A Woman of Many Words

I am a Woman of Many Words
I am drawn to all those places
        That words congregate:
                 Libraries and bookstores
                       Road signs and billboards
                             Ticket stubs and subtitles
                                    Nametags and license plates
Each one a journey driving inside me
I am a Woman of Many Words
I love the way the shapes feel in my mouth
The skittle taste of syllables
I am drawn to especially long words
With their phonetic entities stretching out like tentacles to reach new corners of pronunciation
Words like
              Bibliophile and flippant-irreverence
                      Evanescent and Insouciance
      Mellifluous and Effervescent
                                       Mondegreen and Labyrinthine
Words like
Onomatopoeia and Tintinnabulation
I appreciate their weight on my tongue
The way my hands appreciate the thickness that is a fat book
I am a Woman of Many Words
I am attracted to their multitude
The space their figures take up on a page
The calligraphic punches
Typed up by keys
The carefully constructed
Brush strokes
Spouting
What is sure to be, nonsense
But I do enjoy the sound of nonsense in the morning
I am a Woman of Many Words
I cling to the lettered skyscrapers wherever I can find them
Because the familiar scent of scribbles across parchment is comfort food for me
I find them
On the backs of cereal boxes
And in Popsicle riddles
In fortune cookies
And alphabet soup
From magnets on my fridge
To junk food logos
And I hold on to them for dear life
For fear that silence should find me
And leave me empty
For fear it will take away the music of maracas
Made by words
Dancing the salsa inside me

I am a Woman of Many Words
because Words
Answer my Questions,
Soothe my fears,
and Humor my Whims
They are not always Right
But they are always Constant
They are not always Honest, in fact,
Mostly
They Lie
But ever so often
They tell such a Beautiful Lie
That you wish it were true
They sing from the rocks
offering Escape from
Terrifying,
Suffocating,
Mind numbing Silence
that echoes off my skeleton
I am afraid that silence will hollow out my insides
and leave me abandoned
with nothing between my Bow and Stern
my Forecastle all torn up
I am afraid of the skeleton inside me
So I am a Woman of Many of Words
For fear of silence
And contempt for truth
Because my words are sirens
And my shipwreck is home here

"I can't help it
you see,
I have this habit
of throwing
smiles
around and
it makes me quite
sad
when people
      drop
           them"

I was going to learn to fly
but then
I changed my mind

I was going to go on an adventure
but then
i changed my mind

I was going to write a poem
but then
I changed my mind

...

oh look
there goes life
out the window
that i built
out of scratch
and
indecision

black blobs
on the page
and on my favorite
t-shirt
on the newspaper
spread before me
and on the tips
of my fingers

child like i press
my fingers
to the page
already occupied with blobs
and create fingerprints
that look like little people
and thus begins
my art work

I close the book and sit up.
It’s been a while
since the last time I finished a book in one sitting.
Lately I haven’t had time,
so I’ve read them in parts.
Really short parts.
I’d forgotten the feel of a whole book.
It is a completely different sensation.

I close the book and sit up.
Then I stare at the back cover for a few moments
and then,
I flip it over.
Then I stare at the front cover for a few moments
and then,
I open it and close it again.
And then I take a deep breath.

I close the book and sit up.
I look around and come back to my room.
It takes a while
to get used to the change in surrounding.
I feel as though I was thousands of years away.
I forgot what it felt like to get lost like that.
It was nice feeling,
getting lost,
and then returning.

I close the book and sit up.
I look around the room,
remembering where everything was,
that part of the wall with the paint peeling away,
the stickers I put up on that side of the room when I was ten.
A fly,
which has somehow gotten in,
buzzes around the room
looking for an escape,
trying to find where the light is coming from.
This may take a while seeing as I have the curtains drawn.
It flies around getting dizzy, until I lose sight of it.
I look up at the picture of me and my best friend on the wall,
trying to remember that this is the world I belong to.
Trying to remember what my place in it was.
It’s hard to pull yourself out of a world,
your left with a bittersweet after taste
from somewhere faraway.
The taste differs from book to book.
Right now, it tastes
like peaches.
I feel slightly disoriented, and dizzy,
like the fly.
I feel washed out.
The same feeling you have after having a good cry.
Because sometimes, those are necessary.
It’s a good feeling,
satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time.


