A Biography

I went to a good school with a good curriculum, led by good teachers.

I dated boys who used me up until I couldn’t shower off the shame.

I went to a good college with an interesting program and a kind academic counselor.

I watched my mother die slowly of cancer driven starvation until her morphine addiction ran the schedules and she just stopped breathing.

I got a good promotion, allowing me to work just one job to pay the bills.

I went away on business and came home to an empty bank account, and empty house, and an empty life.

I walked to the middle of the bridge and fantasized about jumping.

I opened the door to a friend who had driven seven hours to insist I get help.

My story is long, it is complex, it is more than I can explain into late nights and whiskey sours.

My story is truth and secrets and not fully known even to myself.

I don’t presume to understand anyone else’s story.

I used to write poetry;

Now I throw words up onto a page and hate the result;

I thought I had let go of these self destructive perceptions.

Bits. Dreams.

Sometimes I dream the most fantastical things until

I wake up like Dorothy,

You were there, and you were there

Though each of you were such wonderful versions of

yourselves,

Until the beauty is washed away under the showerhead

And the wonder is undermined by breakfast

And the story I try to hold onto disintegrates in the light

like frail antique paper,

Pieces blown out of my hands and lost.

Do, To

This morning I dreamt I lived in a kitchen with laundry machines instead of cabinets, a

Subtle reminder of the piles of clothes waiting for me to tend to them.

I dreamt of neighbors who are leaving dropping in to say goodbye and

Then locking the doors behind them so I have to crawl through the window

To let the dog out.

I dreamt of friends who want to be here but don’t know where to put their dishes,

On top of the washer or dryer?

And unsurprisingly after waking from this dream I was so very angry

By all the nagging worries and

Life/living/loving concerns and

Anger makes me hateful.

I was so overcome that I didn’t know how to walk away or through it all

So the kids watched TV while I muttered into my coffee and around my bagel

Typing an angry email and silently judging the people in the news.

But I still haven’t started the laundry, or bought milk, or balanced the checkbook.

Summertime Vacations

I only let the sun get me once and since I referred to myself

as tomato red I can’t hold it against them for using it repeatedly.

I didn’t sleep well, or remember to take my medicine all the time,

and I coated myself in bug spray-

The good stuff, the chemical spray can spray or the mosquitos

would have made me crazy.

And on the last day the dust was making me cough, and I’d

been too long without coffee, and

Other people’s children were pushing my limits.

But I’ll do it again next year, swearing I’ll remember the sunscreen

and to take my medicine and this time some citronella torches

and drink more coffee and other people’s children will probably

still make me crazy

But we all know these things are just how it goes sometimes

And since you want to go with me again,

I’ll go with you.

(And)

I wish I could tell you how hard it was to

Get out of bed

Walk across the room

Take a shower

Start the coffee.

I wish there was a reason that sometimes

Everything hurts

There’s not enough air.

I wish I could deal with these days

Without feeling guilty for my weakness or

Hate for myself.

I wish I could tell you that it’s all physical

Or all emotional and

I know how to fix it and

Am fixing it every day.

Retribution

And then she was standing there, facing the wall and looking over it, blinking. She could see the ladies in the their finery standing tall, corseted waists and billowing skirts. They dwarfed her by an an unreasoning fraction. She stared, not knowing what to think. She started towards them, walking along the wall, dodging holy men at their morning prayers, blinking salt water from her eyes. She was met by a tall gentleman. He talked at her, taking her arm, muttering something about miracles. As his voice rebounded in her brain the ladies winked out of view. Standing in their pace were tall ships and small - the harbor docks. She stepped along with the captain at her elbow, on to his deck, turning when she heard her name called joyously.

They were standing on the ship's deck, surveying the water that had nearly claimed them, when the malevolence around them became clear. People stood, singly or in pairs, wet or stunned, staring at the grave of their mates. Blinded by grief, they had been too slow to recognize danger. The captain was not sanctuary. Rather, he was the worst kind of opportunist. He was using them to try to find the rest under the water, to plunder the wealth of their grave.  Grief and fury rose in her, stealing the warmth of the sun from her back. Rooted forever in power, she reached out to stop the vessel.

Vessel and persons began to sink under the waves. The caress of the cold water lulled each of them in turn.

Three Parts

i.
I have loved. Hated. Stoked the fire of righteousness.
Let go of the flames of consummate feelings
And become a shell.

ii.
I ghost in and out of my own life like a backdoor relative,
An owl taking wing,
A shadow along the wall.

iii.
Where were you? I wondered.
Not near me.