seasonal depression

I cry because you're so sweet
and because I want to save all our old love letters
in pickle jars
and give them to our third daughter on her
wedding day.

I cry because I feel her
in the cold November wind
and I can't decipher exactly what she's trying
to tell me
but I feel like I'm missing out on a good joke.

I cry because I hate myself
but not in a girl-who'd-cut-herself-suicide-angst type
of hate myself
More of this hating-that-I-can't-escape-myself type of hate myself
It's ok if you don't get it.

I cry because for almost a decade
the three of us were tangled up like a braid
pleated into my hair
And I was always the strand in the middle.

"This I Believe"

Lately, I’ve repeated the phrase, “Everything’s going to be fine,” more times than I could count--enough times to elicit an eye roll from a tired coworker--enough times that my friends have picked up on the “mantra” and started chanting along. Sometimes it takes a descent into weakness to prove what you’re made of and how strong you are. Sometimes you need a push to realize that you should be focusing on the positive.

This summer, when a friend ran into her ex at a bar and started crying, I put my arm around her to walk her away from an uncomfortable scene. Only, I accidentally led her out the wrong exit. Trying to remedy my mistake, I swung my leg over the cast iron railing-- acquiring something I didn’t even know existed: A vaginal hematoma.

I was emotionally and physically vulnerable and on bed rest for the next month. My gynecologist assured me that I was lucky as it could have been life-threatening or rendered me unable to have children. My biggest issue was that as I suffered, my husband sat idly by-- as close as arms reach, yet as distant as the moon.

He left for vacation while I was on bed-rest. One of those lone afternoons, I hobbled to the oven to heat up leftover pizza, while craving Chinese food, and realized that this was an analogy for my life. I slowly began to acknowledge the ways in which I’d settled.

He was supposed to be there “in sickness and in health,” but left for good after a month of staggering emotional unavailability and ‘conditional love’ statements like, “If you’d had a car accident or been mugged, then I’d care about your injury.” 

I realized a lot through this experience that I believe will help shape my future relationships and encounters; like that people do what works for them, whether or not it’s healthy. Or that you can hope someone will change for the better, but you can’t expect it. You have to accept who they are in the present moment.

This trauma has forced me to search for the positive in situations. Instead of wallow in my woebegone existence, I’d rather experience these growing pains as gracefully as I can, welcoming situations and feelings as they present themselves. I remember the physical growing pains from my adolescence with a proud fondness. Hopefully, I’ll look back on my emotional growing pains in a similar way.

The night he left, I cried as he drove away. But, I also stared into the bathroom mirror and said firmly, out loud: “Everything’s going to be fine.” The words would’ve bounced back off of my reflection and into the drain if I didn’t believe them. But I do.

Now, I believe in silver linings. I believe that when people tell you who they are, you should listen. I believe that sometimes it takes a trauma to wake you from subdued slumber. Above all, I believe everything’s going to be fine.

feeling feelings for myself

Yesterday was awful and it's what I get, I know
for eating meat and eating fast food meat at that
two things I never do
because later I felt the mood of that poor tortured animal
course through me, taking away my strength

I had a coworker confess some pretty heavy personal
information and then I went to my first training session
to be an advocate for rape response. Which I think is going
to be great, really. But the subject matter was so heavy, I mean
apparently the youngest reported rape case in Alabama was on
a one month old, and that's a lot to digest.

And then I got in the car and had texts from my aunt
about how her life is spinning out of control and can I maybe
recommend some books for her to read and I love her so much
but our relationship has become so strange and strained after
Wella died. All these feelings came over me so fast.

And as I was texting her back, texts started pouring in from him
about how he needed to borrow my debit card to file for our divorce
on some bunk-ass website, to which, obviously, I said no.

And even though I know that I am not defined by my mistakes
or by my (failed) marriage and that this is probably all for the best and that
I've got this opportunity for a second chance, still, sometimes, I feel really dumb
and still, sometimes, I just want to shake him and ask him
"Why did you ask me to marry you in the first place? Why are you doing this to me?"

I guess the worst part about yesterday was how I feel like I can't talk to anyone
about my problems because of how it winds up affecting them and then I feel bad for
putting my issues on someone else. I'd just rather shut up and be the "strong" one.
But instead I angrily proclaimed "I'm not SAD!" on my friend's couch before
breaking down in tears and then driving myself home.

feminist literature and tales from the crib

I remember one day
sitting at my desk, reading Simone deBeauvoir
listening to my coworker bitch about how her husband
was inept at taking care of their new baby
and feeling pretty anti-men.

ballerina suicide

I keep falling asleep on people's couches
watching the Lifetime movie network
waking up with their cats cuddling with my dog
or their dog warming my feet

and I don't have anyone to call home to
to say "hey, I'm sorry, I dozed off again, I'm on my way,"
and I guess I thought that might bother me
but there's some real beauty in not having to check in.

M*A*T*H

Long division is the devil's breast milk

it's a calculator world
and we're just living in it.

"they used to cook up a little food and throw a little party"

It kills me that your mom
the woman I've bought Mother's Day cards
for the past seven years
who held my head and petted my hair
while the doctor snipped
the necrosis out
hasn't bothered to reach out to touch me
with words.
Does no one care if we work it out?
Did they not want me all along?
You're the one that left me, ya know?
And I'm not a mother, so I can't say
but I'd like to think that if my son
left a woman who was always there
for him
that I might pick up the phone and
ask her
if she needed anything.

"Truly sorry, Baby"

Woke up with a 4 a.m. heartache
reached out and you weren't there
Domino effect since then
when I decided to text you and ask
how you were doing
And it's like my life just turned into
a country song
I just want to scream:
Why didn't you try for us?
Why didn't you fight for me?
How come for me it would be easier
for us to stay together but it's
easier for you to walk away?
Growing pains used to keep me up at night
I'd reach out to her and she'd say
"These'll pass, Mamasita, and then
then you'll have beautiful long legs
and be a beautiful woman," as
she held me, patting my back.
Growing pains wake me up now
but there's no one there to
tell me anything.

no shirtsky no shoeskys

I'm eating lunch by myself at
Scholtzky's
Something I equate to a slow suicide
and can't not think how depressing that this was my
chosen option
Well, I wanted a veggie burger but
traffic was bad, so here I am
with a personal veggie pizza and for
some reason, a pickle
Thankful the drive thru filled up and
the silver Tahoe is blocking
my view of Home Depot
cos right now I feel like seeing it would
just make me think of you
and I've been doing too much of that
already today
Remember all those plans we had?
Or were they just mine?
Everyone used to always tell me if
you worked at a marriage it was really
worth it.
Guess they only say those things to
girls.

