Bruised Veins

She walks into my office, a drab haired girl whose red and purple shirt makes her look like a bruise on the blue-hued walls by the door. She purposefully bumps into the table as she trudges to her seat. She slouches as she sits down, crossing her arms and trying desperately to frown.
"Hello, Madeline."
"Maddie. I'm Maddie."
"Yes, alright. Your mother asked me to discuss with you your plans for the future."
"I don't have plans for the future. Mom lets Dad decide my life and I just have to follow through on it." She sits back up and leans on the chair's back. "Dad wants me to be this big important scientist or something. He says I'm just wasting my potential, that I have to be practical, have to be able to support myself because he doesn't want to have to support me when I'm an adult." She shrugged. "Like it's not Mom's money I'd be wasting anyway."
"Do you know why he wants you to be practical?"
"He acts like it's 'cause he wants me to be successful, wants me to be happy. Like he gives a shit."
"Is there any reason you think otherwise?"
"Look, it's not like I'm not sure he cares, I just don't think I'll be my 'happiest possible self' working as some lab rat. I already know the meaning of life I even know the question."
I raise my eyebrow at her Douglas Addams reference. "Do you have any favorite books?"
"What's that got t'do with my plans for life?"
"Nothing. I was just hoping we could discuss something you were willing to talking about."
She shakes her head, glances at the clock and shrugs. "Sure why not? My favorite book is Dune but I like the Hitchhiker series and Anita Blake too. I really like Anne Rice but I can't stand the movie version of her 2nd and 3rd books. It totally skipped over his life and messed up the parts that were included and you know what sucks? It had her backing. I don't know. It's like some sorta betrayal or something."
"Why do you think that?" I ask.
"Well, like, you think you know how it's gonna be and then its not nearly as good as you hoped. It's like waiting so long to get your first kiss and then gagging 'cause the guy shoved his tongue down your throat."
"Have you had your first kiss?"
She rolls her eyes at me. "Look Lady, I'm seventeen, its not like I don't know what sex is."
"Have you ever had sex?"
"No, but not for my lack of trying."
"Really?"
"Yea, every time I find the one guy who's decent enough, Dad manages to catch me or ground me. Its like he's a fucking psychic or something."
I look at her. Maybe another tactic. "What color are your eyes?"
"Well that's a soup question for you. They're gray. My hair's black. My skin's white and I'm underweight by 13 lbs, anything else you want to know about me? How about the date of my last period? What the fuck are you, my GYN or something?"
"Whom do you relate more towards amongst your parents?"
"Mom."
"And why is that?"
"'Cause Dad's an overbearing narrow-minded ISTJ."
"And you consider yourself a�?"
"I've been an ESTJ for 3 years. I don't figure it's gonna change anytime soon."
"Alright, let's try something new. Word association. I say a word and you give an immediate verbal response."
"Mother."
"Leave."
"Family."
"Me."
"Future."
"The."
"School."
"Fuck."
"Tree."
"Alone."
My eyebrow shoots up. "You have such interesting associations, Maddie."

***
"Your daughter seems to be a relatively normal teenager."
Her mother tenses and places her hands in her lap. "Then why would her school say that she had emotional problems?"
"Many school systems are overly worried in an attempt to reduce suits to the school for a suicide or an assault." I look up from my notebook. The father has leaned forward and seems to be very much in charge of the relationship, his wife cries to create space between them but fails.
"Are you saying that she got pulled into the office because they were worried we would sue if they didn't?"
I nod. "Almost exactly, Mr. Cummings. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your daughter other than a dislike of authority and an uncertainty of her future plans."
He clenches his hands between his legs as he leans toward me. "Look, Ms�?"
"Walker. Doctor Walker."
"Ms. Walker. I was a psychology major myself. She obviously has problems. She might be a borderline personality or even bipolar. There is a history of mental illness in the family." I look at him. He seems almost desperate for there to be something wrong so it isn't truly his fault if something happens.
"Sir, 20 years ago homosexuality was considered a mental illness. Ten years ago, everyone was thought to be Manic-Depressive. Five years ago, a record number of children were on drugs due to a supposed chemical imbalance or mental illness. Now we find out that the drugs we gave them were only band-aids that when pulled away ripped the wound afresh. I am most certainly hesitant to say that a girl is a sociopath personality because she doesn't identify with other people. That is simply part of being a teenager." The father stands and walks out. His wife gets up fussily, apologizing for the need to leave early but he must have had a call on his beeper.
"Ma'am, I would suggest a few group sessions so any family conflicts can be resolved." She nods and scurries out the door. I lean back in my chair.
"Yuppies."
***
Maddie sits in the plush red chair, nearly swallowed and looking like a bruise again in navy and black. Her mother sits in the middle of the couch opposite my chair. The father is a gaping hole.
"Maddie, are there any topics you would like to discuss with your mother?"
Her mother leans forward slightly. "I'm so sorry John couldn't be here. I know he would have wanted to be."
"Mom, be quiet." Maddie mutters from the chair. She slouches so much that her chin rests on her chest.
"Madeline, sit up straight." Maddie glares at her before sliding butt first down the chair to the floor.
"Nothing?" I interrupt. "Alright, I think it would beneficial if your future was discussed."
"You mean my lack-thereof?" She gets back into the chair, this time leaning against the arm on the side furthest from her mother. "I don't see the point of going to college."
Her mother starts. "Of course you'll go to college. There aren't any careers for high school graduates."
"And study what, Mom? Physics? I like science but I'm not that smart."
Her mother sits up straighter and says primly "I thought you wanted to go into English and become a teacher or an editor or a writer or� something."
"Like Dad would ever let me do that. There isn't any benefit to the family for me to be n English teacher." Her face twists into a sneer and continues with mock shock. "I'd be wasting my potential. I'd be a disgrace. I certainly can't be a homemaker because that isn't a career." She stops and turned to her mother. "Has Dad ever had to pick up a dish in his life? Ever cooked a meal? Ever changed a diaper? It doesn't pay well but it's a job, and it's something I'd enjoy. But no, I can't do that unless I marry so well connected man who can support me and my lack of a career. I can't become a teacher because they don't pay nearly enough to live on. Imagine being able to live on $30,000 a year with no husband. Because of course I must have a husband or a long-term fianc�e with a marriage arranged for a few months after my 23rd birthday because any sooner is distasteful and any later and I might never get married. But you would know all about that wouldn't, Mom? You got married when you were 19."
"Times were different."
"Times were different? My ass. You divorced your first husband because you found out he was an abusive SOB and then married Daddy dearest."
"I don't wish to discuss this."
"No. Of course you don't." She sits back in her chair, arms crossed; hair covering her face. "I just don't want to be practical. I don't want to live like society's watching."
***
She walks into my office, a bright haired girl whose red and black shirt makes her look like a vibrant butterfly on the blue-hued walls by the door. She walks around the table as she waltzes to her seat. She is ramrod straight as she sits down, crossing her arms and trying desperately to smile.
"Hello, Maddie."
"Madeline. I'm Madeline."
"I take it everything is resolved?"
"Of course not."
I raise my eyebrow. "But you are at least resigned to your fate."
"I'll go into chemistry. I enjoy it and if college proves that it doesn't suit me, by the end of the first semester I'll be 18 and Father will have no say."
"What would you go into instead?"
"I don't know, maybe the military. I would let me travel and tell me what I'm good at. And afterward I can always leave if I don't like it."
I cock my head to one side. "So that's it? Everything is roses?"
"I'm dating this really great guy."
"And that makes it perfect?" I lean forward in my chair. "Maddie, when are you going to learn that having other people in control of your life isn't going to solve anything. It will make you more angry and more cowardly. Take a big step. Be yourself. Not what you think society is forcing you or what you know your parents are forcing you to be. Just be Maddie. Stop looking in the mirror and just live. You said once you didn't want to have a practical life. Then don't have a practical life. Have a fantastical life have a horrifying life, have whatever type of life you want to have. You are not your parent's child you are your own person, now start acting like it." I look down at her. She's biting her cuticles and cracking her knuckles. "The real world's a scary place, but it's that much scarier when you trudge your way through it. Who says clouds can't be solid?" I bend down in front of her, "Who says you can't live happily ever after?"
I stand up and open the door. "You need to live for yourself. So start living."
She gets up from the chair and walks slowly through the door. She turns with her hand on the jamb and says, "Thanks."

