A.M. 2

Good morning, page. I've missed you. I thought about you all night and shot straight out of bed without hitting snooze to get to you.

Today is my mom's 74th birthday. I guess that's pretty old. I haven't seen her since Christmas and I miss her. It takes a lot to miss her but I do. I miss her smell. It's the original scent of skin - so familiar, distinct, irreplaceable, comforting. She calls me pumpkin and pats me on the back when I hug her goodbye.

I'm in a missing mood. I miss my boyfriend. Four days can feel like forever. I need lots of skin-on-skin time. There's just no substitute.

I need to reconnect with my friends. It's easy to feel lonely when you see your friends making art and hanging out without you. Most of my best lady friends have moved far away. Oregon, Chicago, NYC, Portland. I'm proud of them for making the move. They're all up to big things.

The dog is eating away at his own skin. It's like he can't get enough of teeth-on-skin time with himself. He's a pack animal; maybe he misses biting the skin of his mother and brothers. I bit him on the neck last night and he launched into a whole other level of play that I had never seen. Maybe I should think more like a dog when we play.

It's already 3-blanket time around here. If it's under sixty degrees, it may as well be the dead of winter for me. I need a heavy blanket to shoosh me off to sleep. If it can't be skin-on-skin then I guess three blankets and four pillows will do. One pillow rests under my head, one under my arm, and the other two form a barrier between me and the deadly wall. I can roll over and feel the pillow there and snuggle it. Otherwise, I'd roll off into the endless, cold, dark abyss that is the other side of the bed. I'm in a missing mood.

I had a dream that my old work friend was accused of murder. Some fucked up torture scenario that I can't recall. Her face was flashing all over CNN -- all the worst shots. Half-blinking, tired, sadistic-looking shots. And videos of her saying questionable things out-of-context that anybody would say if they thought they were in private. No one is perfect and it's so easy to find dirt on people if all you want to find is dirt. I cried and cried because I knew that even if she did murder someone, she was a good person. But her life would never be the same, guilty or innocent.

No matter how completely you clean up after your mistakes -- acknowledge your actions, take responsibility, apologize, seek out those you hurt -- you can never get back to where you were. All you have is now and now and now and now. The catch-22 is, you can't stop making mistakes. And even calling them mistakes is misleading. There are actions, consequences, and reactions. What one calls a mistake, another might call a blessing. I've made plenty of these so-called mistakes in the past two years but they have all led me here. My life is more perfect, more complete, more me than I ever could have imagined.

I just found myself doing something I did for countless hours as a kid-- staring at my skin. I would sit under a sunny window and let the sunshine make sparkles every color of the rainbow. It shimmers like diamonds - purple, green, yellow, red. It's a lifeless desert. It's a map with blue rivers running through it. There's a pulsing force beneath trying to escape. I got lost in these questions. How does the body know where fingers should stop and fingernails should start? How do we get our fingerprints? Why don't dogs have fingerprints? These are my fingerprints and no one else's. There are so many people in the world and no one has these fingerprints. For a child, this is mind-blowing shit. For an adult, it's all science. DNA, genetics, the circulatory system, blah blah blah. We can't un-know what we know about our bodies but it's incredibly satisfying to indulge in that again. To get lost in the tiny hairs, and now scars, and tap into that wonder, to feel small, to grapple with the paradox of being totally unique but ultimately a blip on the radar of humanity.

When my dad was in hospice -- at the very end when he had lost consciousness -- there was nothing to do but sit quietly and stare at his hands. I'd always loved his hands. Leathery, covered in a million scars, swollen knuckles, wooden fingernails, dry, dry, dry. There was no window or sunlight to make sparkles on his skin. I don't think there were any sparkles left at that point. He was gone in a matter of minutes. But I still have his hands burned into my memory. And besides the scars, my hands look just like his. He is always with me.

I had a dream that I called my sister. We haven't talked in many years. I assume she knows some things from context clues on Facebook, but she doesn't really know about my business, my divorce, my life as it is now at all. And I don't know her kids anymore. Her daughters are 15 and 13. Her son, who was a shy little toddler last I saw him, is up in the double digits himself. In the dream, it was effortless. I don't even remember who called who, but I picked up the phone and, as if by magic, she was there. We picked up right where we left off.

I miss everyone.

A.M. 1

30 minutes of creative writing. It sounds easy but it's not. So many things get in the way.