Summer Scent & The Silent Twins (for Rachel)

Found an almost used up perfume bottle
tossed near the bus stop
by the third grass fence we improved-
mentally-adding Christmas lights and candy canes.
multi-colored. all-white. confused.
like those phantom flavored skittles.
She tried to teach us to spit colors, but
we just spit brown, the color of
Averna.
Sister, cousin, baby, filly
Crazy Stallion malt liquor that we drank
under the boardwalk
where we named the sleeping homeless
and all the transient cats.
I didn't know if I liked you at first.
By the end of the night you were
slapping my ear.
The next morning you were asking me to
stay. It's August, but you're June.

"Same"

text message conversations
about divorce
are weird.

apparently this could be
over in as little as 30 days

so easy on paper and yet
somehow knowing that seven years
can be flushed in thirty days
makes me feel hollow.
but also...free?

god bless america.

one foot in front of the (2011)

"That foot. You've gotta do something with that foot. I can't be married to that foot."

He pouts.

It's not any fun to tease with someone who pouts.

It is fun to watch people trip though, like the fat guy who just tripped the curb at the Shell station we're parked at.

Well, you know fun as long as they don't get paralyzed or nothing.

Another Friday morning hung over (2010)

Bartender last night started crying to me,
his 15 year old cat died.
A guy dressed as a Juggalo was sitting beside me.
Too many things wrong with this picture.

Texas circa 1992

11.24.2010

We were at Corpus Christi beach when he decided that he wanted to swim. He'd already had three heart attacks by then and the scars on his chest looked like a treasure map. X marked the heart.
I was in the shallow water, partially because I was scared to go out any further but mostly because she wouldn't let me. And when his big oafish back swam over the second set of waves, she started screaming his name. "Ji-yim! Ji-yim!" She was somehow always able to turn the one syllable into two.

He probably couldn't hear her, but even if he could he would have pretended not to anyway. His selective hearing was commented on more often than not during my childhood. Instead, he flipped over to backstroke, revealing his giant belly. He was a good swimmer, I'll give him that, but she wouldn't. She was nervously pacing, frantically calling his name every few minutes or so. I stood up to pace with, her nerves now affecting me, even though I was positive at this point that he was doing this just to irritate her. I placed my hand over my eyes to peer across the water. He was out pretty far. "Aye, you call him," she partially said, partially asked. "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" I screamed. I wanted to scream "Quit being such a dipshit! Mom is freaking out!" I still called her Mom back then. I called my real mom Mommy. But Dad was never Daddy. Neither of my dads were ever Daddy.

He was swimming back now. Maybe because I called? I'd undoubtedly get blamed for it later in an argument. "You wouldn't come for me, Cabron." He swam all the way up to the shallow, letting his gut get covered with sand. He laid there for too long, like a beached whale. Thinking back now, I realize he was probably tired. But then it seemed like an act of rebellion, like he was saying "I'm back, now what?"

I don't remember anything else about that day. I don't remember what I wore. I don't remember what we ate. I don't remember which relative we were visiting. Corpus Christi beach was nasty, and Mom wore Bermuda shorts, and Dad almost gave her one of those heart attacks he was so fond of having, that's all I remember from that day. But just that little sliver of a memory is enough to make me miss back then, when my biggest worry was sunburning my scalp. I didn't know yet that he'd be gone soon. Didn't realize how much I'd miss something as stupid as their arguments, the smell of his undershirts, that assured feeling of knowing myself.

hardwood to concrete, concrete to sand

 

hurry up and go

traffic on the way to the beach
& that's the way it always goes.

I just want to get to the fruit market.

I've counted him say "fuckin'" for the past 17 minutes. He got a whopping 4 times in one sentence. Color me unimpressed with his vocabulary.

I always like the way I look in side view mirrors. Probably because I can't see that much. Skewed visions.

Traffic picks up.

the

the full moon's made everybody crazy
a summer so out of character that
the phone calls became less & less shocking
but the guilt began to stack itself up by
the doors of the house, hoping to inch its way onto our
shoulders and burrow into our hearts
the minute we should decide to leave. and here I
am again, searching for some deviant soul to pass
the blame onto. longing to rewind the predicaments
and one particularly embarrassing drunken night.
the situations one finds themselves in surely
don't dictate the character of a person, do they?
the only thing that I know to be forever true is that
she's gone for good but that is by no means an acceptable excuse.
the action we take is our own.

that lack of inquisition

and then there's the girls that
sit next to over priced record players and think
about family that's gone now, family that was gone
really, the moment they left for the city
but how bad can you feel when you're out making new memories?

how alone can you feel in the company of someone
whose supposed to know you backwards and forwards?
how can you feel together when you're all alone?
how come nothing ever makes sense these days and what
ever happened to that manual for life I thought they doled out
with light pink and blue fake cigars?

and all the things that should be on my mind
aren't. instead I'm in this pasture, the one I made you pull over near
I was reeling on orange sunshine but you didn't ask any questions,
no, instead
you helped me cross the barbwire, sat with me in an ant bed
 in the blistering sun.
all the while my pupils contracted deals with the devil
and I mean, worst case scenario, I guess we could have been shot
for trespassing?

and thinking how it never really made that much sense to me
why you wouldn't say bye to me when you left
parties. but now, I guess it does.