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Renewal

He wonders
cocks his head slightly
as he looks at her arm
but he doesn't ask
she won't tell

he's not her love
not important enough
to share the gory details,
just ignore it and dance
she doesn't owe him anything

Floating on Faith

Don't look down
You were floating 'til you did
Travelling 'round
'Til you hit the ground

Ever so soft
Now hard again
You're falling fast
With no place to crash

Have faith he says
Trust me
I'll be back again
Have faith he says
Love me
Wait for me

Float on clouds
'til you feel the air
Never trust what
you can't see

Wait for him
He'll save you now
He has the
Faith to believe

Have faith he says
Trust me
I'll be back again
Have faith he says
Love me
Wait for me

Faith he says
Trust
Belief
Faith he says
Trust in me
Just trust in me

Kyle Burning

I try to comfort him
Now burning against my cold skin
He curls into his desk
Attempting to find sleep
In the oblivion of his crossed arms
I rub his back and neck
Giving frigid comfort when he burns from fever
Him tan and warm
Needing white, cold relief as he sleeps
As I rub his back
Cloth both rough and smooth
Then circling around a mole
to scratch his spine
hair gelled down
rubbed from behind his ears
He waits for class to end
So he may play in the football game

Cafe Terrace

I stare. It has been my favorite painting and yet, this windy day during a Seattle summer, my ever-reverent heart is humbled at the first glimpse. The yellow of the lantern, so easily overlooked hanging above the Place du Forum, now strikes me, its texture almost hostile in its subtle intensity. The shutters, so forbidding in prints, serve only to keep light out, never noise. My fingers crawl toward the thatching of the roof, only to fall away at the stares of the other museum goers.
This, which I have poster-sized hanging with its brothers on my bedroom wall, seems so much smaller than my expectation and yet more spectacular and heart wrenching. The Café Terrace at Night, the English title affronts my senses as I quickly revert to French, Le Place du Forum a Nuit, more perfectly syllabic than its guttural English counterpart. Next to it is a Chair my grandmother studies carefully; spending hours more on a piece than I ever would, except his. I shake myself from the trance and race through the gallery finding boredom in modernism only to be caught again. In my haste, I have turned a circle and find myself caged lovingly in the arms of my inspiration.
My breath has been held fast for the years before this single painting hung facing me, trapped from the understanding of a man disturbed. So lonely, so quiet, and yet as I gaze half-worshiping this masterpiece, the common sounds of the streets come to me, chattering of people long dead. The cool French air bites my nose and I wrap my coat around me. The books, my art world catechism, never managed to make me cry.
Van Gogh volumes stand beside Dune and Thoreau, crowding the other art books into submission, wooing me with a name, "Vincent," to take comfort. Not in the optimistic reality of Vermeer or the fantastical Picasso who held me in my infancy but instead in the bleakly realistic subtlety of a distressed mind. The Cooper print I hold so dear, only serves to remind me of Casablanca and my father. I have never been one to relish Monet, whom my mother enjoys. The soft serenity plays a dim counterpoint to the onslaught of thoughts, about the progression of man, about my future, about everything that seems safely contained in Van Gogh's pieces. I needn't hear the thoughts of those milling in the painting, need not know why this evening in Arles was so beautiful. It is simply the passionate peace, content behind glass, which holds me fast.

Loosening Knot

They race past us
as we struggle to stay
tied together

Retying knots
loosened by tugging
too hard

Hampered by
3 legs where
2 used to be

Needing to not only
support the other

but remain intent
on their doings

We limp along
falling in every hole
and tripping on every molehill

Until, in frustration,
we untie the knot
and leave the field.

Sanctuary

Prints paper painted walls
Water hums through pipes
Watercolors ooze from over-squeezed tubes
(Diamonds in blue and red)

High E squeal of the wheel
While I watch children splash
Finger painted canvases
Lean on Van Gogh and Vermeer

Strings with a violin solo
Envelope laughter
I sit cross-legged
(A Navajo blanket)

Just a grain of sand
Among my kind
Pre-glass
Still rough before smooth

Shrieking [banshee]
Now tearing Picasso
From his black haven
Then gone (to reluctant parents' arms)

Wasabi and Soy
Next to eel and cucumber
Bowl of Jambalaya
(Spicy like the South)

"Thank god
I'm alone tonight"



** published in Creative Writing, Volume 2, 2005 Edition

Snore

That reassuring sound
That, in night, gives me freedom
Is the snore of my Father
as I stand in the darkness
outside his room

I steal softly down creaking stairs
to reach the main floor
Praying that the CLICK
of the door unlocking
doesn't awaken him

I open it ever so slowly
as to prevent the noisy
whine of its hinges
Push softly on the screen door
Pulling the door behind me
so he won't hear the creak of the latch

I tiptoe down the stairs
leading to the street
slipping the key into the ignition
I hope he doesn't wake up

I slide the car out of the street
Look behind me
reassuring myself that he isn't awake
I drive to that night's fun
Only to feel guilty until, on my return
I find that he is still asleep

Sweet Tea

We've lost you

never to see

the smiles and tears

that made you look angelic

Remember now

Southern porches

And Virginia creeper

Sipping sweet tea

On warm days

You are the empty glass

So sweet when tasted

Now gone

Left Behind

after the last right

when there should have been a tight

turn away from friends

who use you for ends

meet as feet stomp in time to

music in your head flies

in the air of belief, worry

through all this hurry

away from loneliness and struggle

from homeless people huddling

on the streets of New York city

always hated that town

how its gray, how i frown when

the brooklyn bridge sways then

i long for the green

of the country scene though

surburbia suits me best

I wish for Seattle or Texas

where the green is precious and

the desert is never there where

everyone hears the wind blown hair

of the girl in the seat next to you

sitting wondering what you're going to do

to her as you race along the high

way as she worries if she been left.

