What it feels

fuzzy food in fridge
flushed today
smell lingers
can it be washed away?

desperate house plants
bought with good intentions
gave up ghosts through kitchen window
carcasses remain

breakfasts of cold toast and peanut butter

outside, a sanctuary of thistles

inside, the dark imbues the body bones
absorbed in daily doses
just enough to quell
thoughts that foment rebellion

these I gave to you, I think.
my remembered lover
my old optimist
my partner of journey
my willing prisoner

spurn me now
for I have killed you
the worst of all crimes
a spirit stilled

melancholic

Rites of passage

There was a man who loved his daughter.

Not unusual, but this particular man was not very good at showing emotion, and thought that people would know, by his actions, how he felt.  He knew that this made them needy at times, and he blamed himself for it, but still he could not open up.

There was jealousy within the family because of this, and he bore the stress unto himself, trying to please everyone.

At the age of 15, his girl told him she wanted to be like some of her friends and get a small tattoo, to which he readily agreed.  Not long after that, she wanted to get her tongue pierced, and this caused an uproar. Her mother would have none of it, and pressured him not to consider it, saying he was too soft, and their daughter had him wrapped around her finger.  So, he did tell her no, as firmly as he could muster, and there was much drama and sobbing off and on for a few days.  The subject was soon brought up again, after he thought it had been forgotten.  Seeing the potential of another fight, he spoke to his wife privately, and struck the bargain that if their daughter still wanted this in a year, when she turned 16, he would see about it.  Both thought that she would lose interest by then, and go on to something else.

Indeed, when the time came, he had already put it out of his mind, but his girl’s resolve was strong, and, on the very day of her birthday, she said it was time for him to keep his promise.  Eyeing his wife sheepishly, he said he would look into it, then spoke to friends and acquaintances whose kids had gone for similar things.  Their best advice was to find a place that was government inspected, had an autoclave, and used disposable needles.  He sought advice from an actual government website, and found similar admonitions.  Within a few days, he took her, and the deed was done, not without some squealing on her part and a look of instant regret.  However, she put a brave face on it, and there was relative calm within the house for a time, even though his wife was resentful.

A year later, when it was prom time at the high school, the big kerfuffle was to find his girl a dress.  She was valedictorian, so it needed to be something special.  Off to the city they all went, together with a couple of her friends, and landed at a fancy shopping mall.  Mom & Dad left the trio to their own devices, telling their daughter they would meet back at a certain time, and hopefully she would find something she liked.  He and his wife then wandered about for a while, looking into the windows of some dress shops as they went.  He spotted a formal gown in black, beaded with beautiful silver designs upon it, and said to his wife “That’s the one she’s going to want.”  They walked for a half hour more, and made another circuit of the mall.  Coming to the same shop again, he decided to go in and ask the price.  The saleswoman said “you know, we have someone in here trying one on right now”.  It was $425, and, of course, you know who was trying it on.  While they were there, she came out of the room to look at herself.  Dad saw her first, and looked pleadingly at his wife, who, after seeing this sight, had no choice but to give in.  Their girl was glowing, and her friends gave her some envious looks.

After the prom, she announced to her Dad, when they were home alone, that there was going to be a party at a cottage belonging to one of her friends’ parents.  He gave her something of a cross examination, and, respectfully enough, she told him that there was “probably” going to be booze, and maybe even drugs, there.  For the first time in his life, he gave her a flat “No”.  She pleaded and said that she, of all people, had to show up, and would stay away from that kind of activity.  He believed her, but would not let her go, and she kept testing his resolve.  Something let go within him, and this man who had always kept his thoughts to himself, began to cry silently.

A change came over his little girl, and she crossed the room to him, hugging him tightly.

She said “Dad.  Dad.  You have nothing to worry about ever again from me.  I will not go.”

On his birthday, the card she gave to him said “Dad, I love you because you love me”.
Fifteen years later, he still has it.