When I closed my eyes, we were in the ocean
a little more than hip deep
and the waves kept lapping up against us, hitting our
bare chests, no one there but us
and the pale full moon lit up the purple sky
but it didn't discount the stars which normally
I'd find prosaic but here, tonight, behind my lids
the stars were giant, twinkling orbs, bigger than you'd
see from earth, usually. Bigger than a geo metro, maybe.
Just dancing up there above us. We weren't touching or
really even looking at each other. With no hardwoods, I
stare at the ocean floor. I think you like it when I look
down.

Why can't it always be this easy?

I agreed to something you might not approve of
      -Whatever
Pants the cat is homeless again
      -NOOOO
It'll be fine
      -Ok.

I don't think I'll ever stop missing you

He was gone and I was alone
rearranging picture frames and furniture
trying to make it feel more like home
when I noticed that I was inadvertently
making a shrine to you.

I had the little gold tree from your bedroom dresser
 and weathered pictures on
your old buffet table. the only piece
of dining room furniture that is still
adorned with the piece of lace you picked
out for it. Dingy and yellow and I can't
stand the thought of replacing it.

I had hung one of your paintings-the
black stallion on the hills. It used to hang
over our record player in between the kitchen and
den. I used to watch you dance under it. and
I still can when I close my eyes. I still can
see your feet move over that linoleum floor
that was printed to look like rocks. (Oh, the 80s)

And I had put two rosaries there,
one that you brought me from your hair-brained trip
to Venezuela. We tried to tell you not to go, but no
one could ever tell you anything. I wonder where I get
that from?
One...you had been holding when you
left me. you left all of us behind, you left me
with this feeling of remorseful relief. you left
me crying in my hall bathroom. silently sobbing
even though I was supposed to expect it. Silently
sobbing so I wouldn't wake him because I wanted
in that moment
to be totally alone, not comforted, not held, not told
it would be okay because I knew I couldn't believe that.

And I'm still here pretending you're with me
or at least in the air
and while kissing your pictures, I imagine my
lips are one more time on your salty, wrinkled forehead
 and
I can smell your unwashed hair and I can hear
you say you love me. I can hear myself say it back
because there I am, standing in my dining room, talking
to you again.

ramble

nervous feelings don't have to be bad
or good sometimes they just are
what they are and can't be nothing else

I'm driving to class with these butterflies in my
gut. what for? see the girls sitting together at the
cafe table, taking in the last bit of purple sky
and coffee and it makes me miss my early twenties
miss my best friend, miss my husband
miss days where I had the time to get
day drunk in the park
am I worried because I sprayed the dog with
bug spray? worried he'll get sick? worried
I haven't taken him or the cats to the vet in a year
and that I'm a shitty pet owner for it?
worried I left him outside? worried the man
that's been hiding in girls backyards on Euclid Avenue
and attacking them when they get home, might be in mine
when I get back from school?
am I excited that the semester is ending soon? or that
he'll be home on Saturday. That I'll get to smell him and pick
up his socks?

I don't know, but class is beginning and I still have this
sinking neutrality in my gut.

sumten there to remind me

I reclined in the chair that you made
reading your mom's latest edition of
Garden and Gun while she cooked
dinner I wasn't invited to downstairs. You
claimed to be drawing me
but when I looked onto the paper, all
I saw was a collection of dots.
Somehow, I guess that's valid.

not someone like you

the best thing that could have happened to me
was you
in this sticky, tricky, inadvertent way
all the ways you tried to make me not okay
and I learned the only person I had to prove anything
to was me.
no reasons, but every attempt
to drown me. hiding behind plastic raincoats
and empty words strung together with a half empty
tank of gasoline, vitriol and your faded pale scent
of stale cigarettes.
-you tried to break me, but learned I bent-
and ain't it nice how karma
is hilarious sometimes? and ain't it funny
you thought you were really onto
something more than smoke and mirrors.
transparent again, you decide now you should
set your feet East.

yeah, I can't help but smile.

The night we broke a man

I couldn't dance on his rug the
way I wanted to. Feet
didn't fit in the squares just right.
He didn't want us to leave, but
he couldn't tell us to stay so
we left him sitting cross-legged
in the floor, shit grinning.

eggstacy

there we are again
coupled up thigh to thigh
forearms sticking to the syrup and
coffee residue

this is one place you're always you

it's 4:30 a.m. and I know I don't look good
lip sticking to my gums
and somehow the two booths the seven
of us are taking up feel connected

and some of that magic spills out when you ask
me about one of the country songs I wrote, so I start in
and you harmonize
and he comes in
and the three of us are sitting there belting out crawl space
while our guests look on at us
like we're really country superstars.

Imaginary children

"I don't know, baby. They
say some people are from the right
side of the tracks. Some people from the
wrong side of the tracks. I just know I
got so much railroad running through
me I feel like I am the tracks. And
the train, too."

Outbound trains

I know there are things that I shouldn't do-
situations divided by earthquaking sidewalks
and I jump at the last minute towards you.
The same sidewalks you use as an excuse to be
gentlemanly; tucking me away inside, reminding me of someone
I'd never mention to you. Secrets from secrets
available weekly at the dollar matinee. There are things that you
used to say, continue to say, things that I keep tucked away
in a tiny envelope, in a tiny file folder inside of a teeny filing cabinet
way in the back of my mind. Things I can't bear repeating
to anyone else but you, months after the fact maybe only as a reminder to myself
"Hey, remember one time you told me..."
and you smile-of course you remember-unless of course we were drinking.
and were we drinking? were we breathing? was I soft dancing in your kitchen,
spilling droplets of champagne?
You made me a million flowers but you hate when I play with your dolls
though I (like to) think that you liked when me and my best friend curled up inside your bed,
turned on your Chinese lamps and hid our heads under your down feather pillows. Giggling
softly because that's where you found me, you found me again
after a stint in my backseat where you thought I was dead.
Woke up with the windows down, keys above my head and crawled up your
stairs, locking you out, I'll never know how you got back in.
Swinging from rafters and hiding behind trains, we go months without speaking then
pick up again. Like star crossed losers on a West bound train and I tell
you the wrong songs on purpose.

