Sounds of a Mockingbird

A young girl's eyes
filled with tears
curled up
under a sheet of blankets
alone with her heart
that won't stop exploding
with pain, anguish, and darkness

A black hole she's fallen into
and she's not sure why
The images have faded
A set of deleted scenes
Taped over as if they never existed
Like trying to watch a reel
expecting a picture
but only hearing a few slices of sound

She winds up the metal key
so she can sleep
He tilts his head
from side to side
brown fluffy ears
with patches of blue
on the inside

Over and over it plays
a soft tune
bringing calm
like the waves of the ocean
swooshing in their white foam
against the beach's sand

She finally shuts her eyes
full of their sticky moistness
not knowing that someone else
was somehow there
and somehow will always be

The words of the tune
she won't hear
until she's told
years later
curled up in the same sleep-like state

A tune of a mockingbird
hushing a baby to sleep
an angelic voice
she's come to know so well
an angelic voice belonging to someone
that couldn't have known
yet somehow,
someway,
they do

1990

A summer of discovery
swirled in a vortex
of storms, midnight dreams, and a fabricated dance
Being thirteen wasn't so bad after all
with your disguise playing itself out
on a stage of deception
that became a beloved haven
of escape and comfort
from the outside swirls
of what really was

Swinging upside down
from the branch's bark
almost sturdy enough
to sustain formless wishes
of becoming the reflection
seen each day

Twenty episodes later
I'm still there
running in circles
with you
around the gazebo
in dresses and ribbons
talking without words
sensing who you really are
behind the eyes
behind the facade
you learned to play almost too well

The wind told me you and I would be here
connected in a storm of together
too strong to dissipate
into nothingness
a pull so strong you can't say no
overwhelming the boundary of who is you
and who is me

Now the only question that remains
is who we were
and whom we will be

How to Pick Up a Man While Selling Chips

1. Start to think you're really hot.

2. Wear your hair up in a makeshift bun after attempting to let it air dry, which it never does. Brushing optional.

3. Tell him he can refer to you as "Chip Chick" or "Sassy Lil' Mama."

4. Only wear minimal make-up: base, mascara on the upper lashes only, eye shadow, lip gloss, and a little pencil.

5. Wear the company provided biker looking black non-slip boots.

6. You're a size 6, but put on the size 8 khakis so you look slimmer than what you really are.

7. Pretend you're not the slightest bit interested while staring at your handheld computer.

8. Try to turn him off in every which way: swear like a sailor, flip the bird, tell it like it is and tell him you can only accept "diet" drinks because you're watching the girly figure.

9. Offer to listen to his problems, nod, and say a few encouraging words as if you're really interested.

10. Always, always, wear the padded bra, even though the twins could really use a minimizer.

Orange Peels at Night

The scent of burning citrus
against the black sky
full of musky silence
and sticky cobweb like film

I'm running towards you
backroads full of stunted palms
overgrown crabgrass
and hidden scenes of despair

The sounds of Kenny
singing about wine
in two dixie cups
the thoughts of your love
filling the vessel inside
a new-found addiction
comforting an over anxious soul
fighting for something she can't yet see

You open the door
without the sound of a knock
sensing my arrival
seconds after the final call
telling me how and where to go
almost lost
like my heart
in an entwinement of skin, lust and feeling
of finally
this is it

So easy
So free
So long gone
like that scent of orange peels
burning in the night
just a forgotten mist
of invigoration
and promise of an inviting dream

Now awake
the phone doesn't ring
and your voice is only a recording
stored away in a box
sitting on a dampened floor
wondering if it should be replayed
or left to collect the dust
that will soon accumulate
once the sunrise's rays
begin to shine again

Endangered Flirtation

He's an ass
covered in dim lights
and perfect cream-colored clothes
the kind you find
in a magazine
or plastered on a billboard

So inviting
to the one
who likes
perfected air-brushed beauty
like the image
everyone had told her
she should be

He doesn't tell her his name
Only questions
That seem to come out undisguised
in the midst of brown sugared tea
too strong to be indulged
yet carelessly consumed
so that for a moment
she can reveal
what's really inside

The only thing missing
is a puffed out cigarette
or two
He asks if her hair has a little red
She says yes
And lets his hands
caress
what only one man should have

The gold band is forgotten
mentioned in passing
as though it doesn't really exist
He offers her a ride
an invitation for danger
or perhaps just a way
to forget the emptiness
until a new void
gets created with the rise
of the sun's first set of revealing rays

Lingering Facade

You were a gentle breeze
The kind that sneaks up behind your back
Brushing against the skin like a tease
You wanted what you couldn’t have
A sense of control
Entitlement to a gift you hadn’t yet earned
But you thought you did

I’m sorry it didn’t work out
Quite the way you wanted
You can’t catch what you don’t already have
An independent spirit won’t be burned
Because she’s already free
To make her own choices
And define her own life
Not be tricked into a trap
Of whom you think
She should be

Good-bye was the right choice
Even though the prize you dangled
Was a temptation shrouded sometimes
In regret for not being taken
We can’t go back
You realize
To an unspoken almost tune
Suddenly creating steps that were never written
Destiny always has its way of manifesting
If not now, eventually

And ours was just a brief moment
Of passing connection
So beautiful
Incapable of being forgotten
Yet discarded
Like a piece of paper
With scribbles
Of what we don’t want anyone else to see

A $20 Bottle of Chardonnay

The last bottle
of cheap wine
poured into glasses
painted with margarita palms
takes me back to the tipsy tank

A tank that sometimes I get drowned in
until morning starts to shine its first rays
of wake me-up light
No more fun dancing
or bad karaoke interpretations of Ms. LeAnn

It's now 5:30
Not midnight
No more darkness
Slept away in a swirl of dizzy

Only a small remnant of regret
For doing what you said you wouldn't
A lingering feeling of almost sickness
From a toxic substance
That erases the pain you feel about yourself
Enticing you with the allure of everything's wonderful

No matter the name
Chardonnay,
Cabernet,
Pinot Noir,
Grigio,
Merlot,
Or perhaps Sauvignon or Sangria
If you're feeling a little edgy
It all ends the same

Reality is a prison you can't escape
You are a reality you can't escape
Decisions made
A chapter written
A synopsis now unfolded
That wasn't quite the tale you meant to have told

The only hope
Is a blank page
That is still pure white
Inviting in its innocence
Waiting to become the reflection
Of what and whom you really feel inside