The First 10/29/95 and 2/10/2021 I remember the first time I wanted to climb into your bed, hoping to find some rest. My father had left me alone in an empty lot, our angry words having soldered the car door shut. I tapped on your window. Hoping, even though we were new friends, you'd know how to tell me it’d be ok. Because I wasn’t ok. I was laying across the tracks again, head pillowed by the rail. Eyes fixed on locomotive ditch lights before the big hit. Hoping to make it hurt good, let me hide behind another smoke screen stop. Hand on the rail switch, you didn’t hesitate. When I reached out to pull you in, you tilted your chin, flipped the track. When I couldn’t understand why, you whispered, “I don’t operate like that." You, an imposter engineer, brought gears to a gnashing halt. You didn’t pity me. Though I cried and shook like a hobo without a fire, I was politely sent on my way. I walked home alone in the windy cold rain. One boot on the rail, the other floating off the ground. It took some time to realize I’d been saved, not scorned by your rebuke. I’m thankful you knew what you did and didn’t want, Because I’d always wanted everything, right away. And back then, especially you. It wasn’t long before I was loving you and you were loving me back, one railcar, one track. Thirty years later, at the end of the line, I told our story, babe, one more time. You teased me as you listened from your last bed. I always remembered it wrong. You always remembered it right. I know you wanted to see me laugh again before you'd say goodbye. "I got on this train and I haven't asked to get off. Never without you." "It's okay babe." your whispery voice. "Love you darlin' " when you knew you had to leave. You stepped to the platform and my heart left the rail. Now, even without my heartbeat, I'm still alive without you 365 nights. I counted the days you were mine. 9,639.
Kicking and Screaming I swear. I’ve been patient this time, waiting for empty pen to pass. Magically fill with black squeezed ink to weave a universe distinct. I spin until i’ve spun words through gossamer web. I made them. And they are beautiful and perfect. That’s a lie. This morning, I knived my words ‘til they bled out on paper, soaked through, left stains I won’t scrub out. Writer’s bump, fourth finger stinging, pressed flat and rough. Even though it hurt, a pool of alphabet soup spilled out. Each exit a punctured port, I find them mushy, falling apart. Letters free of forming into words. They are ugly and trite. My stories spin on centrifuge, kicking and screaming through arteries and veins. Now prepped for kung fu heart surgery, I’ve drugged myself, there’s no pain. I hope whatever it is, it can be cured with the stitch of a pen. My heart on the operating table, take scalpel and begin. I don't know if I’ll survive the first incision. Dont’ know if the spark that controls my pulse will ever work again.
Polished Pieces of Me 7/97 I carry polished pieces of me. Granite roads I’ve wandered, quartz memories from lakes I’ve swam. Tumbled smooth in pocket, adding up in decade piles. A fingertip trespasser, I rarely touch them. Pocket size fenceposts keep me out. Some sharp edges stick my hip when I lay down. Some forgotten, slip through holes in me, caught in pants cuff, under my feet. Some grow heavier as i go through my days, weighing me down ‘til i can’t lift my head. Fingers go numb when I have to touch them, and squeeze until they shrink again. At times, I wish some would leave me. I could be empty. I could be free. These pebbles can never be lost or stolen. Never given away, lent to a friend or sold for cash. I could be empty, but I’ve chosen to be full. These rocks of my memories have built me.
Almost to bursting 7/97 Inside the quiet of our life, between the sheets, strung out on smiles. My heart feels full - almost to bursting. Blood rushes to me - i feel faint. Under the covers, riding purrs of our cat, when love feels stronger then heroin, lasts longer than a cadillac. My heart feels full - almost to bursting. Blood rushes from me - i feel faint. Inside a cluttered closet, praying the lights will come on again, life's reason and rhyme concealed. My heart feels full, almost to bursting. Blood rushes out of me - i feel faint. Outside the window of all the world’s living room, nose pressed to see what I can’t feel, dying inside and can’t feel my heart beat. My heart feels full - almost to bursting. Blood rushes from me - i feel faint. On all my fronts, your loves pushes in. When my love plant needs watering, your hands soothe sore spots. My heart feels full - almost to bursting - Blood rushes to me, i feel faint. We turn around and find our footprints, exactly where we left them. Crosswinds move in one direction, our trials travelled at light speed. My heart feels full - almost to bursting - blood rushes over me, I feel faint. (I am getting on the peace train and never getting off)