husb

you, beautiful you and me with
my fingers in your hair. sometimes you don't like it
when I pet you like a dog. you, darling you with
your hands on my back. sometimes I have to beg
you but other times you really want to. and I watch
as you comb your hair in the mirror, one eye on
yourself, one eye on me standing behind you, my
head on your shoulders, still wet from the shower.
you, beautiful you and me incomplete without you
around; never the same since I met you. and when
you leave you take a chunk of my heart and I'm
incomplete without it; left waiting on the sound of
your tires on gravel, the turning of the door knob,
the sound of your sweet voice.

xoxo

you: gnawing, gnashing the air and your words
penetrate, hang there for awhile above our bed. shiny, metallic
not unlike a happy birthday banner. tacky, cold and cruel even
after you've snatched away my pillow, moved to a different room.
me: reaching for you throughout the night, coming up empty handed
and lonely. covered up only in residual resentment and tangled
pale blue sheets.

sometimes I'm surprised I'm not dead

that night we smashed the
stolen keyboard
...and anticlimactically at that
I wanted to turn back, try it again
but you see, that's what they call a metaphor and
we chased good feelings like we chased that German Shepherd
all the way down racetrack road.
Two boys and me in the back of a
pick-up truck, the driving boy drunk on sobriety and me
sober as a redneck bride.
I flattened my body on the cab of the truck, occasionally
popping down to scare him and his baseball cap
flew out into the open air, never to be found and
only later did we stop to realize
how lucky we were that we didn't share the same fate

awkward teenage years

the light in your bedroom was always dim,
that sky blue color looked so fuzzy
your bed, always covered in quilts, always inviting me in
and I remember you caught me staring into your quarters, I
blushed and walked off into the kitchen, realizing later
that you had followed. I could feel your eyes on my back and
you began cutting a grapefruit into two pieces-
offering me half
I declined and you fussed over the fact that I didn't like grapefruit
as your one night stand gathered her things and shyly
excused herself, looking at me in a way that evoked so many
emotions. eyes sad and hollow.
I felt so awkward in that moment, and you, I
guess you felt the need to explain
"I couldn't go through with things...with her,"
"Oh,"--I really didn't understand where this was headed
"See, I've got myself set on you, but, seeing as how I can't
have you..." your voice trailed off, as I gasped highly
flattered but unsure of
what exactly was to come next.

friends like family like friends

You're outside my bedroom, let yourself in
this morning, brought me a biscuit
and as I'm getting dressed, I start to think
that we're the kind of people who always buy
each other breakfast.
I wonder if there's a word for that?

Screen Windows

rain falls for wind the
same way sunshine falls to the ground
an empty warmth you remember from
when your friend would appear outside your
bedroom window
that flimsy screen the only thing keeping you separated
from him, from the night
and you wanted so badly for him to be able to crawl
into your bed, into your seven year old arms
wanting, even at that age, to be able to hold on to someone
or at least the idea of something
and you wish that just for once someone would recognize your plight
tell you that you're beautiful in spite of things
in spite of yourself
tell you that the way the sunlight hits you
makes you look golden and untouchable
you wish that just once someone wouldn't blame you for
their actions
wish someone knew that you only listened to that particular album
when you were done chasing off the blues, when you started inviting them on in
wish someone would pick up on the way you feel, just once, maybe
be aware of themselves, even
or at least just quit referencing mirror reflections and
the bad attitude you supposedly have
without stopping to ponder why, or if they might be the reason
But unfortunately, people will continue to be people
and you'll continue feeling under-appreciated
whenever you walk through that front door of home.

Elgie (for Gib)

Remember us
as giggling underwear girls
in king-sized beds
laughing off hangovers
Remembering the night in pieces
as broken as your side-view mirror
Your daddy made you sign a contract to drive
and her daddy bought a mail-order bride and
moved to Mexico for three weeks
and my daddy, well, he wasn't around
But none of that stopped the sunlight
from spilling through the blinds
And nothing short of storm clouds ever will.
c.t. 2.15.10

We drank too much, we slept too little

well, it was more than that
more than what my boss mentions
when she brings it up haphazardly
says she's glad he won, glad it worked out
glad I picked him, glad of things that I sometimes
wish she wouldn't talk about so loud in the lobby
of our incredibly nosy office.
the thing that I haven't told her is that it's more than that
I mean, it always is.
I've alluded though, I've told her that there's more
and one day, maybe one Saturday drive, or Sunday that I'm
cranking back pinot grigios in her backyard
I'll let her know the whole thing in its entirety
if by then I can figure it out on my own.

some things are best to summarize, others best to forget
and I'm caught somewhere in this storm myself
only because the one that won keeps bringing it up.
"Are you going blind, dear?" and I get no answer
maybe he's also going deaf.

but all those memories are orange
a flash, a bright, a fleeting sound
too many hes to make coherent sense of
a small collection of words.

he the second hit me hard, in all senses of the word
came out of nowhere, captivating me
came out of nowhere, fist planted
squarely in my jaw
and I felt afterward that I
could breathe fire, that I took up too little room
I wanted to be bigger, I wanted to be needed
and in the end, I got only mere fractions
of everything. In the end, I made a mess comparable
to the recent tornadoes, I made a mess of
every single persons emotions, every single person that I ever-
ever-ever met. I thought of no one but myself, and there was that
one night, packing my things, where he the first held me and told me
that I didn't have to go. he loved me in spite
of my selfishness. should a girl feel lucky about this?
or sick?

but I ended that chapter momentarily; at the time
in my mind, I did have to go, I did have to try
On one end of the tunnel, I'd still be wondering what might have been
on this end of the tunnel, I'm wondering how it may have remained
or maybe crumbled-
the days when home felt foreign
when I felt more alive, more comfortable, more loved
in a bar 45 minutes away from my house
a teeny-tiny, hole-in-the-wall, no-cover-ever, walk-through-the-
band-to-get-to-the-bathroom
dive-bar where if the bartenders like you

they'll never charge you and on Saturday nights
when the liquor laws are against you, they'll sometimes send you home
with a six-pack of to-go beers to help you maintain your buzz.

days that I slept too little, nights that I drank too much
things don't ever really get figured out that way
or maybe they do, hell
But I took a deep breath of relief when I found out that my haunts are
still standing, knowing that really
I was just worried about my memories, most that I've now tucked away
flying out all over the place, exposing me, for all the world to see.
And maybe none of this fits together to you, and maybe you don't find it any good,
or to have any merit, but it doesn't have to, it doesn't have to be
and sometimes, that's the hardest concept to grasp.

