“You’ve been treating it like a summer home; vacant, drafty, neglected; and yet you expect it to be in top working order whenever you decide to honor it with your presence”, she scolds.
“But I must inhabit the bustling city, my first home, if I am to survive the marathons of days of disembodied vigilance.” I protest. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“You don’t get it,” she expectorates, eyes narrowing and finger wagging.
“I’m just the messenger, telling you something you already know.”
I try pleading.
“Why must you scream so loud? Can’t you give me more time?
Surely we can make a deal.”
“There are no shortcuts,”
she responds, firm yet kind.
“I should know. I’ve traveled all the way from the end of the line, up your nerves and into your synapses. You have no choice but to climb down from your high tower, through your neck, beyond your shoulders, past your liver, kidneys and hips, to fingers, legs, and toes. Be with them, or they will keep sending me after you, as your benevolent warden.”
I blink, pedaling fruitlessly through the couscous
holding back unwanted questions
yet anticipating a Scroogian epiphany
What am I willing to give up
to be rid of her?
Should I offer my ambition as hush money?
Or do the back taxes pour in faster than my legs can kick?
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
I refuse to be imprisoned by them;
Formed in a spring of meaning
And specificity;
Then gradually
Sculpted, sanded and smoothed
In the oppressive surf of banality.
Woman. Wife. Mother.
Genius. Fat. Beautiful.
Liberal. Conservative.
I won’t let them
Bend me at the waist
Bow my head
Contort my arms
Define me.
Instead I return to the spring
plunge in
dissolve
emerge
a mist.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
1.
Clutch sinks to the floor
like a drunk mini skirt under a clever pickup line
1st gear gives way
like an occasional lover
Gas feathers in
a subsonic prelude to a ******
Rolling
2.
down our suburban street
where sidewalks bend at the waist
bowing to cracked driveways
My single-minded objective
upended by his scavenger’s mission
Abrupt left
“we must get that free tub”
he says
On the curb
next to the faded plastic batmobile
a rectangular residue of frayed cobwebs and forlorn leaves
“son of a *****
dangles from his lips
U-turn
3.
tires crackle over loose asphalt
steering wheel taught
turning down the wrong street
bewilderment derails my one track mind
“lawnmower shop”
he says
I’ve known him long enough
not to ask questions
We have an understanding
without understanding
Sun splatters across my forehead
an uncomfortable hot mess
the cracked window is of little comfort
as I await his return
He holds the door for a dusty landscape artist
pushing an unwieldy grass-cutting machine
purring across the street
late for the day’s rounds
Wordlessly, he returns
landing softly on his leather throne
key sliding, kissing the lock cylinder
willing forth internal combustion
4.
Finally the bike shop
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
I wear my magic like a cloak,
green as Vulcan blood.
It transforms me
into a woman who can command a room.
The muscles in my cheeks,
my brow, my jaw
are enchanted.
They dissolve my resting ***** face
into inviting smiles and encouraging looks.
The canals of my body
become highways.
Words zoom into my ears.
More words whizz from my throat.
When I step out of my magic
it clatters to the floor,
heavy as bronze armor.
I climb in bed,
tomorrow’s mystery on my breath.
Will I have the strength
to wield it again?
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
“You’re too quiet,” you told me.
“Speak up.”
I don’t think you mean it.
All you hear is the buzzing swarm
of words
busy in their work.
You have no patience
for the silky yellow honey
that is my voice.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
An evening of
slippery solitude flows into a
quick-silvery night. I feel the
orange regret,
letting it crash with
daring tenacity over a
jagged cliff. Warm colors blend into
a silent note of confusion, clouding the
red sky, while stale
thoughts still pour in
a lingering
brainstorm.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
In your eyes
the night disrobes, and
darkness falls away in
a sheet of burning
color.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Someone took a pair of shears
and chopped down all the buildings.
Now I must turn my head
to see the whole sky,
splotched with wisps of white
like an old man’s stubble.
Barren hills swell up like blisters
on the smooth flat land,
their windmills slicing the sky
like blunt razors.
My foot squishes over a rejected nectarine.
I kick it as I walk, watching it roll unevenly
on the pavement
until it plunges down a gaping storm drain.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC
Comfort is like candy corn.
The first two kernels are delicious:
a gratifying waxy smoosh between your molars;
the orderly bites of first yellow, then orange, then white.
A handful sickens,
sweet lethargy trickling through your insides.
For years, I have been working
so hard for a kernel or two.
To my surprise, I now have a barrel full.
It turns out that I like the idea of candy corn
more than I like having it.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Silence is where dreams are born.
Where broken hearts clench in agony.
Where gentle breezes lift dandelion seeds from hands of children.
Silence is at the top of rollercoasters.
Where parents gingerly bend over cribs, to set down sleeping babies.
Where forks hover over steaming bowls of home-cooked spaghetti.
Silence is where there’s nothing to breathe but water;
Nothing to see but ghosts;
Nothing to hold but letting go.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC