I get a little stuck
In the wake of the ocean that left me gasping
For air, it seems light
And people start forgetting
That you've been sitting with the sand
Becoming one with the back of your knees
Eventually, low tide comes
Giving you a minute to breathe
You start to forget that you are anywhere but
Staring at the sea,
And there is nothing for hundreds of miles
Except the livid foam rushing towards you.


Sand has to scratch before it smooths

I want to have a dream.

I mean to say, I’ve been dreaming
for weeks now, a feeling
I didn’t have before

There’s a sand trap in
the pit of
my
stomach
pulling me
down

I’m drowning,
dust, dry,
coughing up your needs
and feathers and starting over,
silent sounds of you

breathing,
closely

I think about you in the morning, when I’m washing my hair
when my fingertips feign yours and if I close my eyes, I can almost really feel you.
as I’m putting on my clothes, there you are again,
your hand resting on the small of my back.
when I’m walking to work, our hands once intertwined,                         
I feel your leg brush against mine.
And as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear the words you whisper
little daggers in the night, piercing through the slumber
the fingertips start dragging, nails cutting
and your hands sliding up the nape of my neck, tightening.
when I wake up from that nightmare,
you no longer seem that delicate.
---
maybe round two will prove for tougher skin, not as easily bruised
and maybe the second time around, that pit won’t be as deep
that sinking feeling won’t have as far to drop
the next time my heart feels pain, scar tissue hardening,      the reverberations won’t be as jarring
and while the assumption is there, that it won’t disappear completely,
I can hope for numbing overtime, like winter slowly closing in on my toes
you can barely feel the cold anymore

He was just a year older,
but I, at least three wiser.

The Gatekeeper, silently watching ***** Dancing,
assuming us at ease, slowly dozed off.

Plastic floors, feigning multi-colored concrete,
built a vivid castle around us.

And there, I found my primary-colored sanctuary,
a dungeon to others, with rubber walls.

The Giant, just a year older
and at least seven inches taller,
tore down the castle doors,
and away my Damsel flew.

No time to react,
I watched as the sly-deviled Giant ripped her from limb to limb.

My mouth wide in horror,
her tiny shoes fell to the ground,
her blonde locks not far behind them.

And I, the lonely maiden, just one year younger,
but wild beyond my years,
Let rage turn me to a vicious knight,
determined to slay the Giant-turned-Dragon.

With scales dragging between my teeth, I found his flesh
and tasted sweet victory, a tinge of iron.

The Dragon recoiled, agony escaping from his jagged teeth,
The Damsel falling from his clutch, to the cold plastic cement.

Tears reclaimed the Giant from his vicious reptilian form,
and those seven inches meant less as his wailing continued.

And I, the valiant maiden-knight, had slain the mighty Giant;
who was just one year older, seven inches taller,
and knew never to touch my Barbie dolls again.

My cat’s interest is peaked by anything resembling the
slick plastic crinkle
of the treat bag.
It’s the only time she will approach me.
Besides when I actually have the treat bag.
Then she is a tiger
prowling around the corners of the kitchen.
The depths of her eyes are eerie green pearls
with shiny granite centers
slowly meet mine
that blue ball tinkling around her neck
as she turns her gaze towards me.

She can tell that I’m high.
At the computer
my mother is checking her mail
slowly
clicking
scrolling
click
click
she is hunting
and
pecking.
Mrs. Palese, my third grade teacher
would have been displeased
because we always kept
all our fingers on the keys
asdfjkl;
I think I’m one off
Now she’d be staring at me sternly.
A stern look.
Her eyes are just pools that my memory
can not fill
but I remember her hair
and I remember the time her husband died
and we each made a casserole everyday
as if lasagna would hold her at night
and tell her she looked beautiful in the morning
before she brushed her hair
or washed her face.
I remember she gave me my first communion.
I would get another stern look for my
Lack Of Capitalization.
But I would care just as much
as I did when that wafer
hit my lips.
I’ll give you a guess.
My mother is still checking her e-mail.
It almost seems impossible that she
is concocting real words
with that slow ebb and flow of fingers.
But finally,
the sun is almost up,
she is done
See you tomorrow, sweetie
she whispers,
like she could wake anyone up
because it’s already tomorrow
and she’s getting confused.
The quick rattle of pill bottles
and she’s gone.
And maybe I
the time
stretched

a
little
because
there are still five hours
until dawn.

The oceans continued to ebb and flow,
Gravity was unaffected.

Scientists claimed we were no longer in orbit,
but that the pettiness of humanity would
continue to propel us through space,
at a speed incalculable,
because who can count every tooth for a tooth?
Especially when we have all been blinded
by jealousy and spite.

But I refused to believe that was true.
I ran tests, questioned the stars, and found,
it was the constant heartbeat of the human race
that kept the Earth turning,
and every time someone fell in love,
the tide washed in further on the shore.

For every set of butterflies in the pit
of a young lover’s stomach,
another wave crashed.

And after every heartbreak,
the sun rose, the tide washed out,
and as the Earth kept turning,
we learned that we could love again.

I would rather have a seizure than stare at your face again.

Because at least, if I’m having a seizure, I’ll probably be unconscious and unaware that you’ve actually walked out the room
                                                  I’ll wake up alone on the kitchen floor

But I won’t have to wake up with the bottom of my stomach dragging behind my feet