Penelope

She was tickled pink
so tiptoe early
and he knew right then
right away
as she slung her hair back
and he took in her light blue fragrance
that she was the type of girl who'd always want more
she wouldn't be satisfied with a simple boy like him
and more he could not give.

3's

We were walking, somewhat aimlessly
mainly, I guess, just so we wouldn't fall asleep again
Most of the weekend passed without us even being aware
curled up together on the pull-out couch
but here we were walking off
the fancy bread powdered with sugar
stuffed with cheese
covered in syrup
walking in 3s, but not in a straight line
not military style, not in one pair and a single
just walking.
Her in front, her stride confident
she made it obvious what she had, not the other way around
Him behind me, his keys on his belt loop
jingling with every step
at first annoying me, but then becoming necessary, as I found myself
stepping in stride to the beat.

The houses were nice, but I never felt quite safe in Memphis
I'd felt safer in East Lake,
standing on a train platform in Woodbridge,
in the woods alone, on any given night
But Memphis didn't seem to mind my hesitance
I saw it in the eyes of the homeless man, poised on the corner
he didn't mind my fear, he got full off of it

But as she drug her trash can from the street
-still in his view-
the giant #2 painted on it
made me nervous for her safety.

Dissolve

It takes about three weeks
for your family to dissolve.
It starts with a death.
Someone strong that held you together will pass
& then the vultures and the buzzards come out of the woodwork
wanting their piece of the cut
and when there isn't a cut, they don't accept it
Instead they seek high power lawyers and waste
time and money
They waste precious energy
they tear you down, no matter how strong you think you are

Then you'll wake up one morning,
and pulling out of your driveway, there will be two crows
leering at you from your neighbor's tree
the tree you hate because it litters your yard with leaves
when you don't even have a tree
The tree you curse every Spring, rake in hand
these crows will look at you through their beady black eyes
and translate that your world is going to come crashing down

You know it, but what can you do?
You drive on to work anyway,
maybe more carefully than you would typically drive
and you wait
You wait on whatever it is that's coming

You've got plans you're looking forward to
and at around noon, those plans will be canceled by
a crying, inconsolable cousin
who tells you that her daddy is cheating on her mommy
her daddy and mommy who have always been a set of second parents to you
her mommy who took care of the one that held it all together
and is already vulnerable and depressed
who just turned 50 on Tuesday
who the plans were for, to celebrate
who just this year, will celebrate the 25th anniversary of marriage to
the daddy figure, who cheated on her after she spent exactly half her life with him
cheated with someone young enough to be his daughter
cheated with someone as old as their marriage
and she will tell you that
She just wants to die
that if the youngest daughter was through with college that
she'd kill herself.

And you've got all this on your shoulders
and you weep yourself to sleep
after spending hours on the phone with her
pleading her to not be rash
telling her what she has to look forward to
and she'll break your heart to pieces by telling you
"I used to look forward to him,"

And you'll plead with your husband
to never put you through this
and your husband will promise, over cheeseburgers
that he's not like that
and then he'll ask you if you still love your uncle
and when you shrug he'll berate you for being so cold.
He'll tell you that most people can't turn off their love switch just like that
and tell you how sadistic you are for finding enjoyment in cursing out the florist.

And you tell him, between mouth fulls, that it takes about exactly three weeks.
Three weeks for your family to dissolve.

fragment of a conversation

-and they don't push shit on me
so I assume not Christians
because most Christians here...
well,
they push shit on you
hard
like the other night, for instance
me, Raven and Laurel were having a dance party in my living room
records and wine and girl time and it was lovely
and we were up late
and when we woke up
someone had shoved a Christian pamphlet under my front door
into my living room
it was about "getting close to Jesus and your family"
I was getting close to my family, bitches
I was dancing with two of my best girlfriends
and there was wine
in place of Jesus
you know, in his honor
oh and we used my Catholic prayer candles as microphones
how did they not know all this?

I don't care, do you?

we can go from this to that
but she only loves me when she's drinking
that's not entirely true
but we're just more comfortable
skin for skin
and now we're talking about wingspan and laying on tables and
lying through our teeth
because secrets hold you together better than blood
better than water
better than glue
and we're getting dirty looks from the school girl hooker, but...

H

I came to this place because
being here
it always reminds me of you
you and me back then, remember?
when it was crumpled up t-shirts from off the floor
and goose chases
-the goose being a buzz
and the sun and the grass were there
& things were so beautiful, so easy for me and you
but we didn't even know enough back then to realize.
But I think about you, about us, about that
as I pick the onions carefully out of my hashbrowns
drink my coffee too slow,
pick up the phone to dial you and you say
"Hey, I was just thinking about you, too."

we say affordable here. not cheap.

I got just the right amount of sleep

I just read the most awful book I've ever read
but I'm in this crazy good mood
can't quite put my finger on it, don't quite want to
Decided I'm getting a tattoo, cracking myself up
and the last day of allowing myself to splurge on food,
went to Waffle House and sat at the bar, alone
reading the most awful book I've ever read
and what I ordered happened to be the day's special
watched as a waitress stared at me from the sliver of a window on the staff door
listened as another told a story that uninterested the oldest server
something something about marriage. marriage and eggs.
the old server didn't give a damn.
and they all practiced singing country music.
and the rain started pouring. it's so cold today, robbed of a fall, but still
I'm in a good mood
and my waitress told me she'd planned to walk to the bank, but the rain wouldn't let her
and I surprised myself by offering her a ride
she declined
and it's raining here, but not there, there but not here
text message typo: Ate you at lunch
well, that'd be interesting, surely
and I'm back, stuffed, full, still cracking myself up, still in love,
looking forward to a sleep over tonight
and discussions about silly tattoos and bad books and inside jokes and and
and

for johnee (aka hot air saloons)

Another day in paradise,
aching feet from uncomfortable high heels
and a grocery bag of broken eggs
-not broken when purchased,
but rather when the grocery bag slipped from my fingers
broken grasp and broken shells
as I attempted to unlock the door.

