Sweet smells. Skin sends off the scent of vanilla. Smooth surfaces- arms and neck- that seem to say there’s something special waiting for the two of us.
Prayers pacify the peacefully faithful. Could it possibly be I’m the one of which you speak. Promoting this passage of rites. You spread the peach colored linens, take another scoop of marmalade. You pinch your cheeks to make them pink and pleasing for this boy you’ve never met. Hoping you’ll pass the test.
Daydream. Reality confides in the sentimental heart that the filmmakers promise is not to be kept. The limbs struggle with the new structure. The years of work that are contained in a minute of ecstasy.
I want to ask you. What is the thing that contains your very breath. What is the one moment for which you have worked. And if I was looking, where would I find your sweat and your spirit. In which sacred well have you peered at your future. Glanced at your dreams. For if you’re to wake one morning, in a sunlight that is now very far away, and find me beside you. Sleeping while you contemplate the existence that you’ve yet to make. Who’s to say you won’t view me as another witness to your passivity. Falling into this love. Involuntarily. Because I’m here. Because I’m willing.
I want you to want me. And I only know it’s possible because I know that I want you.
Daydream. Fantasy overwhelms the logic of the mind and tells me that you will change. As the call goes unanswered for too many days, even the hope must fade; give way to a thicker substance. The heart breaks. The glass shatters. The fairy tale ends incorrectly; like your novels. And I’m alone.
Prayers of the simplest soul. That’s you. Where you stand. Feet together while determined tears stain the pages you thought you’d lost forever. There are no questions because you do not know how to ask. They misunderstand this as a stronger faith when in truth it only testifies to a weaker mind. You turn your head at the passing moments and fail the test.
Sweet smells. Cinnamon and cloves. Time keeps passing and so this separation must come to be. I do not distrust the substance that lies beneath. The stars are out and I can see them through the city lights. They seem to say there’s something special waiting for the two of us.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
The Things I Had Forgotten
They were ideas. Perfectly structured thoughts that had survived the crashing waves. They reflected what I had been and the person that I wanted to become. Thought. The kind that stays with you until you fall asleep and lingers sweetly when you wake.
They were hopes. Slightly sloppy but lovingly crafted. Combining the beauty of everything that I wish for and the potential that screams to me from each brick. They held love and sacrifice. They contained determination and achievement. A model for the future and the scrawled sketch of how I wanted it to be. Of how I wanted you.
They were words. Typed out letters that were based on classic composures turned inside out. Paragraphs of crafted rambles on life, love, and the occasional war. Sentences that leaked with the passion for life that I had somehow managed to lose. Letters that dripped with a sweetness that could only come from the optimism I had been sure was forever gone.
They were prayers. Recognition of the good that I lived each day. Understanding of the presence of this one and only Creator. Words that are whispered in every hour. Conversations that connected these two very separate worlds.
They were the things that I had forgotten. I hadn’t anticipated how easy it would be to find them again. How coming back is coming home. Anxiety leaves the moment you enter the door and familiarity conquers all doubts.
Could it really be this easy. People search for decades and find an empty chest buried under years of sand. Couples that will never meet spend lifetimes searching and end disappointed. And some people love twice. Again and again they find a way to fill that loneliness. How can it be that I found it so easily. How can it be that in a second the whole world can change. That a block later it’s clear to me that I’m supposed to be with you, and I’m not sure how I didn’t know it five minutes ago.
The most ridiculous thing is that all you have to do is ask. With a single sentence you can activate the powers of Hashgacha. HaShem changes the entire world in a second and ushers you into a new reality. You just have to ask.
This is it for me. I found what I had lost and I gained more than I had anticipated. We’re walking through the shadowed city and I find it to be a very certain possibility that I will marry you one day. But it doesn’t even matter, because I feel Him in every step and with every inhalation. I feel Him smiling and that’s all that I need.
Please pray. Just something small. Because I want this life for you. I want you to have this beauty. Whoever you are. Whatever your past. You silent companions that populated those lonely hours in the middle of the night. I wish you all the best and all the beauty that can be found in this world.