I close the book and sit up.
The curtain is wrinkled
and there is an odd yellow light shining through its translucent surface.
That’s right.
It’s sunlight.
There’s a door, and a hallway outside it.
That’s right.
It leads to the kitchen.
There is a backpack,
with papers,
and books spilling out of it.
That’s right I have a paper due tomorrow.
A test the day after that,
and after the last plunge I took I can’t afford to do badly on it.
Slowly following this pattern
of familiarizing myself with the world
I come back.

There’s something romantic about stairwells.

                                        And something mysterious too.

                                                                              They’re a journey

a winding

          a turning

arduos

        Journey

But perhaps well worth the view

                                                          There’s something artistic about stairwells

                                               Maybe it’s the shadows

                                       and the way

                               they flirt

                 with the light

                                 (like I said there’s something romantic about stairwells)

              but there is some magic there too

Maybe it’s the fairytale

                 the something magic

                                  something tragic

                                             flight after flight

                                                                     a journey

                                                             Roadless and mapless

                                       A dance of torchlight and candle and flame

                                                                                                   I don’t know

                                                                        but there’s something special here

The world is full of gray people
Who have a difficult definition
They’re hard to paint a portrait of
And don’t last long in pictures
Because
They can’t sit still for long
They aren’t an illustration
From a children’s book
Because
They lack the color
They haven’t got a green
Nor red.
Nor blue.
Nor yellow.

They’re not a black and white comic
One that can be easily understood
By all
For that they lack legibility

They are gray

You can’t find them in a picture book
Because
They have too many chapters
All words
No pictures
Vague words
With multiple meanings
Similes and metaphors
Symbols and motifs
Characterization
That still leaves them
Incomplete

Disappointments are made out of
Doughnut Holes
and Doughnut Holes
are filled with Disappointments

She’s an inside-outside person
A tip-toeing lopsided dancer
A painter
A sculptor
A writer

Face, Hands, Feet
Feet, Face, Hands
Hands, Feet, Face

I read life in faces
in smiles
in wrinkles
and crinkles
and crow’s feet
I read life in faces
in tears
in eyes
and byes
and wibbly wobbly lips
I read life in faces
in blushes
in glances
and tilted winks
and looks of surprise
I read life in faces
in eyebrows
in eye-rolls
and shakes of the head
I read life in faces
In expressions
In language
And voices
And accents
I read life in hands
In calluses
In knuckles
and bitten fingernails
I read life in hands
In lines
In creases
and lefts
And rights
I read life in hands
In paper cuts
in ink stains
and picked at cuticles
I read life in hands
In holds
In handshakes
and chin resting places
I read life in hands
In puppets
In tickles
And pinky promises

I read life in feet
In walks
In tip-toes
And dances
I read life in feet
In heels
In flats
and grass between toes
I read life in feet
In steps
In lunges
And plunges
And climbs
I read life in feet
in far-a way’s
In nearbyes
And sock-feet at home
I read life in feet
Not inches
Not yards
Nor meters
Not miles per hour
But feet.

Face,Feet,Hands
Hands,Face,Feet
Feet,Hands,Face

You there
In the empty room
That’s filled with people
What do you see?

You there
In the bustling room
That is empty
What do you see?

You there
Peering through the mirror
That is a window
What do you see?

You there
Looking out of a window
That is a mirror
What do you see?

You there
Gazing at the sky
Longing for something
-I wonder-
What do you see?

You there
Staring at the clock
That is broken
What do you see?

You there
Watching seconds
Then minuets slip away
What do you see?

You there
Shuffling through years
-Did you lose a memory-
What do you see?




You there
blowing out Birthday candles
That are no longer wished on
What do you see?

You there
unwrapping gifts
That are still surprises
What do you see?

You there
Laughing at the world
That is sad
What do you see?

You there
Crying for a laughing world
That is silly
What do you see?

You there
Lost in a small world
That is huge
What do you see?

You there
Believing
In things you can’t see
What do you see?

You there
Lying
-Are you hiding from me-
What do you see?

You there
With the secret
That very few know
What do you see?

You there
With the silent face
That loves to tell tales
What do you see


YOU THERE
  YES YOU

Let me borrow your shoes
And walk a mile
With a story
For each step of the way

Let me look through your eyes
And paint a picture
For I want
A different colored sky

You there
Reflecting in the water
And changing with the ripples
What do you see?