All of this struggle, and there he sits on the couch
aloof to my homecoming
consumed in a cloud of weed smoke and a screen of Mario Kart
bright, colorful figures that could hold his interest much longer
than my breasts or legs ever could.

Favorite red t-shirt

It belonged to my ex, but I still wear it
Hell, my heart belonged to him, too
Once
but that motherfucker still beats
Words are said through lashing lips
and you can never catch them once they're hanging in the air
and kisses are given under train trestles
Kisses you can't fully enjoy but want to
when the devil's on your shoulder
and your heart is on your sleeve,
but someone else is on your mind.

Bet she's not fickle like me

She's plain, but she's probably happy
with less windows to crawl into,
opportunities to swing from
Her face pale and her hair fire red
pink nose and a fat husband to whom she just mouthed
"I don't feel good,"
coughing into her hand before lighting up.

everything runs together and bleeds

"Now you know what I meant back then," she said
and she was right, I agreed, I told her so
"Why do you have to leave? Just date me for like four more months," he said
and I laughed but couldn't oblige him
time was moving and I was salt in a shaker
just waiting for my turn

take that

Corporate chodes interviewing
at the table next to me
eager to climb the dick sucking ladder
I stare at the one facing me, blankly
while picking off chunks of nail polish
& throwing it on their floor.

Walking

a residual affect from your lips
like a mustache of cola
spilled while drinking
and hitting a road bump
sticky, sweet
and I can lick it off
but I can't push off
the memories
and I couldn't push you off
of me, well, maybe
could have if I'd tried

There was this Monday that I remember

I'd worn dirty jeans to school that day, of course
and they were still stained
with light marks of sweaty horse hair,
smelled like linament and leather
and he asked me
asked me to meet him outside

I figured it'd be like all the other times
he'd wanna talk about her
nobody wanted to talk to me about me
or about "us"
I was never apart of an us

but here he was, looking scruffy
walking towards me, as I leaned on the back
of Coach Haygood's old Pontiac
hands shoved into my jacket pockets
breeze blowing my hair in my face

Here he came right up to me,
leaned next to me,
breathed deeply
said
"Hey,"

Yeah, it was simple, sure
but being a nerd in high school is complex
and when the cutest boy in school says hey
it still makes your knees weak

"What did you want me to meet you for?"
"I don't want to be with her anymore, I've been thinking
you're a lot better of a person."
And he kissed me
the softest, sweetest kiss
the type of kiss that only people with similar sized tongues
and gums and teeth
and desire and passion
can achieve.

And I felt twangs of guilt
for kissing my best friend's boyfriend
but little did I know, that the rest of life would be
even harder.

Hosting a Kid Party

While the kids were climbing over antique dining room furniture
dancing around with my acoustic guitar,
slamming the neck of my bass into the window unit,
knocking on the window to make the dogs bark,
eagerly sliding my vinyl records out of their cases,
attempting to operate the record player,
popping balloons in the den,
I touched Blake lightly on the leg and told him
"Baby, let's never have children."

I guess he already knows all of this

A nice day, and nothing particular on my mind
Shady patio, cool beer, company
She walked outside to take a smoke break and somehow conversation turned
to how long she'd been bartending

"Not long, but I'm an alcoholic," she joked
going on to say that she didn't even know
what made up a buttery nipple
"Me either, I had one that was hot once, and I almost puked."
"I almost puked last night because of a story that was told."
She smiled and paused and asked me if I'd like to hear it.
Of course I said I would

"Well, I was at the Nick last night, with Sienna*,
she used to work here, she got fired and that's how I got the job,
and her husband Kyle* is a psycho,"
"Wait, Kyle* D-----?"
"Yeah, you know him?"
"Yeah, he and I got into a verbal argument here, actually. He berated me for about ten minutes. He sucks."
"Yeah, well apparently he was out drinking at...oh, what's the place? T.C's? And he picked a fight with this drunk guy, and when he went to swing, the drunk guy just bit his hand, and bit his finger right off."

My jaw dropped, my eyes, I'm sure, were as big as plates
"That's Jesse! That's my ex-boyfriend!"
"Yeah, he recently passed away?"
"Yep. Wow, what a small, small universe."

I drove home, still laughing about the story
Laughing about the chances of it all happening
but then I got sad, wanted to call Jesse, wanted to give him a high five
buy him a beer, talk about what a douche bag Kyle* D---- is.

Instead, I sat outside by myself
holding the mail in my lap
content not reading it, but pretending to
while I tried desperately to talk to Jesse.

She

She called me last night
slightly buzzed, I could tell by her tone
said she was down the road, wanted to stop by

My hair, wet from an evening shower
I told her I'd be awake for a little while, but
not forever

With the hair dryer on high, he talked to me
and I was so tired of the conversation, I didn't bother telling him
that I couldn't hear a word

They came in soon after
their arrival announced by quick, short yips
the dog's way of greeting company

She laid across me on the couch, snuggling up
me with my arms around her
as she hiccuped severely, shaking me
with every heave of her chest.

M. Antonio

You mean to tell me, you were my next door neighbor
the whole time, and you never told me who you were,
the whole time, and you protected me when I came in late
because you were wiser than me and knew that my boyfriend was a piece of shit?
And when I came in from the bars at 4 a.m. reeking, teetering
slamming taxi cab doors with no respect for time or sound,
You were looking out your blinds at me.


And when he'd drive off, you'd come over
offer me hash and Lortabs in exchange for company, and that worked out well for me.
I had nothing else to give.

But now, as I stumble upon a picture of Junot Diaz, I realize
that he looks just like you
and I like to pretend that it is you, and that you made up your name
your lifestyle
and you were hiding, hiding from me, hiding from everyone
never telling me who you really were
biding time and writing novels, bringing me drugs.
Opening up your blinds with two thin fingers, watching to make sure my key worked.

heart to hearts

When we were doing back bends in Cabba Park
she pretty much did everything she could
and everything was about her,
you never even looked twice.

I watched my food at that dim cafe
studied every bite like I'd be tested on it
while you studied the curve of her legs
the dip of her neck
and to see you glancing like that
felt like I'd been stabbed
but I never let on...

Your shoes got stolen in the flood
swept right off your feet
I was familiar with the feeling

we went to so many places
but couldn't shake how they all felt the same
I've never stopped feeling the same

about you

and when I close my eyes we're back there
kids again, fat faces, gorged eyes
and it's like I never lost you in the flood.

Yesterday's behind us

It fit perfectly-
complimented my colors
You thought it was pretty, but you are biased
Long drive
Long talk
The conversations begin to exhaust me
I just don't know what I want.
That's all I can offer.
Staring out the window. Gray sky. Green lake.
We arrived at my dad's wedding reception
Light rain falling
My aunt Lisa running in her white cowboy boots
I could feel your tension, your awkwardness
I was called into a room
Family was to wear a corsage
The straps on my dress were so thin
it took 3 women to pin it on right
Resulting in puncture wounds all over my new dress
But the end result was nice
the pink flowers, baby breath and pearls
made me feel pretty
Girlie, yet like a woman
My cheeks hurt from all the pictures.
My dad placed a key in my palm. His eyes showed his hurt.
He touched you lightly on the shoulder.
I'm glad yesterday is behind us.

role reversal

the reason that I get
the hopeless, innocent feelings
for anyone that gives me a sweet smile
can be summed up by
the things you said tonight
with such vitriol and hate
and the way you looked at me, snarling
as you made that violent, trashy gesture
towards me
as I calmly left to drive my cousin home.

aspirations and cold air alleys

Did you do what you aspired to do
five years ago
when I passed you in the alley, in the cold
a time I hate so much to stop and chat
with the icy breeze blowing through my skin
whizzing by my ear
and you, talking slow as always
telling me what you aspired to do.
Did you do it?

I'd be happy for you either way.
I'd just be happier if you told me faster.

Summers in Texas

I used to think my bones were on fire and
the humidity used to make your nose bleed.
I remember you coming in from the field,
a long stream of dark reddish brown
pouring from your nose to your chin.

The first time I saw it, I thought someone hit you
and I wanted to find out who would do that to you,
wanted to hit them back.

Like the time those boys pushed me down the stairs
to the elementary school auditorium
and you found me in a ball on the ground,
asked me who did it
and in front of the teachers and the principal
grabbed them by their shirt collars
and told them to go to hell.

You got sent home, but you didn't get in trouble;
Dad slapped you on the back in a friendly sort of way.
Didn't say a word, but that was about as much encouragement
that a man like him could show.

Weeks later, he'd turn his back
as you and I kicked each others asses in the freezer aisle at the grocery store
and we'd turn our backs when he wolfed down
slaw dogs and roast beef sandwiches
that his low sodium diet restricted.

Mexico Beach

We'd been on the road long enough
that all the Waffle Houses were becoming
Waffle Kings and I couldn't hold out any longer
on changing my feminine hygiene product.

Being on a road trip with two boys, I didn't want to
call too much attention to it,
just said I had to pee, wanted to stop before gas stations
became obsolete.

We pulled into the station and walked in
a motley, smelly crew. Tired from the road,
squinting at the fluorescents,
wobbly from the ride. And to my disappointment,
I found out that
the ladies restroom was out of service.

Fuck.

I pulled Gink aside, asked him if we could
maybe try to find somewhere else and
as we stood talking, we noticed two black women
emerging from the men's room. He nodded to me to
go for it. And I walked past an aisle of motor oils and
lighter fluids and
a short Mexican man in a red polo shirt
who gawked at me as I made my way in.

I'm normally not a squatter. Girls who squat are
the bane of my existence. I feel they are a part of the problem
not the solution, and so I was left cursing the black women
who left puddles of urine all over the seat.

Hovering, I reached down, tugging on the string
when I heard someone
pulling the door handle of the stall I was in.
"Just a minute," I called out
hurriedly trying to finish, when an arm caught my eye.

An arm that was hoisting it's owner
up and partially over the stall partition
and I saw with terror, half of the face of the Mexican gawker.

"GET DOWN ASSHOLE!" I screamed, shoving my tampon inside
of me quicker than I'd have liked and pulling up my pants
"GET THE FUCK DOWN!"

I flushed and ran out of the stall as he stood
creepily by the sink, facing the mirror
supposedly washing his hands.

It's these things that make you feel alive

It was when the heat lightening turned into something more
and the impromptu grill-out became
trying to run chicken and vegetables back into the house
during a rainstorm.

It was when the power so dramatically cut out,
cut off the song Curtis Mayfield was singing to us
so abruptly that it startled me. Launching me off the couch to
light every Catholic candle I've got.

It was sitting at the table- on chairs that didn't match-
like a make-shift family.
My dad's candelabra providing our evening lighting
And we only paused chewing to tell her how good everything turned out.

It was us, sitting around in the dark, passing a bowl
me laughing at the things Heather said
that no one but me could decipher.

It was hugs goodnight, all around. And me stumbling
slowly blowing out every candle, ignoring all the noises
that an old house is prone to make when you're alone.
Forcing myself to doze on the couch
and try not to hate it too much that you weren't home.

It was 3 am when the power shot back on, lighting up the place
Curtis bellowing out the rest of his song to me,
bolting me off the couch to turn everything off and to
smell the milk that had since gone bad. A depressing waste of
eight dollars.

It was crawling into our bed and covering the pillow with a towel
so my sweat didn't stain the case.
Falling asleep holding the dog, knowing I'd see you soon.

Theres days when everyone's against you

"A conundrum?"

I guess.
But, it doesn't have to be

I'd just rather not talk to them

or specifially, her.

That's what caused the rift with me and him

because he said that was fucked up on my part

and I said
Now, wait a minute

I don't judge you for not having a relationship with your father

and he threw a little tantrum, foot stomping, the whole 9, while screaming that that's not the same.

Theres days when everyone's on your side and
this ain't one of them.

Shirley the Loon

She talked most of the time
in a fake British accent and
imitated Shirley the Loon
and it seemed as if she never realized that
harried & hurried
were two different words.
She claimed to write mystery novels
said she had an award-winning series out
but I worked at a bookstore and
had never heard of them before.
One older guy thought she was
the cat's ass
ya know, clean, smooth, tight
but I think he was just happy
to be back in school
and I didn't hold it against him.
I guess he figured out she was crazy
a few weeks after the rest of us
the day she started talking about airport security
and in the middle of her bitching rant
she somehow found it fitting to take her bra off
momentarily exposing two loose, flapping
stark-white breasts
nipples pointing straight to her shoes
some of us gasped, most of us nervously laughed,
almost all of us started packing up our things
a few more prudish girls went to tell on her
-and I'm not saying they shouldn't have,
that lady was crazy-
and next week when I came back for class
there was a paper on the door-saying she'd been
dismissed
class was canceled
and it was so late in the semester
that rather than finding another professor
they just gave us all B's.

McGuilicutty

I remember waking up, not knowing I was alone
Stretching my fingers over the
sliver of sunlight
that shone down through the pocket window
onto the white sheets with tiny yellow flowers.
Everything seemed hazy and
that bedroom in the single-wide trailer you lived in
was small, even for me.
I reached for you, but you were gone
and I sat up, panicked, my hairline damp with sweat
because you couldn't afford air condition and the window
was open but the air was stagnant.
The panic helped me shake off sleep and I
started to get up to find you,
when your head appeared in the window.
You were wearing your regular silly grin
showing off the gap between your two front teeth
as you handed me a furry, yellow chick
and I squealed in delight at your presence
while it scurried over the bed sheet
and took a shit on one of the yellow flowers.

For Hank

I've gotten laid and
made friends and enemies alike
all just by speaking your name
and I wonder what you'd think
about the way things are today
The internet and open perversion
and the thugs that walk the streets of
my old neighborhood
with their pants hanging off of their asses
and their hands gripping their cocks
The worst part is, really, it's all the same
as you left it
There will always be the corporate dicks on top
playing on the strings of the people who fall for it
dancing around like poorly made marionettes
And those of us who notice the strings
and see through the
bullshit are looking on from the outside
through windows we probably got paid to clean
For way less than it was worth
and the so-called artists are
trust-fund kids who've never had
to beg, borrow or steal
and whose guts hang over their jeans
because they've never gone a day starving
or eating nothing but sauteed onions and air sandwiches.
They buy expensive frames and hang up Klimt
only knowing who he is because a
girl they fucked in college had The Kiss
in poster form, hanging on the
white brick walls of her dorm room.
And their daddies buy them fancy cameras
and guitar amps and they show it off like they've
god damn earned it
and have the audacity to criticize
anyone who didn't grow up like them
I'm so very glad I'm not like them.
I'm not a praying woman, but maybe I should start
praying that I won't come back as one of 'em
& that I'll come back as an
un-neutered male cat instead.

the truth about skanks

They ask me what I think and I tell them
Then they get angry
Why do they ask then?
What's the point?
"Are you sure it wouldn't be cool?
She's going to buy a house with her boyfriend."
a) I don't care & b) it's not true
I've watched from a distance as she's draped herself
over any other man that would let her
Desperation reeks off of her and I know because
I'm all too familiar with the smell.
"She likes you, really,"
But she finishes her sentences with the word "yo"
and wears cowboy boots with soccer socks pulled to her knees
Both, to me, are character flaws
And besides, of course, she wouldn't tell them the truth
But I always do
And they always get angry
with me.

A long story the best way I can get it out

It was one of me and the boy's first dates
and I took him to the country to go fishing
on family land.
Two things that make me comfortable; fishing
and being there.
Brought my best friend along to make it three.
She'd never fished before and
he and I bonded
helping her untangle line and
teaching her to squish worms onto hooks
She's not a squeamish woman, by any means
But when she she caught a wiggling brim, I saw the
uneasiness in her eyes
as she contemplated how to get him free.
Noticing that we were short on hooks and beer
we decided to make a run to the bait store
about twenty miles down the road- a few miles of it unpaved
in a town called Cleveland
that somehow manages to be more boring
than anything in Ohio.
And who thought that possible?
We pulled up at the shop and since I was riding shotgun
and had just got paid-money burning a hole in my pocket
I offered to run in and grab some hooks
We'd drank a cooler full of beer and
we'd burned one on the way
so when I went in all of this hit me
and I scowled at the fluorescent lighting
and scoured the aisles for hooks.

Couldn't find them anywhere.

It was a bait store, and me being stoned
I walked around to make sure that they weren't hiding like a snake
waiting to bite me
Finally, I gave up and went to ask the woman at the register
Either she was elevated or she was 7 feet tall
Permed brown hair down to her ass
Curled and sprayed bangs.
Thick jowls and a mouth that looked like
it hadn't cracked in smile in twenty-something years.
I asked her for what we came to get and
she asked to see my license.
Odd, but I figured there was a reason
-when I was in high school, you'd get carded
if you were trying to buy eggs during Homecoming week.
I figured it was something like that
something to blame on teenagers and their pranks
So I handed it over and she turned around and reached up
for a black binder on a shelf behind her
and started jotting down my information.

I was starting to feel a little set up.

I looked out to the truck and shrugged.
"That'll be ten dollars."
My jaw dropped
"For some fishing hooks?"
"For a fishing LICENSE," she snarled
her Southern accent basically dripping on me
or maybe that was just spit.
"But...I didn't ask for a fishing license. I
asked for hooks."
"Well," she paused, agitated, "you SAW me get the BOOK out."
I nodded, it was true, I did and
not wanting to aggrivate her further by telling her
I had no idea what that meant,
forked over ten dollars for a fishing license
to fish on family land.

(c)ct 2010