two legged companion.
Sorry Corgis, you count in a different way; brown eyes
turned to her discomfort sounds and just as quickly
back to marking over other dog’s marks.
Tears dried back to sanity and comfort with being alone.
She loved the brown eyed regard so open to her…
she loved their willingness to traipse the silent darkness.
Catching a flash across the ultramarine blue, she wished
she could regard others openly with full eye contact.
Strolling back home, the dogs kept nose to the ground;
she scanned the skies for her next chance to make a wish…
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Failing at love over and over was due to her habit
of projecting what she wanted to see on her partner.
Not that it was far off from whatever mate she was
fixated on at the time; she actually understood men.
She just coated them in her needs disguising typical
male patterns; she wrapped them in longing too.
None of her past flames hid who they were: their habits,
their thoughts, their behavior, their interests…
Coddling relationships, the soft boiling water
often broke the coating free, unwrapped her grip.
Men celebrated release from her net confused
about what had drawn them in the first place.
Blind to her devices, she was disappointed when
she saw what was there the whole time; no love
but a male using her as much as she used him…
Why was she sleeping on an air mattress?
dogs bark woke her slightly … so sleepy
she drifted off again in her childhood room.
Reawakening to air stream from a leak
that whispered in her ear “you’re stuck”.
Sandwiched between the wall and the bed, she
was wrapped tightly within a curled deflated form.
Now she was a mattress burrito, hot dog in a bun,
a gyro wrap but she knew where the leak was…
Getting untangled in the dark room, she stretched
out her arms finger reaching for the shut door.
Turning the knob, the light cracked then flooded
into her bedroom… confused – hadn’t she just
been home in her Robin egg blue bedroom.
Why was this room so tidy, organized, peaceful
in its Zen simplicity? Of course, across the hall,
another room. How did she miss it before?
Fully awake at last, acknowledging another dream
of being stuck; another dream of a hidden extra room
ready to be delegated solely for her art studio where
organization would reign instead of cluttered creativity….
Cars don’t have hood ornaments anymore.
Sweeping metal form dead center on the hood;
one could aim the car with the predominant piece.
Her Subaru has no such decoration unless you
consider the orange wade of cat puke minus chunks.
Such a rush to leave the garage, she left it in place…
the rain that day failed to remove it;
highway driving hadn’t released it.
Disappointed with rain and speed, she yanked it free.
Just one of the prices or prizes of having pets:
fur swirls, scratched furniture, hairy clothing, various
deposits on rugs or other surfaces and of course,
gifts of innate life forms…
Condense Internet time…
That’s what she needed.
Hooked – addicted:
posting to her blog,
and more time consumers.
Art materials sat idle…
flickering screen alters
brain wave rhythms.
without physical contact;
without connection in real time
to real people;
without enough physical exercise
her PC spread was increasing;
turned from couch potato to a tech one…
I’m still puzzled, maybe you are too…
why after over four years of meetings
once a month with you four friends -
sharing, encouraging, empathizing…
I disappeared never to return.
I left our group for several reasons.
Perhaps my own expectations,
assumptions and thyroid delusion.
I guess I’ll never know unless
I write my feelings – two+ years late!
connection/disconnection; the hysterectomy.
1] I felt out of the loop; you seemed to share
between meetings… but not with me.
2] The hysterectomy was life changing.
I needed physical help… Where were you?
3] I left because I felt abandoned
I never sent this note before today…
Two and a half years ago I did email
with little response – I huddled healing
over several months; regaining strength
by summer, six long months later without
any contact from any of you… you see
it all ties together with communication
or certainly lack of... so even though I’m
late, very late indeed, I thought it best to clear
the air. Your observations are welcome
Spring was damp and dismal;
summer was depressingly slow…
maybe it was delayed allergies as flora pollen
made up for lost time dusting everything gold…
Maybe it’s partly the pesky thyroid revolting due to stress.
Seems to be big muscle function refusing to walk
too far or step up onto things – a sure sign of relapse.
Dogs whine at the screen door; evening soft breeze
allows tantalizing perfumes into the small house.
Stars call her name, moon came and went without
moonbeams caressing her form pushing through twilight.
Sun wouldn’t notice as she hid from its view preferring
late night to full day too bright with revealing light.
Corgis register disappointment for progressively shorter
night adventures and less time searching for critter scents.
Can’t figure out the aches and slow brain function;
can’t be all allergy related – time to check in with a Dr…
Friday, July 22, 2011
Desperate to maintain a functional
to-do list… she felt out sync.
The Google calendar was useless –
of course, one has to check it daily
preferably in the morning;
otherwise the email reminders pop
up during the function’s set time.
Not a good reminder at all…
she wasn’t a slave to lists but
lately her brains seemed scrambled.
Missed deadlines of class start times,
bill paying, ordering supplies posed
dreadful ramifications let alone panic.
Without sync she was talking to herself,
then answering herself, mumbling
what else, where’d I put that, OMG…
Another cigarette break…
how many per day?
Maybe they’re splitting for the day…
3pm and out the door; Friday
exiting early works only if
you’re the boss…
maybe she should take up
smoking to schmooze,
get in the good graces,
be able to make an early escape…
Nebulous directions on scraps of paper;
scribbled street names, right, left
or straight with mileage notations.
Past trips to drop or pick up art.
Papers stuffed between car seat…
worthless without last detail:
who, what, when, why…
periodically recycled until next drop
off causes a new scribbled set
stuffed between the seats…
Thursday, July 21, 2011
So hungry she could eat a horse
or eat like a horse…
salads were not filling.