Radiance

This paean of adulation and hope from The Feathered Sleep

TheFeatheredSleep's avatarTheFeatheredSleep

Sun filigreed through high tree lines

Touching our chosen space with bright finger tips

We swing, irregular rhythm, sometimes your momentum, sometimes mine

I watch you point your toes and know

It is hard to remain calm, not to act upon

Desires bound by respect and difference

You are a forest nymph, a hummingbird

You are a nayad of the lake, your honey my want

I imagine holding your bottom lip lightly with my teeth

Graze your unapproachable grace with whispering touch

Green water is still and birds sound from high

I hear it all

And only the gentle deep of your voice

How you move your mouth

The tilt of your long elegant neck

Sunlight turning your skin into caramel

Picks out the rushing river of your eyes

Glances off the high wistfulness of your cheeks

Your thin tshirt a wrapper, I long to pull toward me

Your fingers…

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My little Miss

The thing was, I couldn’t take her with me any more. Please understand. That frozen November morning, the ground was too hard for a burial, and after I had cried a while I searched through an old storage shed for a spade. Having tried the hard earth, and despairing of a proper grave, I wrapped her thin body in many layers of plastic from a roll that I had found there. The broken house next to the shed once had a rock garden, and its members were put to good use in building her cairn.

In late September we had met, she the first living creature of my kind fortunate enough to be here still, in this outpost of desolation. I had been aimlessly following the railway tracks, and had spotted a far off station.  I quickened my pace, thinking to find food and shelter there.  On the platform she sat, all dirty, with dangling legs ending in two different shoes.  Maybe nine or ten years old.   She was trying to crack acorns collected in a shopping bag, then saw me, dropped it, and began to run down the tracks.  One shoe came off and she fell, crying and picking pebbles from her wounded knees.

Approaching slowly, I held out a bottle of juice and a can of sardines from my pack.  She allowed me to pick her up and set her once more on the platform’s edge.  The crying had subsided to a hiccup-like sob.  She said nothing as I got our meal ready, but ate and drank readily.  I tried her with questions, but no.  She would not, or could not, speak.  I never knew her name, I am sad to say, and so I just called her “Miss”.  I think, now, that she was not a mute, but had been forced by the horrors to travel deeply into herself.

The station platform did, in its way, offer food and shelter.  The food was from a vending machine full of chocolate bars and chips.  I smashed it open by pushing it off the platform.  We enjoyed our unhealthy meals for a time, then had to move on.  Little Miss, with renewed energy, ran ahead of me many times.  Other days, in the weary cold, I carried her piggyback.

Just four days ago, I think, after a long and fruitless journey, we had come to the last of the food, a bit of roasted rabbit I had saved “for the end”.  Missy had become very lethargic of late because of the short rations and the creeping cold.  I had made a fire to help warm us up, and we had our best meal in a long while.  When dawn came, I awakened to find that we had come in a circle.  In the foggy morning, I could make out the decrepit station and its violated vending machine.  I confess that in my weakness, I hung my head and cried.

That night, I made a fire on the tracks, and contrived to build it around one of the railway ties,  so our blaze was very warm and merry.  Later, the snow started in earnest, and we had to shelter in a small maintenance room whose door I had forced.  Gone was the warmth.  We each had a blanket roll with us, but it was poor comfort from the cold floor and icy walls.  Through the night, I awoke to a strange silence.  The storm had abated, but so had something else.  My little Miss breathed no more.  I prayed stupidly to the lord of the starfields.

I am beaten now, I think.   That silent soul, that Someone I needed, and who needed me, gone without a hope of a loving word.

How can I…..
How can I….

My God.

Running for it

My old father-in-law, now gone, was someone I knew for the first thirty years of my marriage.

It does take me a long while to get to know anyone, and vice versa, but, as I grew into his ways (and he became more comfortable with mine), we got along fine.  There was my city boy naïveté for him to chuckle about, and I enjoyed the many parables that he related to me (true or made up) from his own street-wise life.  I think he was always testing me to see how much bullshit I would believe.

The last couple of years of his life saw him in a steep decline.  He began to have difficulty walking, and could no longer drive, but still wanted to pursue some of his favorite activities, such as looking through second hand stores to find some little trinket to bring home to his wife (who would usually spurn it anyway), going visiting, and prowling the flea markets and garage sales.

It fell to me to taxi him around most of the time, and I didn’t mind, because we kept each other good company.  Getting him in and out of the car, unfolding his walker, shuffling through the stores etc. at his slower pace taught me some patience,  and showed me his love and his own patience with his wife, who was well into her struggles with Alzheimer’s disease.