I have to pee. The dog needs to pee. My neck hurts. I need a desk. One complaint after another comes into view, between me and the page. Now the roommate's taking a shower. I'll never get to pee.

Sometimes I wonder what my heart is doing. Is it beating right? How big is it, really? What's it look like? Is it going to betray me someday? Have I already betrayed it? When will it tell me it's had enough bacon and that I should have paid more attention? It's always with me yet I've never really seen it.

I miss the smell of sycamore trees. No, I miss feeling good when I smell sycamore trees. Now I feel nostalgic and vaguely rotten and twisted up inside. I used to have family. I used to have childhood. But I'd never fight to have either back. Funny.

My room is a little nest of warmth. I've put trust into a forty dollar heater to keep me warm and not kill me. It's full of oil. It crackles. I'm suspicious. So far, it does its job. Please, heater, don't kill me. If I say I trust you will that help? I think you gave me this headache I woke up with. Now I have something new to blame these morning headaches on.

Ah, sweet relief. Bathroom access permitted.

The dog does not understand the dog door. The cat does. The dog sees the cat move freely in and out, from yard to kitchen, from human world to animal world over and over every day. Yet he does not assume that he could do the same. I've showed him how; we've done it together. But for him, it's not an option. He will wait patiently (or impatiently?) for twelve hours for me to open that door so he can pee. He's free and doesn't even know it.

For a year I woke up sad every day and knew why. I just didn't want to lose. I wanted to be right. Every pain in my heart not caused by death is caused by my rightness. I'm right about that, by the way.

These days, I wake up inside a space. It's quiet. It moves slowly. I see myself from myself floating somewhere off to the right. I can feel my hand resting over my heart. I open my eyes and for a brief moment, I know that I am safe.

Then I notice I have to pee.

arms of autumn

a madrigal

the arms of autumn reach me through the window
it's fifteen years ago and I'm a child
alight with the unknown, my eyes gone wild

within my gut the stadium's crescendo
the dirt beneath the bleachers cool and mild
the arms of autumn reach me through window
it's fifteen years ago and I'm a child

the crickets sing out future songs of sorrow
the beating hearts and drums unreconciled
what first was sweet the second kiss beguiled
the arms of autumn reach me through the window
it's fifteen years ago and I'm a child
alight with the unknown, my eyes gone wild

Show and Tell

a terzanelle 

today we play our show and tell
with sexy brows and lazy winks
but still I do not know you well

so I imagine what he thinks
in late-night silent in-between time
with sexy brows and lazy winks

we gladly play desire's chime
pressed up against me in the street
in late-night silent in-between time

now summer's left with all its heat
and even in the chill you're
pressed up against me in the street

every day you show me more
and you get a little sweeter
and even in the chill you're

wrapped around me like a heater
today we play our show and tell
and you get a little sweeter
but still I do not know you well

2014 Dream

I was at work in a big, old house. One room contained a giant picture window facing an open horizon with a perfect view of the sunset. I stood before the window and could see that the sky was vibrant, and the clouds were violently swirling, swelling, moving like they were time lapsed. I had the sense that the sky was putting on a show just for me and I couldn't believe how lucky I was. People walked in and looked at me but they didn't speak or stop to watch the sky with me. They were too busy. I ignored them and lay down on the floor. It began to storm violently. I watched clumps of clouds slam onto the ground and make thunder. I peered through the sheets of water that poured down the glass, focused and unfocused my eyes to see the infinite shapes these simple drops of water formed together. As I let the display wash over me, I was filled with great peace and a secret sense of understanding. All these people around me -- how could they not stop and take the time to watch this? When the storm concluded, the clouds broke and the sky was crystal clear, the darkest black, with a giant full moon right in the center.

I saw another moon appear off to the left, close to the horizon. Though it was full and gave a glow like the real moon, it left me with an uneasy feeling. It suddenly began revolving around the sky over and over. I knew I should have been impressed but I couldn't let myself enjoy it because it didn't make sense. I went outside on the patio with everyone to check it out. It disappeared briefly but was soon replaced with... what was this? A glowing World Cup 2014 soccer ball? The crowed oohed and awed but it didn't feel right. It felt cheap. Then the dancing, glowing light transformed into a butterfly that tickled people's faces, a lumberjack that made conversation, a dog that barked.