The pounds were weighing her down…
wider and wider each month.
Without resources for larger sizes,
She faced the dreaded diet:
so many to choose from…
none succeeded for long.
Few pounds disposed of…
if you lose it, you can find it again.
Changing lost to disposed didn’t
help as she felt bloated as a beached
whale or opossum road kill simmering
in the sun – she continued to see
the worst hoping to sway incessant hunger.
Schedule hung on the refrigerator:
running, walking dogs, yoga, snack
time, weight training, treadmill;
not enough hours in the day to exercise,
to fight fat, to count endless calories…
maybe she could pay to have it sucked off…
again… but how many times was it safe
to have liposuction; picking up the phone
to set another appointment, she collapsed;
autopsy weight 85 pounds…
Misery was sweet…
only way to deal with it.
roll in its completeness;
embracing all its aspects
till seeing black…
everyone had their pain
that seemed insurmountable.
Maybe a pity party was necessary
to tame the consistent state.
Oh, it wasn’t that bad…
a matter of perspective
considering tornados, hurricanes
and other natural disasters.
Mini bouts, emotional flairs,
self-doubt, misery was condensed
milk over whelming in its thickness,
unable to eat directly out of the can.
Mouth watering, her mind listed
ingredients, her favorite pick me up;
her favorite hobby to share…
friends alerted to Key Lime Pie…
Vowing not to comment on the weather,
she stared morosely out her cubicle
taking in rain pelting windows…
calling list circled and dotted
libations swilled but mouth still dry.
Hate, she did hate making cold calls:
being paid by scoring…
duping others into free trials.
Visualizing bills paid…
bills dangerously close to due date,
she adjusted the headset, filled
her voice with charm, lilt, sweetness
only to be told to….
Weariness settles on a barely started day -
in the hole already…
How is it with modern conveniences still behind?
Chores seemed more complex despite
Focal point of grandmas kitchen –
wood stove adorned with polished chrome –
hottest, muggiest days of summer
found her preparing meals on it.
Long after her death, grandpa stoked
the fire box to keep water heated for tea,
cooking his meals, warming leftovers.
Farmhouse kitchen became the recipient
of my uncle’s small electric stove;
cornered, it’s white enamel surface was
mismatched with the cast iron behemoth.
At 90 grandpa complained one day…
he only split a cord and a half of dried oak,
stacked it, filled the wood box, banked
the fire before heading to bed…
he went to his grave without using that
unnatural electric appliance.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
What is with this melancholy…
reading a friend’s poem -
lost in thought -
electric shock snaps synapses:
Blinking her heart chilled…
what the heck!!!
Enough pain in the world,
she stayed at home a lot
to avoid interactions,
ignored news sources,
but here it was stifling
passion with porosity.
Drawing in more discomfort,
life was a fairytale –
not the adulterated Disney style:
all sweet and cute…
life was deep, dark, and dangerous –
hero and heroines were not rescued…
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
That odd burning sting snuck up on her…
again – every once in a while – slammed.
Checking emails, the pain sank her…
brushed and basted with lonely.
Twitching, the skin response stopped
leaving a seared heart - it was and is
closed, shy scraped with past devastation;
she wouldn’t notice a curious advance even
if her friends stood next to her and said, look!
Thought yesterday was going to suck, it did,
but only in a Monday sort of way, it really wasn't
all that bad of a day. Here the next morning, the
suck certainty dislodged any hope that she would
have a partner. The divorce was ancient history
but never even a “date” since the separation.
Not going to try and predict today, lost cause
wading hand in hand with tortuous ghost mirages
of a soured black and blue relationship…
Monday, July 18, 2011
Pink… so much pink…
she was such a girly girl;
her best friends made gagging
motions but she laughed them off.
Checking Facebook, she squealed
with delight upon seeing this post:
a Hello Kitty, pump action 12 gauge shotgun...
her friends knew she had already cut out an ad
for a pink .380 pistol; it was a prominent
feature stuck on her pink cork board right next
to a pink Taser image because she thought they
were so awesome; crazy for shades of pink
and desiring to be armed to the teeth, the shotgun
just shot to the top of her Christmas wish list…
Sunday, July 17, 2011
she talked about the weather
leaving questions unanswered;
consciousness swam the surface
creating a crawl backwash that
pushed more meaty topics away.
Sticking to the banal…
nice day today – yes it was…
When will this rain ever stop?
Sure is more like fall.
House cleaning lists…
One side assumed habits were unbreakable…
The other looked skyward, more rain…
The in-between was duct taped in silence…
Status quo quagmire prevented in-between’s voice:
You are so stuck.
Stop doing that to yourself!
You need to change these habits…
7/17/2011e qu'il me mettra dans son ''Bilbo;le hobbit''?Hum,hum!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Don’t mourn my passing;
I am you and you are me…
our fourteen years together
encompassed many changes.
I’ll still watch over you just like I did
through your surgery recoveries.
I slept with you as long as I could;
you tried to keep me from falling
but it hurt my old body too much when I did…
the dark was calling me.
The seizures were hard for you to bare;
I’m sorry you had to see my body writhing.
Sleeping brought relief to my declining
body – finally I lost the ability to walk;
I was in-between living feeling your need.
The last three days, I could hear you…
I could feel you stroking my matted fur;
I appreciated your kind words;
thank you for cradling my wretched form.
Your mother buried me under her art room
window; she misses my talkative ways too.
Help her heal from my passing;
I will see you in your dreams…