They were hopes. Slightly sloppy but lovingly crafted. Combining the beauty of everything that I wish for and the potential that screams to me from each brick. They held love and sacrifice. They contained determination and achievement. A model for the future and the scrawled sketch of how I wanted it to be. Of how I wanted you.
They were words. Typed out letters that were based on classic composures turned inside out. Paragraphs of crafted rambles on life, love, and the occasional war. Sentences that leaked with the passion for life that I had somehow managed to lose. Letters that dripped with a sweetness that could only come from the optimism I had been sure was forever gone.
They were prayers. Recognition of the good that I lived each day. Understanding of the presence of this one and only Creator. Words that are whispered in every hour. Conversations that connected these two very separate worlds.
They were the things that I had forgotten. I hadn’t anticipated how easy it would be to find them again. How coming back is coming home. Anxiety leaves the moment you enter the door and familiarity conquers all doubts.
Could it really be this easy. People search for decades and find an empty chest buried under years of sand. Couples that will never meet spend lifetimes searching and end disappointed. And some people love twice. Again and again they find a way to fill that loneliness. How can it be that I found it so easily. How can it be that in a second the whole world can change. That a block later it’s clear to me that I’m supposed to be with you, and I’m not sure how I didn’t know it five minutes ago.
The most ridiculous thing is that all you have to do is ask. With a single sentence you can activate the powers of Hashgacha. HaShem changes the entire world in a second and ushers you into a new reality. You just have to ask.
This is it for me. I found what I had lost and I gained more than I had anticipated. We’re walking through the shadowed city and I find it to be a very certain possibility that I will marry you one day. But it doesn’t even matter, because I feel Him in every step and with every inhalation. I feel Him smiling and that’s all that I need.
Please pray. Just something small. Because I want this life for you. I want you to have this beauty. Whoever you are. Whatever your past. You silent companions that populated those lonely hours in the middle of the night. I wish you all the best and all the beauty that can be found in this world.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Autumn
The trees cry leftover tears of last night’s thunderstorm. Dripping onto the neighborhood with a subtle magnificence that invites the traveling sparks to settle down. If only for one night. Souls hide in the clouds that hover above houses. They search for home, and in that they are more of this world than the grown babies who pull into symmetrical driveways. Right on schedule.
Something in the air is leading everyone to love making. Bitterness departs with the misty breeze and once again bodies slide into place. Young again after all these years. The birds catch a glimpse as they soar over sidewalks. They leave for their summer escape slightly warmed by the brilliance that grows beneath the covers.
I watch for and with the stars from the window. I see the splendor drape over the distance like the patterned sheets you’ve been collecting. I view the glistening embraces light up the night and I know they are remembering me.
You prepare the small, sunlit room until it beams majestic and shimmering. Lilies plucked from the star studded skies. The white petals mysteriously milky. Your skin glowing and gleaming, I realize how fast you’re growing. We dance across the wood floors to whatever melodies our lungs can remember. Liberated in the richness of this moment, we forget whatever else is coming.
Memories from other worlds and other lives come to us as we watch the rain clouds roll away. Wet grass seeps through layers of wool and cotton until it reaches our skin and the earth is comforted into sleep by that closeness. The bees grow tired so late in the season and we watch them struggle for escape, captured to the point of inaction by the perfection of their trembling wings. The trees begin to close into themselves and the long months of dreaming that lay ahead. They leave us watercolor notes that maintain their shape against the grey concrete after the rain has smothered the pigment with kisses. The streets dip down on each side to hold these love letters as they fall to us. The slopes fill with folds of deep pinks and toasted yellows. Each leaf finds a place in the tilted dimensions and in doing so silently takes the hand of the men that formed this dream catching road. Somewhere far away they sense it and are overwhelmed with the urge to capture a heart. As I walk by, the tree releases two of her precious creations. Ever so calm.
The fireworks seem to impose themselves onto the starry blackness of the night. But the glittering sparks welcome this long lost brother into the depths of their darkness. They spin together, high above me and the place where I sit. I feel the damp night ground through my polka dot socks but the rest of me is against the thick wool blanket. Yellow lines swirl together with the woven creams and stand illuminated in the shadows of the hour. Knees slightly raised and feet flat against the ground. Back propped up by the palm of my right hand while I take slow sips of sweet red wine from the glass in my left. It’s odd to be back here. I’d forgotten the magic that lives in these streets.