The crowd grew restless and turned on each other. I ducked to get away, but the light focused its attention on me. It had assumed the shape of a stuffed monkey with a dart gun. It locked eyes with me, took aim, and shot at me. The crowd watched on as I slow-motion Matrixed my way around each dart. When the battle was over, I had only a moment to feel triumphant before a crazed man from the crowd brandished an open knife at me, demanding a fight to the death. I pleaded for him to let me go inside for a moment. There was something I needed to do in there. He relented and I ran inside the house. I somehow found the strength to push the angry mob off the door and lock it behind me.

In the relative quiet of the house, my brain switched into survival mode. I straightened my spine, dashed off to the back room, found my purse, my debit card, and my phone. I made my way to the back door. I would run. I would not fight. I would run. "You've done this before," I thought. With my hand on the door knob, I remembered a stash of guns in the cabinet. I slid open the cabinet door and grabbed a .20 mm. Not big enough. I grabbed a 9mm. No bullets. Fuck it. I don't fight fire with fire. I'm running away. I threw the guns back into the cabinet and ran out the back door. Then I woke up.

Highway Ghosts

ghosts laugh behind red lights
mock 290 and Lamar
tease Oltorf and Lamar
taunt 5th and Lamar
torment Airport and Lamar
scorn Rundberg and Lamar
up up they gaily tread
the highways their highways
gobble up white broken lines
knock over leaning houses
rip up swaying bluebonnets
guzzle up red quicksand
grow weary at the border
the one we never reached
take refuge in high neon lights
still smirking in their sleep
every place to come a cruel jest
another revel for the ghosts

April Fools

the beginning was not
when the whiskey bottle
shattered
on the karaoke floor
or the moment we noticed
and salivated for more

or when summer sirens blew
on Terrible Tuesday
five years and nine days
before that tearful Thursday
when my mother cried out
my drunk father's name

or when the sweat from her legs
from a day at the fair
caught his old tired eyes
but failed
to reflect
what nine months would bear

it was not when you kissed me
on my birthday lips
or slapped my whiskey hand
from your zipped up intent
no, darling
that was the end

Morning Song

In the morning I cry
I love you! I love you!

Burning star in my dark sky

When the sky turns blue
I know you're still there

Hallelu! Hallelu! Hallelu!

At night when I cry
I need you! I need you!

Horizons swallow me whole

Pointed north true to you

I arrive in the morn

Cockadoo! Cockadoo! Cockadoo!

Domicile

In the kitchen glass window
my gingham fades,
shows through either side

In that way
you know it's rained out
before you even wake up

Its ceramic apple pie
wafts out no tempting scent

The melted sun
mumbles five o'clock
somewhere

I vanish between its streaks

Lai 1

two velveteen thighs
milk in tea the skies
dissolved
felted brim disguise
pulled o'er quicksand eyes
unsolved
glow behind high rise
snuffed before it dies
absolved

Hatchback

I lost my lip gloss
somewhere
down below

and a half-drunk beer
and a ham-burger wrapper

I tic-tac-toe
up against
your skull bones

and glossy lips glow
and glossy eyes roll

the headrest reclines
my knee skin
declines

and you howl at the moon
and you wildly scatter

mementos
you'll find
come morning time

but that lip gloss
will never be found

Gold Star

we arrange gold stars

your name is arrangements

I borrow beg

and still

the grind of white tooth

dust

halts

stratified mouths

I learned today

despite expansion

rocks will land blood first

name me another gold star

Ram and Swan

The whole of life I've spent a Ram
Resisting what I could not comprehend;
I've stood my ground until the very end,
White water rushing up and o'er the dam
Could never shake me free from what I am.
Raw hide, hard hoof with strength prepared to lend
No mountainside or stream could me offend,
Not hesitant to overtake the lamb.
Tomorrow I will wake up as a Swan
And glide above the water as it parts
And ripples 'cross the pond in pulsing hearts;
My shimmering neck will beg for gaze at dawn
And silver feathers dance when moonrise starts;
As quiet as a summer's dream, then gone.

April Sunset

There was no way to know
As I stood in a trance
In a showery fog
And perfume cloud
In my mother's doorway
Every Sunday morning
As she spent over an hour
Caking on rouge
And smoothing it out
With a wet sponge
That I would feel
Exactly the same
Every April sunset.

I Like You Best In Summer

I like you best in summer
When bees buzz 'round your mouth;
Glistening haunches stick to leather
Point my curling toes to south.
You're a lazy poolside day
My skin swells up from sun;
Tiny heat escapes your nostrils,
Sways the glimmering web we've spun.