Unassuming Girlfriend

Pad prancing up the stairway
The ever-quiet spouse
Living second class
In your lovers house

Never let him know
That you still are here
Hiding in his basement
His concern insincere

Wait for him to want you
Ever there for him
He sleeps snoring in his bedroom
You, awake, are in his den

Beware his parents, neighbors
Wondering at the noise
When asked if you're together
Never raise your voice

Remain quiet, unassuming
Never asking recompense
Waiting always for him
Your heart, your last defense

Waiting For Divinity

Waiting for divinity
that never quite arrives
open the world
to unknown eyes
see bright color
in blinding spectrum
call your friends
as you pray to heaven
this contradiction of terms
waits for unnoticed proof
as you look to tomorrow
you lose today's truth

Miss You

Cross hatched in blue
like thread woven
in liquid semblance
connecting across the miles
to those I love
Phone signals
computer type
in an attempt to feel them again

cut off in the mind
the heart yearns for those missed
waiting to regain their
smell
touch
voice

imperfect memories
more flawed with the passing
picture-framed countenance
of mes amours

As boredom cascades with proof by
telephone calls
emails
computer games
the pulling on my heart become more apparent

and page long poems are written
for the single purpose of saying
"I miss you"

Life in 7/8 Time

I hang up the phone and stare at the ceiling, count the cracks and holes in each tile, again and again. 57, 58, 59. There are beeps in the background but I can't open my eyes. I just keep counting the number of cracks in each memorized tile above my bed. 55, 56, 57, 58, 59.

"Jessica!" A gurgle now and Meghan comes up laughing, playfully hitting Patrick on the head. We're swimming beneath the Brooklyn Bridge with John and Patrick. They're 15 and we're 13, only a few weeks away from our 14th birthdays.
"Patrick, don't you dare drown her, or Ah will be forced to find retribution," I call out, turning on my towel to get more sunlight.
"Yea? As if you could do anythin to me."
I lie with my hands on my hips, enjoying the challenge. "Really now?"
"You know Ah'm better than you."
"I wouldn't say that if I were you." John warns, "Your cousin has a nasty temper."
Patrick grins. "Don't I know it. Ah stole her diary and she put sand in my bed."
"Thank you for discussin me as if Ah weren't here." Men. I start fixing the straps on my bikini and take my sunglasses off.
John grins and replies, "You're welcome" My jaw drops as he lifts me off the pier.
"Oh mah god, put me down! If you don't put me down Ah'll use my shot gun on you," My hair whips his legs as it comes out of the dancers' bun.
He smiles. "Ok" I drop into the water screaming and he dives in after me. As I come up for air, he dunks me down again. I punch him in the stomach.
He laughs and calls to Patrick. "Did you teach your cousin how to punch?"
"Hell no, Ah'm not that stupid." Patrick hollers back.
"Good, 'Cause she's hits like a girl."
"Hello? Ah am a girl, yank." Meghan laughs as I shake my head at them and wring out my hair.
He holds up his hands. "Hey now, is that any way to talk to the man who just saved your life?"
I glare at him. And twirl my hair up onto my head. "What are you talkin about? Ah was perfectly fine on the pier, Ah wasn't gonna get hurt or nothin."
"Wrong, you would have died of boredom." He says melodramatically.
As I groan and roll my eyes, he kisses me. I hear a giggle in the background, glance over and see Patrick doing the same to Meghan.
"Well, if that's all you wanted, you could have asked." I mutter. Got my hair wet for nothin.
"Hey John!" Patrick calls, "Don't you think you're a little old for my cousin?"
"Hey Patrick! Don't you think you're a little old for my sister?"

Meghan and I are lying on our mattresses whispering in the room we shared. We know we 're going to marry 'em then, not that we'll tell them that. No, that might mess everything up. We have it planned; dresses, flowers, color scheme, everything.
"We'll have a double wedding," Meghan says.
"We'll wear blue"
"I'll wear Eastern sky blue and you'll wear Arizona sky blue"
"And the bride maids will wear red, lipstick red." This, of course, is my scandalous suggestion.
"And the grooms will wear purple." Meghan rests her chin on her palm and gazes at the wedding we plan.
I giggle, "Ah can't imagine Patrick or John wearin purple."
Meghan giggles too. "How about white?"
"We could have a white tie wedding." I grin thinking of lilies and boat-necks, while she tries to find a color that would look good.
"And the groomsmen will wear gray." She pauses "Do you ever miss your parents?" I shake my head.
"Ah was too young to remember them, they died when Ah was three. Ah've been living with my aunts and uncles since then. Ah don't remember it any other way." She nods and goes to sleep but I stay up and think of my mom and dad's wedding photo. They're so happy, the only memories I have of them. Eventually I see light streaming into the window, and I too go to sleep.

In the summers I miss Meghan so bad. While Pat and I are visiting our Aunt Dottie in South Carolina, Meghan is a yank living in scary New York City.
"Ah don't know how yu could possibly be friends with someone from New Yahrk. Lahrd knows they cain't be trusted." Aunt Dottie says, her mass hidden beneath a red and white polka dotted dress.
"Yes, Aunt Dottie." I pick at my food. I don't really feel like eating.
She looks me over. "Well at least their bad manners haven't rubbed off on you, Jessica, and you don't say 'aunt' like I'm a bug."
"No, Aunt Dottie."
"Finish your grits and eggs, hunay." Pat sits down at the table, barely awake and not even dressed.
"Ah have finished, Aunt Dottie." I say.
"Yu barely touched that plate."
"Ah'm not very hungry." My stomach hurts from crying the night before. Lord, I miss Meghan
"Ah'll finish it" Patrick exclaims reaching for my plate. I glare at him. Isn't he supposed to be missing Meghan more?
"Well at least it won't go ta waste. Though you're gettin as skinny as one of those yank girls, Jessica." She turns to clear the table and pauses. "Didn't yu say yu were datin this blue-coat, Patrick?"
"Yes'm"
"We'll just have to get yu a nahce Southern girl, you'll like them bettah than any North'ner. What about yu, Jessica? Any boy caught your eye?" I blush and mumble something noncommittal.
Pat grins and announces, "She and my girlfriend's brother are goin out." I smack him under the table, Patrick cringes but Aunt Dottie shakes her head.
"Well isn't that nice, we'll be sure to find a nahce Southern gentleman for yu."

