Like Virginia Woolf,
I’m gonna be a wordhog
takeandtakeandtake
beautiful vocabulary thief -
tipped pen to parchment…
not really. in this
day of taptaptyping
flat, spineless keyboard -
so unromantic
so stripped
unstrategically
wordless and
pure l a z y
So, here today
in the year
2012, there will be
no flowers
no flowery talktalk
just my butt on the
sloppy couch, with a laptop
c o m p u t e r
burning a hole in
my leg.
It’s a thing.
Curvy frump
topheavy and
stunted short -
portly even
You say
otherwise.
You are
nowhere
to be found -
so she sinks seeply into
sidewalk cracks and
buckles the bikepath
lifts root to foot
shakes it all up
and runs fatly
toward the
closest
mirror.
Chop of salt
blue brine
fantail
cigarettes burning
my nose and giving
me a headache
through all my
homesick
Tossed port side
or was it starboard?
Either way, you
threw me like the
ship’s roll.
Dungaree handholds -
everyone knew
except for you.
Wounds weep
years later from
my salty lick
and I’m
sorry.
Unscathed but
forever scarred
with the hope that
the last time
wasn’t the
last.
Shining hot enough for no coat
I join the sun, rake in hand
freeing the sleepy green -
busting upward from its long
lazy nap
Smell of chainsaw gasoline and
I’m back at the camp -
ten-years-old in my two-piece,
admiring the multitudes of
waterskiers mastering the lake
that I adore.
When asked in the deep of season
which is my favorite, I’ll usually
recall the sheen of coconut oil
against sand and surf, or those days
of swimming until exhaustion at the lake
but here, on the welcome of the
snapping off of winter’s kill,
unleashing the loose seed from its nest of
last year’s skin, sitting coatless for the
first time – under the blue
without wish of forced hot air,
I remember what I’m sure I won’t two
months from today…
spring is always my
favorite.
You, down back
burning the couch
beating the tar out of the
place we sat just last week
our first major purchase
made in our coupledom,
bought with my brokerage job
bonus (remember?)
now food to the flame
crackle and spittle
broken down wood ash
and it seems it should
mean something
something symbolic
something weighty
or dark – about us
but it doesn’t
it’s just heat and smoke to
warn the kids about and
crumple of dusty fabric
to pack away until the
next trash pick-up.
You, just down back
burning the couch.
blooming shock of
wordful fragments
wrestled petals
litter my way with
silken bits -
then struggling to take all
the flowery flood that
is bursting at my seams
since ridding myself
of such a handy dam.
missed spring saddens me so
but your bristle of an embrace
widens my mind
and makes it all so
much more than
fine.
Rain of rice
landed with a hush
swirling around
the heels of others
who have felt
its pelt.
Shining faces in
yellow-waxed wood
all pretend its
as long as
we can
stand and eat
and shop and function
and pray
that we can do
all of the above
just
a little while longer
I’m here to give it to you
straight. Here in my jeans
and mess of hair and
stretched belly:
Those shining faces are
actually melting
d r i p p i n g onto their
overpriced satin pumps
those that make
it all seem substantial -
expensive = important
Forever. Real? Really?
Rain of rice
landed with a hush
crunching under
the heels of others
who have felt
its pelt.
We sat in a circle
and I confessed
even though it
wasn’t my place
I didn’t have a place.
You scoffed at
my scream meant
to wake you all up
to me
Blinded by my
timely angst and
placated with my
constant self-sufficiency
you dubbed me
an actress
looking for my spotlight
at the most inconvenient
of times.
I meant every word I said -
especially that weighty one
that you dismissed
with such a hideous face
Lucky for all of us,
(although only I’ll
ever know)
I was stronger than
I thought.
Tiny hands tugged
refrigerator open cold
lemon plucked from bin
dumped out legos
provided turned box pushed
against counter tall
climbed
understood a knife
to be a knife -
pulled smoothly from
its butcher block
widest in its family
weight of bare chest
coaxed blade through
lemon’s wax and
I walk in to an eyeful
take him aside
scold him incredulously
threaten him gently with
lost digits and hospital
trips
his response only
while staring hard at his little
index finger pointing
confidently….
“what’s IN there?”
.
Written for: http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/
i’m nothin’ if not
self-aware these
days only crap coats
my pages yeah,
you can say
otherwise
try to build me up
but babblin’ to the
tenth power of kids
& gardens & semi-
contentedness can
only get me so far
i’m workin’ on the
purge of my soul
i’m sweatin’ for sure, but
my tools are overused &
too dull right now
to get below my sun-
damaged skin to the
marrow meat of my bones
in search of a worthy
muse or just any ‘ol
muse really – somethin’ to get
the ball rollin’ up the hill
guess i’m lookin’ too hard, like
love, it’s just gotta find me
i’m thinkin’ i just gotta step
away and live
a little
more.
