Today I unpacked.
I unzipped the memories
And let them ease past
The edges of the suitcase.
I picked them up
Shook them out
Cradled them close
And took a carnal sniff
Of the rough cedar scent
Of heaven
And opportunities lived to the full.

Today I glow
With my secrets
Flickering like tea candles
In a dimly lit jazz bar


Inevitably
He lingers there
In the soft sultry light
There
And not there
The ghost of a person
Swaying to the music
And staring into my soul:
Too spectacular to be real.
He is the road less traveled
Winding and twisting his way through my head
So I can’t find where the stories begin
And he ends

I try to explain
But stories are shooting stars
Staring out bright and trailing off
As I realize I live in the present
While his memories spark and fizzle like pop rocks
Punching my taste buds with a shock of sweet.

He is:
A quest for a perfect seat in the coffee shop
Holding hands in a small theater
Stolen kisses on the sidewalk
Dances without music
A skyline in sunset
And a tearful goodbye
As I got on the train.

I said I was fine.


I lied.

Desperately holding myself together
I dragged my bag
Through a maze of stations
Past the cautious scrutiny of uniforms
And onto the sterility of the plane
Thank God for windows:
Loss is staring out them.
Leaving him behind
Pretending you’re not dying
As your seatmate politely ignores your sobs

They told her
That women fade out
Of the spotlight
As time
Tic-toc
Passes by
And they fade
Melt
And sag
In the summer heat
Of the ellipsoidals  

They told her
That she wouldn't live
If she put on her armor
To fight off the criticism
And she donned the golden band
Uniting her with her dreams

They told her
That she would be surrounded by people
But entirely alone

And she listened
But behind her teeth
She locked a thousand biting words
And a lashing tongue
That she yearned to unleash
On their haloed heads

Instead she shrugged on her apathy
Strangely warm
And gray-hooded
Like a murky puddle
Formed on the cracked asphalt
Of an abandoned playground

But when she went home at night
What they said
Dared her to prove them wrong
So she shook off the gray
And the murk
And she did.

She hates that she is spineless:
Starved of strength
Emancipated.

She hates that she is passive:
She has two legs
But cannot stand for anything
When faced with a loud voice
And menacing words
That threaten the tranquility of her dream-world;
The dream-world
Where conflict is banned
And people always have the best intentions
Because in essence man is good.

She hates that
When faced with a thousand possibilities
Tensions rise
And gears stick
Creak
Metal on metal
Straining
Pushing
As she tries not to succumb to her nature
But in spite of it all
Her head overheats
And she overloads
The perpetual screaming kettle, *** boiling over, and volcanic eruption
All in one

Tiny salted droplets of shame
Race down flushed and swollen cheeks
As her mental fists
Painstakingly punch her essence
Into action
Fueling a transformation with
"Inadequate"
"Failure"
And
"Lazy"

A transformation
That never sticks:
At least not as well as
Her lack of faith in herself.

Sometimes
The mask cracks
Muddy tectonic plates have dried into dust on my face
Flaked off dream dust of the pretty girl
Who lies with a look
And truths with a song

It chips off
And is done
Gone away
Vanished
And beneath?

A tiny bird cheeps feebly
A lion cub fiercely squeaks
A cricket chirps
And the old wooden gate creaks on its hinges.
Berries ripen on the bush
The fox bares her teeth with a snarl
The birch trees shush in the breeze
And the world is one indescribable play-date.

The phone tinkles
And blinks with excitement
Dancing with a toddler's anticipation
Of sweets on her birthday
With a special message
That the girl had shoved
To the swamps
On the outermost edges
Of her consciousness
And stomped into the murky depths
Without even stopping
To watch the bubbles from its gasping mouth
Surface on the sludgey waters

Disturbed, the girl stretches her dream-numbed arms
Like new rubber bands
And for a moment shifts back into the blanket cave
Snuggling her pillow
In a half-hearted gesture of farewell
Before clawing at the bedside table
For the ticking bomb that beckons her from sleep.

Unholy light assaults her groggy sleep-puffed eyes
As the phone trembles enthusiastically in her hand

One year anniversary

Her whole body winces
Teeth grit, vise-like, as she tries to shove the memory down
Fingers scramble at the stubby keys

Delete. Where is delete?

Reminder deleted
The phone seems saddened

If only it were that easy.

In an effort to comfort her
The phone slides into bed beside the girl
And keeps her company
As she stares at the knots in the wood on the ceiling
Which trail across the inky sky of her memory
Like the comets of a night picnic
That was labored over
And planned out
By a boy with high hopes, bright smiles, and a haunted spirit
Who drew out her optimist and romantic with naive skill
Only to be betrayed by the duality of her being:
Her realist and her pessimist;
The downside of new love and long distances.

The phone sighs a ping.

Just wanted to wish you safe travels before you head off
He sent

The irony of timing was not lost on her
In spite of her fuzzy morning brain

His message on the phone which she had cradled
As he told her a story to fall asleep to
The phone they had talked through
To tell the minute details of monotonous lives
To send messages that gave butterflies
And lit up faces with beaming sun smiles
The phone that she saw controlling her actions
When he was a world away
The phone that showed her a stranger she committed herself to
The phone that had outright asked her:
"Are you breaking up with me?"
The phone that had whispered "Yes, I think I am"
And then echoed hours of his tears
And confessions of depression
That pierced her guilty conscience to the core
But strengthened her shoddily constructed resolve

The phone into which
He had tenderly placed
A reminder for her
On the night she decided
To be young and silly and foolish
For once in her life:
The night she regretted
Three months later when she said goodbye
And twelve months later
When it reminded her
Of how painful young and stupid can be.

The gears in my clockwork heart
St-st-stutter and cough
Twisting, wrenching, straining
To turn back to our normal
"Click-clunk-click":
Our structured rhythm-dance
As clouds of rust-dust, lust-dust
Fly from my mechanized mind which,
Mis-wired, streams lifeblood data to my people processor
And my sights focus sharply on you.

Metal arms reach but are not seen,
Fingers touch but are not felt.
My mouth screams: "See me! Discern me!"
But the flat iron tone does not compute.
I say nothing that is real.
Nothing that is human.
You stand before me, unaffected
Frighteningly beautiful in your imperfection.

Kerchlunk.
The gears turn.
Oil: black-brown
Eases from my eyes.
Gun cocked, gaze steady,
We move on.
Ready.
Aim.
Fire.

Next victim, please.