It's August, I'm sitting on the bank of the Chattooga. Patrick has gone back to Virginia to start college at JMU. And I'm bored mindless.
"Jessica?'
"Yes, Aunt Dottie?"
"Phone fah yu. Your Yank."
John never calls unless something is wrong, we write letters instead. I pick up the phone and look outside. It's a bright day.
"Hello?" I ask.
"Jade?"
I grin at his pet name for me. "Yea?"
"I need to talk to you."
"You are talkin to me."
"I mean about something important."
"Okay" I sit down on the windowsill. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Something happened." He pauses, I start to freak out
"Is Meghan ok? Is it your mom, your dad, what happened?"
"Calm down, they're fine." I start to breathe regularly again. "I went to a party last night." He pauses.
"Yea so? You're old enough to go to parties without my permission."
"I had sex with a girl." He says in a rush.
"Haha, very funny. Stop kiddin, what's wrong?" What a stupid joke.
"That is."
I stop. "What?"
"I had sex with a girl. I thought you should know."
I'm so shocked start to stutter. 'Y-y-y-y-you had s-s-s-sex with someone? God John. Why?"
"I don't know. It just happened."
"Let me guess she tripped and started ravishin you. Ah'm so sure."
"I wasn't like that. I just felt guilty about you."
"Why would you feel guilty about me?"
"Well when we umm." I can almost see him start to turn red.
"When we had sex?" I prompt him
"Uh, yea. You started bleeding and.."
"Oh, hunay, that's normal. It didn't hurt nothin."
"Maybe but-" I can feel my lip beginning to tremble and I cut him off.
"John, trust me it was fine. Ah have to go but Ah'll write you alright?"
"Yea alright, night." We hang up. He cheated on me. I lean my head against the window and start to cry. Oh god, what happened?

We're standing on Bourbon Street. Meghan, John and their parents have come down to visit N'orleans for Mardi Gras and I'm there for society with my Aunt Dupree. I introduce Taylor to everyone.
"Taylor Callahan, this is David Milner and his wife Rebecca, and their kids Meghan and John." They nod; Taylor looks like he's meeting my parents.
"Nice to meet you, I'm sure you're a fine young man, but I'd like to ask you a few questions." I giggle, David sounds like a cop. They walk off while Meghan and her mother get caught in the shops of N'Orleans.
John turns on me, "Who's he?" He demands.
"A guy I know." Ill-tempered little-
"Your boyfriend?" Serve you right
I glare at him, "Not like it's any of your business." Asshole
"What are you talking about?" He rakes his hands through his hair.
"You hain't talked to me 'cept through your sister since last summer!"
"I had to deal with it." He shrugs.
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
"Did you have sex with him too?" He glares me Why do I always go for the assholes?
I throw up my hands and say, "Of course Ah did, and every other guy Ah met on the way, and guess what, they were all much better than you." I'm going to hell for such a lie
"It was a mistake."
Please don't think that "Which one are you thinkin of, you surely did make a mistake"
"I hurt you." He persists Just say you're sorry and it'll be fine
"And Ah'm sure Patrick will hurt Meghan."
"That's no excuse to go to another guy." Telling me what to do again.
"Ah apologize, Ah failed to realize that Ah needed his majesty's permission to do anythin"
"I was stupid." John explains.
"That's right, you were stupid, but if you think that gives you the right to tell me-"
"I can tell you to do whatever I want to tell you to do."
"Not if you expect me to follow it. Ah have every right to leave you. Ah can screw whomever Ah want to screw." He cringes as my voice gets louder attracting attention from the whores in the balconies. "Ah can screw the president for all its your business. Ah'm not some little girl you can control, and Ah'm not an idiot waitin for you to come around. Ah've been waitin since Ah was nine, John Milner, and Ah'm not goin to anymore! He said he loved me. Do you hear that? He loves me, and that's more than you've ever said. So you can find some other girl who'll tag around after you."

Things with Taylor fell through pretty quickly but John and I didn't talk for a year. Meanwhile, Meghan and Patrick were so cute together; holding hands as they walked down the promenade at NYU. I had been sent up north to my cousins in the Finger Lakes and Meghan would spend the weekends up at the lake house. John refused to come up; he and I were still fighting. He was going to join the Marines and though I tried not to, I still pictured my house and kids with John as my husband.
"I'm sorry, Jessica." The doctor says.
"What do you mean?" I'd lost my southern accent in the time I'd spent up north.
"You've punctured your ovary. You might not be able to have kids."
"Might?" I ask.
"Getting pregnant is fairly hard to begin with, with only one ovary functioning properly your chances are cut further. It unlikely that you'll be able to have kids"
"Is there anyway to fix it?" Please, God, let there be a way
"Not yet. Things like this don't happen often." He tries to explain.
Oh lord my pretty babies "Will there ever be?" He shrugs.

I walk out of the doctor's office, go home to my dorm, go to the medicine cabinet get the bottles of Advil, Tylenol, Claritin, and Midol, and make a pill cocktail. I watch my dream box fairy tale break on the floor with bits of glass cutting into my feet. I won't have my 2.2 kids, no reason to have goldfish or a dog or cat; never have a husband; there isn't a man in the world who would marry a woman who couldn't have kids. Meghan calls me as I feel myself drifting in an overdose haze.
"Jessica?"
"Hey Meghan." The cracks on the ceiling tiles become all consuming, there are 59.
"Are you ok?"
"No, not really."
"What's wrong?" I can practically see the worry wrinkle start on her forehead.
"The doctor says I can't have kids
"But what about your watercolor?"
Pretty azaleas run into grass as children play on the lawn with a golden retrieve; a black cat stands haughtily above such mess "I guess it won't happen."
"Can't you adopt?" Meghan tries to reassure me, but I never really wanted to adopt.
"Yea, but I always wanted to have kids of my own." A home of my own where azalea bushes frame an emerald lawn
"I know you did." She pauses. "What are you going to do?"
I laugh cynically, "I've made friends with Misters Advil and Tylenol, Mrs. Claritin, and Ms. Midol."
"Why did you do that?" Meghan asks, worried again.
"It was either that or drink myself into an early grave." She starts to talk again but I hang up the phone and stare at the ceiling; count the cracks and holes in each tile, again and again. 57, 58, 59. There are beeps in the background but I can't open my eyes. I just keep counting the number the cracks in each memorized tile above my bed. 55, 56, 57, 58, 59.