We were far apart, distance wise (hundreds of miles), but as her parents’ health declined, my wife and I visited at least monthly.  Sadly, her Dad began to lose interest in his gadabout lifestyle, and started wandering in his conversations.

When he and I were alone one time, he told me quietly that he had been having frequent dreams about the Devil, that he had a sense of being constantly examined by the Evil Eye, and that the Devil had shown him all of the misdeeds in his life, and was “expecting him” soon.  In the most recent episode, he was being chased around and around his car by “a short little bastard with red skin, horns, and brass buttons”.

I said to him “you’ve been watching too many cartoons”, whilst in my own mind I was pretty unsettled, despairing for all of the blackness of his visions, for the loss of his carefree self, and for my wife’s emotional state.  It wasn’t long before we took him to the hospital for the last time.  The physical ailment was bladder cancer, but he had long since given up the game, spiritually.

In those days, mental illness wasn’t a subject for open discussion.  Now, as I am approaching my seventies, and for the last couple of years, I’ve experienced the creeping insidiousness of the black thoughts, and have come to know it for what it is.  I’m on the run, as he was, in a way.  Recognizing what is happening (thankfully), and trying to stay a step ahead through therapy and (hopefully) wonderful medicine.

Still lucid enough to put something like this together, and to take a little joy from it.
God bless all of you out there who are rowing the same boat.

The wasting of a mind (a mother known)

The years are ten
since your body died.
Fifteen since you fled in spirit.

That damn old sharpness and command you had
That keen sense of the ridiculous
Lost in the vexing of an unchosen labyrinth.

Our nervous laughter.
Our embarrassment for you.
Sidelong glances.
What to do?

You were looking around corners,
expecting the worst.
Each day, the maze grew more confounding.
Your shields were up,
and no one could get in.

We strangers let you lie
in a home that was not.
We came and fed you,
shared the load
until you were done.
Helpless.  Helpless.

Just last night,
in my dream of blackened beams,
I watched, appalled,
as your mystic ghost rose in torment
from its wasted habit.

Embarked on the journey of the lost.

 

A house is not a home

 

The Realtor called this morning, mid coffee.  Someone wants to see my house.

So, I run about, getting the place ready for buyers, once again, once again….Start the vacuum, scare the piss out of the cats (they’ll never forgive me).  Dust and polish those floors.  Spray the covers with a little scent.  Hide all of those small things that might betray the fact that we lived here.  Straighten the broom closet, sweep up the cat crumbs.  A foreign neatness of sorts.  We slobs are not used to this.  Go and buy a nice plant to sit outside the front door.  Welcome, welcome.  They say a good idea is to put a pot of coffee on to simmer, before you slip quietly out the front door.  An enticing smell.  To some.  A tray of cookies, labelled “please help yourself”.

But, the last thing I do, I don’t know why, is to turn that vase of sunflowers just a little, to show its best side.  I move to clean up its fallen petals, then stop.  Leave them there.  Don’t you know it’s Van Gogh?

At least someone cared.

We two

I always use that old chipped green coffee mug.
I never could tell you why.
Stupid secret from another time.
Antiques that follow me.

Our old ice cream haunt from the decades
died this summer.
You began your folding, too.
Still you soldier on,
wearing regret that you could not incite me
to a life.

We come home to the warm room.
Awkward furniture, arranged oddly.
Not encouraging real warmth.
There’s a plush chair, the odd man out, never sat in,
except by the cat.
Company be damned.

I undress for bed.
Pull the car keys and change from my pockets.
Bypassing the proper places,
I lay the keys on a soft stack of facecloths,
the change on a wooly sock, also out of place.
Quiet private wishes,
vicarious comfort for the bones.

Where is the green cup, I ask.

 

 

I now pronounce you Man and Wife

they are coming home from a long trip.  It’s evening, and a snowstorm has started.  Husband is driving, white knuckles on the steering wheel.

[WIFE] Hey, look at that house with all the Christmas lights!  You missed it!  Let’s turn around!

[HUSBAND] ___________

[WIFE]  You’re going too fast.  How do you expect me to see things like that?

[HUSBAND]  I’m going 30.

[WIFE]  Oh, this is my favourite song.  Turn it up!