My mind spins with the stories that I see in each inch of space. Everywhere I look is inspiration for a line that I cannot wait to write. The urge to scrawl across my very skin overcomes me at all times.
Standing before the mirror, I tilt the black hat across my left eye. I pin the length against the back of my neck and leave a few curls to play freely on my cheeks. My lips are stained a bright red and suddenly my face is alive. I sink into a chair and bend to lace up the heels. I look striking and lovely, and I know it. You walk around the tree lined streets thinking you aren’t spectacular. In that you teach me the importance of slight self indulgence. I plan to enjoy the beauty that I find in myself.
A few stubborn raindrops that are determined to maintain the bond between drop and leaf shimmer like pearls in the morning sunlight. The rays scan colors across my face then move on to dance through a different being. I’m tempted to bring my biggest bag, hoping to have something to take with me by the end of the day. But I see that you don’t need everything for forever. Sometimes living it once is more of a miracle than you ever could have known.
In every other home in every other place children are turning over, grateful for the extra hour of sleep. Fallen stars weave into one and drape over the couples that lay wrapped together. Limbs overlapping to the point of indistinction. Babies quiet their tears for a short moment as those souls sing them familiar pieces from the past.
I walk the streets despite the hour. I live these hours despite their certain ending. I anticipate this ending despite its losses. I cherish the losses for the room it now creates. For something more, for something greater, for something else. Honest eyes stay open, unafraid of the terms and implications. I vow to the blue above me to appreciate the richness of today.
Baruch she-asah li et haness hazos.
Something in the air is leading everyone to love making. Bitterness departs with the misty breeze and once again bodies slide into place. Young again after all these years. The birds catch a glimpse as they soar over sidewalks. They leave for their summer escape slightly warmed by the brilliance that grows beneath the covers.
I watch for and with the stars from the window. I see the splendor drape over the distance like the patterned sheets you’ve been collecting. I view the glistening embraces light up the night and I know they are remembering me.
You prepare the small, sunlit room until it beams majestic and shimmering. Lilies plucked from the star studded skies. The white petals mysteriously milky. Your skin glowing and gleaming, I realize how fast you’re growing. We dance across the wood floors to whatever melodies our lungs can remember. Liberated in the richness of this moment, we forget whatever else is coming.
Memories from other worlds and other lives come to us as we watch the rain clouds roll away. Wet grass seeps through layers of wool and cotton until it reaches our skin and the earth is comforted into sleep by that closeness. The bees grow tired so late in the season and we watch them struggle for escape, captured to the point of inaction by the perfection of their trembling wings. The trees begin to close into themselves and the long months of dreaming that lay ahead. They leave us watercolor notes that maintain their shape against the grey concrete after the rain has smothered the pigment with kisses. The streets dip down on each side to hold these love letters as they fall to us. The slopes fill with folds of deep pinks and toasted yellows. Each leaf finds a place in the tilted dimensions and in doing so silently takes the hand of the men that formed this dream catching road. Somewhere far away they sense it and are overwhelmed with the urge to capture a heart. As I walk by, the tree releases two of her precious creations. Ever so calm.
The fireworks seem to impose themselves onto the starry blackness of the night. But the glittering sparks welcome this long lost brother into the depths of their darkness. They spin together, high above me and the place where I sit. I feel the damp night ground through my polka dot socks but the rest of me is against the thick wool blanket. Yellow lines swirl together with the woven creams and stand illuminated in the shadows of the hour. Knees slightly raised and feet flat against the ground. Back propped up by the palm of my right hand while I take slow sips of sweet red wine from the glass in my left. It’s odd to be back here. I’d forgotten the magic that lives in these streets.
My mind spins with the stories that I see in each inch of space. Everywhere I look is inspiration for a line that I cannot wait to write. The urge to scrawl across my very skin overcomes me at all times.
Standing before the mirror, I tilt the black hat across my left eye. I pin the length against the back of my neck and leave a few curls to play freely on my cheeks. My lips are stained a bright red and suddenly my face is alive. I sink into a chair and bend to lace up the heels. I look striking and lovely, and I know it. You walk around the tree lined streets thinking you aren’t spectacular. In that you teach me the importance of slight self indulgence. I plan to enjoy the beauty that I find in myself.
A few stubborn raindrops that are determined to maintain the bond between drop and leaf shimmer like pearls in the morning sunlight. The rays scan colors across my face then move on to dance through a different being. I’m tempted to bring my biggest bag, hoping to have something to take with me by the end of the day. But I see that you don’t need everything for forever. Sometimes living it once is more of a miracle than you ever could have known.
In every other home in every other place children are turning over, grateful for the extra hour of sleep. Fallen stars weave into one and drape over the couples that lay wrapped together. Limbs overlapping to the point of indistinction. Babies quiet their tears for a short moment as those souls sing them familiar pieces from the past.
I walk the streets despite the hour. I live these hours despite their certain ending. I anticipate this ending despite its losses. I cherish the losses for the room it now creates. For something more, for something greater, for something else. Honest eyes stay open, unafraid of the terms and implications. I vow to the blue above me to appreciate the richness of today.
Baruch she-asah li et haness hazos.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Wasted Wonders
How does this music manage to claw at me? It enters into my veins and serenades each cell to tears. All of me is dripping with the salted substance of reluctance. Dreaded introspection. I’m tired of thinking of myself.
You are everywhere in this place. The walls call for you, the particles of air surround me with whispers of your name and memories of your touch. They cry for you in my stead. This ache is too dull and steady. As if it had always been and as if you had never really been. I see you in each old man, each wise one that now carries the burden of a forgetful mind. I bled when I opened the birthday card. It was the first one that you hadn’t written, though I almost believed in would contain a formerly declared promise. Part of me felt abandoned that you hadn’t thought to prepare.
The rain falls steady now. The pressure turns to a constant tapping on the inside of my skull. Eyes widen with all that they can see and I wonder to myself, was the world always this breathtaking? What a pity that I missed it.
How much longer before I find myself contained? The year begins and I beg for only one thing, only a million things, only a million and one. Can you therefore fault me for my inability to limit my speech. Does a sudden change in atmosphere render the end of all that we have known. Do you mean it when you say you mean to move away, resettle in a place that I do not find familiar. Am I to be just a visiting soul, a traveling spark that got lost on the road. Will I forever depend on others to set my own limits, these thick black lines that I don’t know how to draw. Within reason.
Addictions come and go, flowing through me like wind through a ghost of a wall. Air against air, it’s a wonder they don’t lose themselves in the other. And for me, will there ever be that meeting of breezes. Will the baby in my arms ever be the one that was formed to match my own face.
What are these lies I tell myself daily. What empty glances that fill each glass. Blood replacing the heavy weight of the reddest wine. Sometimes a story is just a story, and sometimes it’s something so much more.
I held her close to me. I held her tight. I told her the single bedtime story that was never born and will never die. That one that will be recreated in each season, in each generation, from the loneliness of those that are still searching. "Once there was a girl who thought she was in love with a Republican." And I didn’t know you were listening in the hallway. I hadn’t known you were waiting to tell me.
Sweet dreams. Baby girl. Tucked in corners of soft pink comforters. Gentle music, you’re parents did not leave you lacking in anything. Suddenly a hand on my back. Smooth and so soft. Closer than I expected, gentle and so sure or yourself. Perfect kiss and then you were gone. All alone with my tears. All alone with my joy.
All alone with my dreams in the early morning sun. I do not wash the windows. I fear it will ruin the shadows of my painting. That masterpiece I piece together with the remnants of beauty I find abandoned in the street.
He calls. He's falling. They don't know exactly what to do. Oh yes, there's hope. Do not shed your tears just yet, my dears. And yet, so lacking. There is no name to give. He is not of us, of ours, and so his name may not be added to any list. I pray for him still, unsure it does any good. Your head can change what happens in your toes, but if he is not attached to this body how can I reach his little limbs.
"Baruch atah" I bend because I cannot stand. Your name alone gives me the strength to straighten my head.
"Masai timloch b'tzion" I do not know what else to ask. I see my weaknesses as clearly as I see the morning sky. I see my failures as plainly as I see the form of my face, the curves of my figure. You see my tears and each one is asking to end this. My skin starts to show the worry of these five thousand years. Wrinkles so deep.
Change is in the air. I feel it so close as it pushes aside everything else and forces me to breath it in. I am sure it will be us that brings this altered reality to the world. If only we would decide that it is what we wanted. Our power is limitless.
You are everywhere in this place. The walls call for you, the particles of air surround me with whispers of your name and memories of your touch. They cry for you in my stead. This ache is too dull and steady. As if it had always been and as if you had never really been. I see you in each old man, each wise one that now carries the burden of a forgetful mind. I bled when I opened the birthday card. It was the first one that you hadn’t written, though I almost believed in would contain a formerly declared promise. Part of me felt abandoned that you hadn’t thought to prepare.
The rain falls steady now. The pressure turns to a constant tapping on the inside of my skull. Eyes widen with all that they can see and I wonder to myself, was the world always this breathtaking? What a pity that I missed it.
How much longer before I find myself contained? The year begins and I beg for only one thing, only a million things, only a million and one. Can you therefore fault me for my inability to limit my speech. Does a sudden change in atmosphere render the end of all that we have known. Do you mean it when you say you mean to move away, resettle in a place that I do not find familiar. Am I to be just a visiting soul, a traveling spark that got lost on the road. Will I forever depend on others to set my own limits, these thick black lines that I don’t know how to draw. Within reason.
Addictions come and go, flowing through me like wind through a ghost of a wall. Air against air, it’s a wonder they don’t lose themselves in the other. And for me, will there ever be that meeting of breezes. Will the baby in my arms ever be the one that was formed to match my own face.
What are these lies I tell myself daily. What empty glances that fill each glass. Blood replacing the heavy weight of the reddest wine. Sometimes a story is just a story, and sometimes it’s something so much more.
I held her close to me. I held her tight. I told her the single bedtime story that was never born and will never die. That one that will be recreated in each season, in each generation, from the loneliness of those that are still searching. "Once there was a girl who thought she was in love with a Republican." And I didn’t know you were listening in the hallway. I hadn’t known you were waiting to tell me.
Sweet dreams. Baby girl. Tucked in corners of soft pink comforters. Gentle music, you’re parents did not leave you lacking in anything. Suddenly a hand on my back. Smooth and so soft. Closer than I expected, gentle and so sure or yourself. Perfect kiss and then you were gone. All alone with my tears. All alone with my joy.
All alone with my dreams in the early morning sun. I do not wash the windows. I fear it will ruin the shadows of my painting. That masterpiece I piece together with the remnants of beauty I find abandoned in the street.
He calls. He's falling. They don't know exactly what to do. Oh yes, there's hope. Do not shed your tears just yet, my dears. And yet, so lacking. There is no name to give. He is not of us, of ours, and so his name may not be added to any list. I pray for him still, unsure it does any good. Your head can change what happens in your toes, but if he is not attached to this body how can I reach his little limbs.
"Baruch atah" I bend because I cannot stand. Your name alone gives me the strength to straighten my head.
"Masai timloch b'tzion" I do not know what else to ask. I see my weaknesses as clearly as I see the morning sky. I see my failures as plainly as I see the form of my face, the curves of my figure. You see my tears and each one is asking to end this. My skin starts to show the worry of these five thousand years. Wrinkles so deep.
Change is in the air. I feel it so close as it pushes aside everything else and forces me to breath it in. I am sure it will be us that brings this altered reality to the world. If only we would decide that it is what we wanted. Our power is limitless.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Love Notes
I find myself crying. For what I have missed, for that person I could have been. I confess to my Creator that I'm not sure I can do it. My lips move and brush against the text. The sound of my voice bounces back to me from the page. For a minute I'm not sure I can move. I cannot release myself from this moment of pure communication and simplicity to enter back into the space where Challenge will not let me live. Peacefully. I do not ask for much yet that for which I do request I find each time dismissed. Do You not also desire the streets to be filled with dancing?
The fabric folds and stretches in ways I do not understand. I attempt a tug every once in a while, but truthfully I sit and wait to be draped. I trust. In You. In only You. In no other being, human or not, of this world or of another, have I ever placed that thing. That word that keeps coming back to me as they sum up my inability to keep you close. And so I add to my requests that you understand my love and come back to me from across those long distances. I pray that you'll know I am waiting. I pray, my love, that you are reading this now.
The city expands from each step. From below it blows out before me, bigger than anything I could have dreamed. And the breeze mixes with the winds from the west, from those simple caresses that make me know You're here. She screams with a sense of finality as she forces a life from between her. I find myself crying. For this new one I hold in the folds of my flesh. I whisper sweet songs, "Kitzror hamor, ken dodi li. Bein shaday yalin."
She runs around the room with a wave of long blond frizz bellowing out behind her. Smallest eyes and sharpest mind, she looks for adventure in places I had long deemed barren. She dances alone in the center of the space. Her hands follow a pattern that I do not know while the beat adjusts to the song she cannot hear me singing. "Shuvi, shuvi shulamis. Shuvi, shuvi v'techezeh bach. Ki nechezeh bashulamis, kimcholot hamachanaim."
Hold your thumb up to your eye and all you see is a thumb. Remove it and you'll realize the world that has always existed just beyond your own arrogance. Run away from the fears that you have and they will follow close behind. Run from the strength that you have to confront them and you embrace the emptiness of misfortune.
Hold him close to you while you have him. Do not allow your hesitation to create space between your very limbs. For one moment to have his touch would I not give all that I am. Would my lips not lie, create falsehoods from each letter, for the chance to listen again to the sound of his heart through the skin of his chest.
Do I not yearn for You with the same burning pain. Look at me here and tell me, do I not wait for You each minute of the day. And when I cry, "bein kach ubein kach ani bocheh" do I not cry for this distance. My love compares so slightly to the feelings that are returned. I am not worthy. I harbor no doubts as to the condition of my actions and the selection of my merits. "L'man shmecha" for all that You are please send him already.
We should all have a year of life and blessing, of health and happiness, of strength and courage, and of revealed miracles. May this year end and the new one begin in Yerushalayim with the coming of Moshiach.
The fabric folds and stretches in ways I do not understand. I attempt a tug every once in a while, but truthfully I sit and wait to be draped. I trust. In You. In only You. In no other being, human or not, of this world or of another, have I ever placed that thing. That word that keeps coming back to me as they sum up my inability to keep you close. And so I add to my requests that you understand my love and come back to me from across those long distances. I pray that you'll know I am waiting. I pray, my love, that you are reading this now.
The city expands from each step. From below it blows out before me, bigger than anything I could have dreamed. And the breeze mixes with the winds from the west, from those simple caresses that make me know You're here. She screams with a sense of finality as she forces a life from between her. I find myself crying. For this new one I hold in the folds of my flesh. I whisper sweet songs, "Kitzror hamor, ken dodi li. Bein shaday yalin."
She runs around the room with a wave of long blond frizz bellowing out behind her. Smallest eyes and sharpest mind, she looks for adventure in places I had long deemed barren. She dances alone in the center of the space. Her hands follow a pattern that I do not know while the beat adjusts to the song she cannot hear me singing. "Shuvi, shuvi shulamis. Shuvi, shuvi v'techezeh bach. Ki nechezeh bashulamis, kimcholot hamachanaim."
Hold your thumb up to your eye and all you see is a thumb. Remove it and you'll realize the world that has always existed just beyond your own arrogance. Run away from the fears that you have and they will follow close behind. Run from the strength that you have to confront them and you embrace the emptiness of misfortune.
Hold him close to you while you have him. Do not allow your hesitation to create space between your very limbs. For one moment to have his touch would I not give all that I am. Would my lips not lie, create falsehoods from each letter, for the chance to listen again to the sound of his heart through the skin of his chest.
Do I not yearn for You with the same burning pain. Look at me here and tell me, do I not wait for You each minute of the day. And when I cry, "bein kach ubein kach ani bocheh" do I not cry for this distance. My love compares so slightly to the feelings that are returned. I am not worthy. I harbor no doubts as to the condition of my actions and the selection of my merits. "L'man shmecha" for all that You are please send him already.
We should all have a year of life and blessing, of health and happiness, of strength and courage, and of revealed miracles. May this year end and the new one begin in Yerushalayim with the coming of Moshiach.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Rubber Band Boy
I know why you're thinking that. It's my fault that you misunderstood. I wove your weaknesses through the flesh of my fingertips and then snapped you away as if you were nothing but a rubber band. You were shocked when I confessed interest in what you had believed to be a world I would not enter. I was stunned to find that you were exactly as I thought. Despite what I know about the world, I find it easy to trust you.
I tell her the number. The colored sign that appeared out of nothing and implies an existence I'm not sure I can handle. Fourteen years. Too much and too little for the worries I have. My babies will not whisper their secrets to the walls. There have been enough hardships nestled within the plaster.
He tells me we'll sit in a circle and discuss secrets. Lines that he trains to perform so perfectly, while I can't even make sense of meter. Words that he stretches until they say what he means. She falls asleep in the corner and her head nods from side to side like the little dolls that they sell at drugstores. Using the cheapest glue to stick together massive explosions of plastic and potential. Sometimes life can get too big for Crayola. The pens scribble away as they mark up her flesh with adjustments and revisions. I cannot speak. I will not read. My thoughts can't help bolting. Out of this room. Back to the safety of silence. Nor at this shall I be a master.
I tell her the number. The colored sign that appeared out of nothing and implies an existence I'm not sure I can handle. Fourteen years. Too much and too little for the worries I have. My babies will not whisper their secrets to the walls. There have been enough hardships nestled within the plaster.
He tells me we'll sit in a circle and discuss secrets. Lines that he trains to perform so perfectly, while I can't even make sense of meter. Words that he stretches until they say what he means. She falls asleep in the corner and her head nods from side to side like the little dolls that they sell at drugstores. Using the cheapest glue to stick together massive explosions of plastic and potential. Sometimes life can get too big for Crayola. The pens scribble away as they mark up her flesh with adjustments and revisions. I cannot speak. I will not read. My thoughts can't help bolting. Out of this room. Back to the safety of silence. Nor at this shall I be a master.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I'm Waiting for Tulips
I was so afraid. Unnecessary, irrelevant fears that cloud over your mind and create tension throughout each limb. Worry that can only be calmed by the sound of the rain and the faded daze that comes over the city during a downpour. But the secret was well kept and I walked off the elevator alone. He waited by the door with a forced expression of casual disinterest.
He took me to our park, despite the season. Old women and mothers with babies smiled at us kindly. We reminded them of something, perhaps of potential. We walked until my feet were numb and my heels were worn away by the hard sidewalks. He bought me roses.
My hand adjusts to the pattern of this writing. After filling notebooks with poems that condense and divide, this method of expression confuses. I have forgotten how to create sentences that roll into each other like waves. In these stories I find myself kissing the grass and planting seeds in your cheeks. Despite what I know.
I walk through the city and pray quietly to myself. I analyze fashion trends, study your laws to bring clarity to my own, and stay awake too late to reread your poems.
I watch you walk away in your baby-blue crocks. Smiling to myself because you are not for me. I have been given the blessing of time, the miracle of the continued search, and the opportunity to expand myself in ways I never thought possible.
But at the moment that he leaves I find myself thinking. If this was a movie I would turn around and you'd be standing right behind me. Smiling softly, the way you did that day at the park.
He took me to our park, despite the season. Old women and mothers with babies smiled at us kindly. We reminded them of something, perhaps of potential. We walked until my feet were numb and my heels were worn away by the hard sidewalks. He bought me roses.
My hand adjusts to the pattern of this writing. After filling notebooks with poems that condense and divide, this method of expression confuses. I have forgotten how to create sentences that roll into each other like waves. In these stories I find myself kissing the grass and planting seeds in your cheeks. Despite what I know.
I walk through the city and pray quietly to myself. I analyze fashion trends, study your laws to bring clarity to my own, and stay awake too late to reread your poems.
I watch you walk away in your baby-blue crocks. Smiling to myself because you are not for me. I have been given the blessing of time, the miracle of the continued search, and the opportunity to expand myself in ways I never thought possible.
But at the moment that he leaves I find myself thinking. If this was a movie I would turn around and you'd be standing right behind me. Smiling softly, the way you did that day at the park.
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