Doctors tell me Meghan sent an ambulance over, my stomach was pumped and I have to eat coal for a week. Nasty stuff, I don't recommend doing it.
John comes to visit me a little while after I wake up, they keep me in overnight to make sure I don't have anything left in my stomach and to make sure I don't try to kill myself again. The stark whiteness of the room makes me focus on his blond hair, his skin is tanner than before.
"Jessica?"
"Hey John." I try to sit up in the bed, and give up when it makes me nauseous.
"Are you ok?"
"You sound exactly like your sister. Sit down."
"Umm ok." He grabs a chair and scoots it up to the edge of my bed.
"I'm fine, John. I have to go to counseling. I get it put on my record that I attempted suicide." Ultimate low, to fuck up so bad, that you mess up killing yourself.
"Why did you let him do this to you?" he sits hunched over, I watch his knuckles turn white before I answer.
"To get back at you for being a cheating asshole." That's not what I meant to say.
He grits his teeth "I'm sorry about that, Jade"
The pet name makes me soften "Forget it, years ago literally."
"I'm still sorry. But why'd you let him hit you?"
"I didn't exactly let him do anything." I cough as I try to laugh Yea me stop Taylor
He stares at me. He looks so old now, when did he get those wrinkles? He's barely 21.
"I love you." He says as he rests his head on my leg
"I know that, John. How else could we mess things up so badly?"
He looks up and says, "I don't know." I lean my head back and close my eyes. I try to say it but the words won't come out.
"Hey John?" I ask.
"Yea?" he squeezes my hand.
"Promise me one thing."
He rests his chin on my leg and says, "What?"
"When I get out of this stupid bed, we'll go to a movie with Meg Ryan or Hugh Grant in it."
He nods against my leg "Ok, Little one."

We're going to see Love Actually with Hugh Grant. It's Christmas time, and the perfect holiday movie has the lovely fairy-tale ending, plus I get to see Hugh dance in his underwear. We're standing outside of the theater where we decided to meet.
"Hey Jess."
"You used to call me Jade once."
"We used to be friends," He says. Cheap shot
"It's a great movie, my friends all loved it." John shakes his head at the change of subject and pays for the tickets.
Afterwards I wait for him to say something.
"It was a cute movie, but definitely a chick flick," He says.
I grin, "It's Hugh Grant, what do you expect?"
He shakes his head and says, "I wish things were that easy"
"They could be," I say hopefully.
"Little one, everyone has baggage, some of its emotional from other relationships, some of its from previous relationships with the same person."
"What we've got here, is a failure to communicate" I grin attempting to make a joke.
He smiles weakly, "What we have here is too much baggage." Please don't
"You're just not gonna even try?"
"Sometimes is just doesn't work."
"And sometimes all it takes for evil to win is for good men to not fight."
"Don't make this more than it was, Jessica"
"Don't make it less than it is, John." You coward, you're not even going to try
"This could end up like Moulin Rouge."
"Or it could end up like When Harry Met Sally, life isn't a movie, John. There isn't any plot you have to stick to. You can make your own decisions and the only decision you're making is to give up."
"I don't know if you can handle a relationship right now."
"Let me worry about what I can or cannot handle. I'm not your little sister to be taken care of and I'm not one of your troops to be ordered around either. I can take care of myself and I can figure out where I want to go, with or without your guidance. I'm a grown woman, John."
John looks up and nods sadly. "You are that, but have you ever been a child?"

John and I are on speaking terms but we've still got things to work through. My Aunt Dupree still wants me to marry Taylor. Aunt Dottie thinks that even if John's a yank, I'm hard-headed enough to not let him push me around.
Patrick is going to get his bachelors in American Literature at NYU this spring. I'm double majoring in theatre and literature at Mary Washington. John had himself stationed at Quantico. Meghan is in for a BA in history at Brooklyn College.
Meghan and Patrick are still together, they'll be getting married soon. Meghan and I won't be having the double wedding we planned and she's decided to go more traditional with a pale pink dress in a Renaissance cut and powder blue bridesmaids. I look horrid in powder blue but I get to be the maid of honor so I'm all right. John, of course, is the best man and still has to wear a gray suit. Though the wedding is several months off various relatives are betting that John gets the garter and I get the bouquet, can't blame them for dreaming.
I still dream of my white picket fence but it doesn't seem to be anywhere in the near future. I changed my decision of dress to a bodice cut with full skirt. I still want the bridesmaids in red and I still want a southern home with white azaleas. But I think I can wait a few more years. John, by the way, doesn't mind adoption.

Clan Mentality

There are 3 genotypes in my family: Bush, Lerner and Kasden. All with their personality quirks and physical attributes. All originally Russian, each seems to carry its own problems and benefits.
My grandmother, a Bush by birth Lerner by habit, has striking cheekbones and a tall thin frame. She has a tendency, like many Lerners, to quietly protest whatever she disagrees with and simply enough is passive-aggressive. Believing that money is infinite, she will buy what she feels in good quality (though it may not be) at whatever the price and no matter if she need it or not.
Her brother, like my father, is a Kasden. Without the temperance my father bears, Great Uncle Alfred is loud, strongly opinionated, short tempered and has a tendency towards violence. "There is no murder in the killing of the wrong" and he will not bear them, even when proven that his seemingly best way is not, in fact, best. He merely states that of course he was right and we have wasted time doing it my way. His tall muscular frame, unlike my father again, has small eyes and mouth and portrays an certain dissatisfaction with the other members of the family.
My Uncle, a Bush, has the large almost bearish frame I would have had if I had drunken my milk when I was younger. Quiet much of the time he feels that winning and argument can be won by a series of questions and logical arguments. Passionate about his work he sometimes comes off as frightening though he is quiet gentle unless provoked.
The women of my generation are all mixes of the three. My eldest cousin Tirza, has the Lerner build but the Bush mentality without any of the nastier tendencies of a Kasden. The middle cousin, Sharon, Tirza's sister, has the build of the Kasden genotype with the Bush quietness and the Lerner determination. Myself, though in appearance a Bush, am an opinionated Kasden with a tendency towards violence when threatened, and sometimes a Lerner with passive-aggressive tendencies to maintain attention upon myself. On the upside, when I am in Russia, I fit perfectly, Kasden huntsmen created a large gene pool in Russia which continues to dominate the small villages around Moscow. Also my exuberance for what I care about, a compelling Kasden quality, allows me to sell almost any item I would like.
All the Leader women, whether born or married, with the exception of my mother, a Nolan to the core, are hard on their men. We tend to have strong opinion with a determination that disregards the concerns of nay-sayers. The men learn quickly to acquiesce before we become angered but the perfect man for many of us has a backbone in important subjects as we grow bored with doormats and tend to throw them away. We tend to find love very early in life and lose our virginity to our husbands or the men to eventually become our husbands. We are devoted to our families and tend to plan our lives to the last increment and never actually follow through with the plan. We are totally devoted to our husbands and many times support them through college.
We tend to very strongly politically liberal and fiscally conservative. We are activist and like to help people, many of us never really figure out what career we want to do. Very independent, be tend to have trust issues, and compromise issues. We tend to marry fairly laid back men.
Our men never have good direction sense and are very passionate in their calling, many times having many different jobs before settling.
The Leaders are a clan in the largest sense. We tend to protect our own even from each other and are always there for a room or help. We are devoted to each other and understand that everyone needs to grow in their own way. Most importantly we constantly have family meetings about what everyone is doing or a specific concern, and we are always very open about everything.

Claddagh

This ring,
a subtle affair.
I doubt many will notice it.

Seattle

Coming to seattle is like coming home; you remember it fondly from afar but when you’re there you remember you’re on the left coast and in yuppieville centre. Coming to my g-rents house is even more so. The warm feelings I hold for the connecticut home (though I can only remember the basement) collide with the remembrance of summers spent in elementary school when the hot humid climate which is so uncommon in seattle made me feel at home more than my grand parents could. The neptune theatre, where i spent so many nights as a part of the RHPS cast only now seems empty and european.

My grandma asked us all the make a list of items we could like to have at the time of her death. And as my cousin pointed out none for the items we see hold any memories. The artwork while beautiful doesn’t hold the air of urgency that the painting of poverty holds in my aunt’s house. While the furniture is simple and elegant it doesn’t hold the warm memories that the rocking chair in our guestroom does. Nor do the plates hold any smiling occasion tho their art deco appearance blends seamlessly with my style. Instead I find it is the house itself that holds my memories of t he family and my grandparents. My Father will own it on my g-rents death and I fear they will sell it. This beautiful house off lake washington and just up the road from Matthew’s beach in a city in which I have always long to live. My grandma assures me she will not die any time soon, and has promised to try to be there at my first child’s birth/adoption. But I worry still.

My cousin is getting married to a very quiet boy of 28 named Matt, so immature is he that he doesn’t know what he wants out of life or where his next paycheck may come. He is genuinely a nice man but he is the closest to her own age of 24 that she has tried to date. She is not ready to be married, she is so much more selfish than lost everyone in our family and he even more selfish than she that I don’t believe them a good match. We will see what happens.

In Response to My request to Vote Against the Marriage Amendment

Dear Ms. Leader:

Thank you for contacting me regarding the issue of marriage and a
Federal Marriage Amendment. I appreciate your concerns and want my
position to be very clear.

As a United States Senator, I will support and protect the
traditional, common sense definition of marriage in law as only a legal
union between one man and one woman as husband and wife. While it was my
hope that the existing Defense of Marriage Act could accomplish this goal,
I believe that recent events and future court decisions indicate that a
constitutional amendment is needed to protect the rights of the people in
the States to define the institution of marriage.

To that end, I will vote for a Marriage Amendment to the U.S.
Constitution when the Senate considers one in July.

Thank you again for taking the time to contact me. If you would like
to receive an e-mail newsletter about my initiatives to improve America,
please sign up on my website (http://allen.senate.gov). It is an honor to
serve you in the United States Senate, and I look forward to working with
you to make Virginia and America a better place to live, learn, work and
raise a family.

With warm regards, I remain



Sincerely,


Senator George Allen

Broken Toes

Watch where you stand

you might step on my toes

and not even know it

for i'd bite my tongue off

to keep you smiling

Sand

I am a grain of sand

On a beach

Among my kind.

Waves lapping at my sides

There are people around me

Happy. Laughing.

Smiling with their picturesque families.

Building Castles of my friends.

Only to have waves

wash it back

And surround me again.

Hair

Blonde in a soft cascade
She grins up from the
stool on the front
of a picture
I remember 8th grade
She is one of my truest
and longest lived friends
She wants me to capture
her in a poem
but i'm not sure i can
so i will only capture
her hair
Blonde in a soft cascade

Corsage

This fickle little child

With her simple little mind

Can't understand

Her lack of commitment

She gives up the man

And all that they had

With only the fear

Of abandonment

A flower at her wrist

He asks her to wear

As she sits below him

Mussing her hair

When in truth she worries

Of the time to come

She only tells him "No,

I want to have fun."

But he doesn't know

What the flower represents

Men's waning love

As it now lays dead.

She paints bright beauty

On the face of friends

And dances the night away

Thinking only of him.

The Mountain in Pennsylvania

On the mountain

There is a spot

Always sunny

Even as it rains

Rainbow mists

And green

I would live there

If it weren't Pennsylvania

Seattle

The constellation of beacons
From buildings and streetlamps
Makes a network of light and music
The cacophony of celebration
in the city of my home

Banshee Brenna

Children crowd around a man with an Irish lilt as he tells a story.

Narrator

Once in Eire there was a man and a woman who were wed. One day, coming back from the market, the woman, Brenna, caught her husband, Ian, in bed with another woman.

Cut to room in castle, man and woman in bed

Brenna

(enters with groceries, sees scene)Oh lord.

Ian

(struggles out of bed while trying to cover his nakedness) I swear, nothing happened!

Prudence

(laughs)Sure

Brenna

(looks at Prudence) This may be a bit of a surprise, but I do not want see you, Prudence. Why don't you live up to your name and leave?

Prudence

For what its worth…

Brenna

It's worth nothing. Get out (Prudence retrieves clothes and leaves) Would you care to explain?

Ian

Brenna, I swear, nothing happened.

Brenna

Liar. Get out.

Ian

Brenna..

Brenna

Get out! He leaves, she begins to cry

cut to Narrator

Narrator

So enraged was she that she pulled out the heart of Ian and threw it into the river where it turned to icy stone like her own heart. She became a BanShee, a screaming woman, and killed all men who dared enter, turning their loves into BanShees like herself.

(continues as V-O)

As the years went by a village grew around her castle. There was a young man in the village named Aidan. He was strong and honest and pitied the BanShee for her plight and anger at her husband. Wishing to ease her suffering, he went up to the castle.

Aidan

Brenna, May I speak with you?

Brenna

(off camera) And what do you call what you're doing now?

Aidan

Brenna, I've come to prove that not all men are like your husband.

Brenna

(on camera and in front of him) And how will you do that?

Aidan

Follow me for a day and you'll see.

Narrator

(voice over)So intrigued was she that she agreed and followed him around the village. First to his mother's house to bring her the cloak she need.

Aidan

Ma, I've asked Brenna to follow me, how can I prove that not all are like Ian?

Mother

Just be yourself and go about your business, she will see.

cut to Narrator

Narrator

And so he did, first to Mary Catharine's cottage to give her the herbs she'd need for her grandmother's back, then to Maeve's to give her the food she'd asked him to get so she could tend to her father, then to Darcy to give her flowers so she would feel better about the loss of her beau, and on and on through the village till at last his hands were empty and every one in need had been satisfied.

cut to Aidan & Brenna in front of his house

(Narrator continues as voice over)

Now at about Darcy, Brenna had begun to feel a bit jealous and sat pouting and feeling neglected in the way woman will sometimes do to make a man feel guilty. Aidan saw this and began to feel a bit worried,

Aidan

Is something wrong, Brenna?

Brenna

How is it all those women have gotten something from you and I haven't?

Aidan

Is there anything you'd like? (Brenna shakes her head) Well, when you know what you want, be sure to tell me. goes in side

Narrator

(voice over)

And he went home and to bed and woke the next morning to see her at his door

Aidan

Well then, Do you know what you want? (Brenna nods) And what would that be?

Brenna

Your heart (tries not to cry, Aidan gathers Brenna in his arms)

Aidan

If that all, I can't give you something you already have.

Cut to Narrator

Narrator

And Banshee Brenna was a Banshee no more.

Dinner Conversation

The awkwardness is getting to me
Upset by fantasy destroyed by reality
The conversation is harder than the silence
Hurt by truth instead of comfortable fiction
Layers of facade stripped away like make up
Until the porous skin shows
I reach for powder and gloss
Some film of shielding
Prevented by the shedding of his jacket
"Been like this long?"
"Only all my life."

Childishness

I could have sworn

I was done
finished with the childish
game of wishing
finished with this waspish
attitude about him

I'm not
i still wish
and i still hope
and i still hurt

And i still get upset
that i can't seem to stop

Escape from Oz (for Shani)

she skips ahead of me
acting years younger than her age
humming the Wizard of Oz
while i walk sedately behind
thinking of Walden and Escapism
imagining making love to her
on the patch of green just past

my refuge from family worries
her wide-eyed view of the world.

Hockey Game

Long have I watched from aluminum bleachers
Hoping that my day on the team would come

But as I am called on to take left wing
I worry I may not be able to defend my puck

To be faulted on injury allows me time to help,
To coach my teammates to better careers
Yet I have never had one of my own

Each opportunity to prove my worth
Is quickly deflected to a more talented player

Even when forced to play
I find I deliberately get a penalty
So I may again watch from
my plastic viewing box

2 minutes go by before I am called out again
And to my relief
I am again switched out for a more talented player

My only worry is that I will someday
Be fired from the team
For too much watching
and not enough participation

To an Old Lover

Smile as she walks away to oblivion
knowing you could stop her
you stand steadfast in arrogance
you say if she wanted my help she'd ask for it
but temper forbids her from such a feat


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition as "Prideful Lover"

Raw Wool

Wool
-Undyed and unrefined-
lacks the natural beauty of cotton's
long blond strands

When compared to fleece
Wool's rough texture
irritates the skin,
leeches precious moisture,
and ultimately
becomes worn
only when necessary

Wool never makes a favored garment
-Rarely makes a favored blanket-

But wool keeps its owner
dry and safe
In a fashion
cotton's beauty cannot.

Broken Lock

His perfectionism soothes me
While his sarcasm amuses me
As the shop becomes quickly crowded
With actors who stand dully like puppets

Party

Don't see me
lying on the carpet
hoping no one notices
that my tears are dipping
on the party below


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Lady MacBeth

she has
saved my life
literally
she has been
my mother
daughter
sister, friend
I don't attempt
to tell her I love her
Because she,
like myself,
requires action.
Her insecurities,
which i can never soothe
are all the more endearing
because in this bundle
of caring and nerves
I see whom i want to become
If you say i am
over protective
I can only say
how can you protect too much
the most important thing?


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Erosion

Etch your words
in stone
The river will wash away
the echoes of history
Don't wait for the dove
to fly
Move the lucid hand
toward quill and ink
Look into the star
on Orion's belt
and be at peace with him.

You Who Hit the White

April the 21 in the year of our lord 1596

I was begging and pleading for Kate to untie me when our Father, Baptista Minola, walked in and demanded she let me go and as usual did the deed himself due to her stubbornness.

I have been taught in the ways of a lady, as my sister was but unlike her I have at least heeded them in my father's presence. I long for a day I can marry and rule my husband as Katharina will undoubtedly rule hers if she were ever to marry.

My sister is without suitors at all while I have beaus too numerous to count, chief among them are Gremio and Hortensio. Gremio is an old man though rich and well landed, Hortensio is even more so in every respect and even lewd when he believes me not in hearing distance. Lucentio, a young noble from Pisa, had devised a plan, he would have his servant pretend to be himself and he would be my tutor. While Gremio and have devised a plan of their own. I think I will lead young Lucentio to the altar; he seems the most easily controlled. But before I can do that, I  must wait for her to wed.

There is a man, Petruchio of Verona, whom Lucentio says may be able to help rid her of her stubbornness and will wed her just for the challenge of it. She has met him and now they sit speaking of my father's wish for him to marry her. I hope she minds her sharp tongue I would have her out and away so she could not disrupt my wedding to Lucentio.

April the 22 in the year of our lord 1596

Petruchio and Kate were wed this morning, and I am betrothed to Lucentio. There almost was not a wedding. Not only was Petruchio late, but also he came in wearing the most appalling clothes and had dressed his horse in the strangest of gear. He told us that it was the first step to taming the shrew. Lucentio is adorably doting, and I shall have my way with him soon. He is at my beck and call like any of the servants in our household and this pleases me very much.

We are to be wed May the 15th. Lucentio will not do such an embarrassing thing as Petruchio did; he is much too well trained. I think he will make a very nice and tolerable husband.

June the 24th in the year of our lord 1596

Kate came back to-day and brought with her, her appallingly rude husband. I am well settled into the life of Signior Lucentio's wife. Though who is the true life is a matter much speculated by the servants. Kate has been speaking of "obeying thy husband" and it sounds so unlike her I can only believe she is teasing or ill.

One of the servants had rushed in from his Master giving orders to Kate, the Widow, and I from our husbands saying they wished our company. I am no mule to be called when work needs be done, and told the man that I was not to be disturbed and to tell my illustrious husband so. The widow spoke and even harsher rebuke: "If my husband wish see me, come to me he shall." Only Kate went to her husbands call and came back dragging us with her to listen to the nonsense of holding thy husbands foot so he does not walk on the dirt. I only pray she become well again. Her husband must have done some horror to make her this way. But I must go and teach my own to never wager on my behavior again, for I am ruler in this household and he should know it.

Stuck in Neutral

It's the silence in their echoes
Their laughter tinny with distance
Rolling on the floor in merriment
I see a white painted wall
Neutral in their world of overdrive
Able to distinguish their laughter
As neutral knows the other gears
They're safe in within their intensity
I am safe in my banality.

Dinner

We sit

as the TV blares

pretending to watch

but listening to the silence

forbidding those who would dare break it

Even the Commercials

become important

to keep from hearing

the Daughter scream

against silence

against him

The Banshee Brenna

Once in Eire there was a man and a woman whom lived in a castle, who were wed and in love. The woman's name was Brenna and she was happy to be wed to her husband, Ian. One day, coming back from the market, she caught Ian in bed with another woman. So enraged was she that she pulled out the heart of Ian and threw it into the river where it turned to icy stone like her own heart. She became a BanShee, a screaming woman, and she lived in the castle for 500 years, killing all men who dared enter and turning their loves into BanShees like herself.

Well as the 500 years went by, a village was built at the edge of the hill, which the castle was on. The village men tried without luck to kill Banshee Brenna or to turn her away using everything in their power. But she stayed and killed all that dared.

There was a young man in the village named Aidan. He was strong and honest and pitied the BanShee for her plight and anger at her husband. Wishing to ease her suffering, he went up to the castle and called out,
"Banshee Brenna, will you be hearing me?"
And Brenna replied, "I be hearing ye, what do ye want?" and began to settle herself in for an easy kill.
"Brenna," he called, "I've come to prove that not all men are like your husband.' Now this got her attention so she asked,
"And how would you be thinking to do that?" and stood in front of him to speak to him easier.
"Follow me for a day and you'll see." So intrigued was she that she agreed and followed him around the village. First to his mother's house to bring her the cloak she need.
"Ma, Banshee Brenna is following me, how can I prove that not all are like Ian?" he asked her and his mother said,
"Just be yourself and go about your business she will see." And so he did, next to Mary Catharine's cottage to give her the herbs she'd need for her grandmother's back, then to Maeve's to give her the food she'd asked him to get so she could tend to her father, then to Darcy to give her flowers so she would feel better about the loss of her beau, and on and on through the village till at last his hands were empty and every one in need had been satisfied.
Now at about Darcy, Brenna had begun to feel a bit jealous and sat pouting and feeling neglected in the way woman will sometimes do to make a man feel guilty. Aidan saw this and began to feel a bit worried,
"Is something wrong, Banshee Brenna?" he asked. And she crossed her arms across her chest and said,
"How is it all the women in the village have gotten something from you and I haven't?" and Aidan nodded his head relieved and said,
"Is there anything you'd be wanting then?" She shook her head to say she did not know, "Well" he said "When you be knowing what you want, be sure to tell me then." And he went home and to bed and woke the next morning to see her at his door
"Well then, would you be knowing what you want?" She nodded but kept silent. "And what would that be?"
"Your heart" she said quietly, trying not to cry, for it isn't something a BanShee should do in front of men. Well he gathered her up into his arms and said,
"If that all you're wanting, I can't give you something you already have."

Self-Centered

cries of HELP ME
get lost in
radio waves
and bass/treble
'til only the ME
gets through


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

A to your Q

I curl into myself
until your voices
become tinny and small

Until I'm watching
a silent film of concern

grayness and distance
as if i watch a movie screen

you try to understand
but you can't

because i don't understand
this easy frustration
with everything i know

I drop my responsibilities
to help you

but you only have time
to ask a question
and rush off
before i know the answers


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Life Stories

They tell stories
In the sudden quiet
All listening to each other
As the others walk into
Our conversations of life

Shattered

dragon tails and faery wings
all that lived unclouded seems
to be only in my dreams
as my tears turn into screams

Lily Left Behind

In the picture is a lily.

She looks at it, and smiles
as she does for anything pleasant,
as if she were being watched
and must put on a show of emotion.

She'd prefer a bouquet,
But a picture, of a flower
she doesn't even like,
will at least, garner a polite smile.

"Thank you" she says
and tapes it to her wall,
yellow in bright contrast to the dark gray,
"I'll remember you by it."

She'll remember, that when I left,
the only gift I could give
was a picture she didn't want.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Clerk

She sits in coldness
and contemplates the knife.
Lines scar her arms
a brand name
barcode reading
HELP ME
but when scanned,
the cashier calls for a
"Price Check"
that reads only
the knock-off:
SCARS.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Obsidian Sliver

Shattered Obsidian
From the tap of a hammer
Still has its infinitesimal beauty
But can never be what it once was
As blood from cuts unintentional
Stains the glassy surface.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition as "Shattered Obsidian"

Chilled

I would stand in the rain with you
growing ever colder
just to feel the warmth from your body

she stands inside
as she looks away
you look toward her

the rain seems to bounce off
from the sight of her

i am the only one chilled

Rumor Sea

I heard a rumor
I was dead
Jumped off a cliff
but still i bled
on the rocks
of time and fate
cause finally
I met pure hate
and staring up
from the sea
was a face
that was me


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Amusement

She asks me to
write about her
wants to know
what i think
I smile and
think of doing
a poem about
her looks
her brains
her personality
anything to show
my warm-hearted view of her
instead my amusement
shows through as
i write this one now

My Destiny

drugged out on the floor
panes of cold
press into my back
as warm blood
flows from my hands

it feels better with alcohol

pills in my mouth
stretch the skin
tender from bruises
scarred from frustration

boredom of a suburban housewife

whose husband is cheating
whose kids are grown
whose career was shot
before it began


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Pillow

in pajamas of innocence
i lay silent
don't you see the tears
falling

Clouds of Starkness

I'll watch you

spin in your fantasy world
wishing i were part of it
your head in my lap
and you smile in your sleep
you're so lovely
why does this feel wrong
2D and fluffy
clouds in the edges of my eye
as i watch the dream fade
and the horrors of reality become stark

Wise Man

i wish i trusted his words
to take away pain

It's still hard to say
"i'm better now"
because i don't always believe it

A man once told me,
(as i look down at stockinged legs
remembering blood
as it dripped from leg to tile)
i'd never be happy
not for lack of trying
or because i wasn't one of those precious "happy" people

but because no one is happy
we all have our good days
and our bad days
we all have days that are a little more good
and days that are a little more bad

i asked him if he was happy
he looked at the pot shards in my hand and said
"I'm absolutely miserable except when I forget to be happy"

i could have married that boy
with his ruddy cheeks
loving mind
british accent
and ability to care
if he hadn't been
one of the most important people in my life
already


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Forgot

I forgot to smile
when he said "hello"
I forgot to do a lot of things
forgot to laugh at a joke
forgot to correct grammar
forgot to do anything
but refill my mug
3 parts bourbon
1 part coke
a cigarette
and a lack of caring


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

8 letters

I'll say
"Smile"
and she will
but the pain is still there

Art in hues of
Blacks and blues

but a hug
makes her smile
and 3 words
make her happy

8 letters of comfort
to make her grin.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Lace

They laugh upstairs
smokey haze and drunk adults
I stare at the TV
and attempt to be lost
in troubles of a girl named Lili
trying to find her mother