Retracing Seventeen

Across that field you’d come
With your glowing blonde hair
Softly waving its threads against the breeze
Another glance left open to interpretation
Another almost spoken set of words
Felt through the eyes instead

So on we’d go
Into our separate ways
After the world of discovery
You immersed me in
Without any intent or responsibility
To the aftermath of danger’s titillation

Smoke filled rings
Swirled in disguised escape
A young soul lost
Behind the wall of books
And a stage
She’d soon discard
For lessons beyond promises
Contained in fantasy,
Truth’s expression,
And the unspoken heart

Of a grown soul still lost
Retracing her steps
To that field
She walked across
Until it became a memory
Of youth’s innocent hope
That the world contained
The possibility of dreams
Bigger than what could be seen

Gone are the smeared pink petals
The rose used to wear
Your blonde locks and blue eyes
Frozen in a seventeen year old’s unfinished beginning
An unpromised dream soon to unfold
Onto an unseen reel
That will someday be played
Within the experiment we still call today

Sunrise and Pretend

We stood on that pavement
The sky heavy
With its soon-to-be rain
Saying our good-byes
Hoping that it wasn’t
The last touch
Or the last sound
That meant
We were still each other’s

Your dark eyes still
As always
Your voice telling me
Not to think of it as a mistake
Mine full of tears
With a shakiness
So uncertain of my future
And us

The truck was waiting
But we held on
In that embrace
So unlike the ones
We had found ourselves in before
We promised each other
This wasn’t really good-bye
Not wanting to let go
Of what we were
And who we could be

It could’ve been our last
So I told you I loved you
Like always
A few words of hope
From your lips
A nod of agreement
And the last visible tears
Transferring their wetness
Onto our hands

Years later you said you were proud
Of what I’d done
I told you my life was better
But that I missed you sometimes
Your arms were safe and tender
Just like I remembered
The smell of expensive cologne
Making it seem as though
We were still stuck in what was

We tried to promise what we couldn’t
A life of what could be
I still miss you sometimes
And wonder if we were crazy
For wanting to stay embraced
In a world of only sunrise and pretend

A Young Girl's Bathroom Sink

I stand apart from myself,
immersed in this false candlelight
Watching the water drop endlessly
into this so called white basin.

Knowledge, experience, truth
come from the above source,
slowly forming at the faucet's tip.

Each clear drop falls
to its place on the empty surface
until this sink of mine overflows
past the brim,

Taking me back to yesterday.

Sweet oblivion for one moment only
for as my visions fade into today
you pull the plug on the drain
that sucks away each drop
of life-giving rain
that has turned a soothing escape
into despised ghosts.

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