[HUSBAND]  Turn it off, please.  I’m trying to concentrate.

[WIFE]  You’re such a killjoy.


They’re going grocery shopping.

[HUSBAND]  Do you have a quarter to get a shopping cart?

[WIFE]  No, but here’s two dimes and a nickel.

[HUSBAND]  What good is tha____

[WIFE]  Give it to the cashier and she’ll give you a quarter.  Meet you in there.

[HUSBAND]  There’s fifteen goddamn people lined up.

[WIFE]  Suck it up.

(Husband gets lucky.  Someone gives him their empty cart)

[WIFE]  Geez, that was quick.

[HUSBAND]  (rolls eyes)

[WIFE]  Hop in, and I’ll push you around.  (approximately the 573rd time she has said this

[HUSBAND]  (Rolls eyes)

[WIFE]  Anything you want, besides what’s on my list?

[HUSBAND]  I don’t know.  What’s on your list?

[WIFE]  I forgot it.

[HUSBAND]  Oh, I need some cream for my coffee.

[WIFE]  We have lots at home.  I bought extra.

[HUSBAND]  Are you sure?

[WIFE]  Yes, I told you.

[HUSBAND]  Well okay, could we get some grapefruits?

[WIFE]  How much are they?   …..That’s too much.  I can get them cheaper elsewhere.

[HUSBAND]  I think I’m running low on coffee, too.

[WIFE]  You know, you’re drinking too much coffee.  It’s no good for you.

[HUSBAND]  I know.  Buy some coffee, dammit.

[CASHIER]  Would you like bags, Ma’am?

[WIFE]  No thanks, I brought my own.  Oh, wait a minute.  No I didn’t, but I am not going to pay a nickel a bag.

[HUSBAND]  I’ll get a box.

[WIFE] (to cashier)  Oh, by the way, I have coupons for almost everything.

[HUSBAND]  People behind you are getting pissed off.

[WIFE]  Well, they can wait.

There are no boxes.  They load everything into the trunk of the car, one item at a time.
Wife wants to take the cart back through the snow, to get the quarter that’s stuck in it.

They get home.  There is no cream.  And they never do get grapefruits.


AT CHRISTMAS TIME (same scene for the last ten years)

[HUSBAND]  What do you want for Christmas?

[WIFE]  Nothing.  And don’t buy me another blender.

[HUSBAND]  What about the kids?

[WIFE]  I’ve done all the shopping.  Don’t you remember?  Did it in August.

[HUSBAND]  Well, I guess I’ll go out on Christmas Eve to do mine.

[WIFE]  What do you mean?  I told you it’s all done.

[HUSBAND]  We have this same discussion every year.   I like to do a little shopping of my own.

[WIFE]  So everything I buy is from me and you, and everything you buy is just from you?

[HUSBAND]  Can I at least underline my name?

[WIFE]  (rolls eyes)

(Husband racks his brains over what to buy for her.  Finds a picture of her Mom & Dad who passed away the previous year.  Takes it to a jeweler and has it put into a locket.  Wife cries)


(VACATION TIME)

[HUSBAND]  So, you have 6 weeks of vacation.  Where you wanna go?

[WIFE]  Oh, we’re only going to take one week.

[HUSBAND]  ??

[WIFE]  We only need a week, and I can bank the rest of the money.

[HUSBAND]  Well, where you wanna go?

[WIFE]  Let’s see…..da da….da da…da dah.   (about 1,000 miles of driving)

[HUSBAND]  Are you kidding?

[WIFE]  Nope.  We’re already packed.  Did it in August.

the weight

i loved your stretch marks
just above the crease of your thigh meets belly
pastel beige on tan
soft supple skin

i nibbled your earlobes
delighting in sucking air
through your empty piercings
you laughed and told me to stop
though it was always the first thing i did

you smiled and picked the strawberries off my back
put your popsicle toes between my nicely warm knees
woke me gently, but insistently, at 3 a.m.

that was then

something, now, I do not know
unfulfilled
we’re no good anymore
each for each

if i am not what you want
then leave me now
let me not shrivel you
it’s such a waste

i will miss you some

i dream of some soul that wants me
i am tired unto death
of living the life of your disapproval
if, every day, i am not enough,
why do you cling
and what do you think will happen
if you stay?