Tag Archives: family

From the left seat I can see that you were right

11 Nov

I reside in heavens

when we fly it’s very clear

the bigger organism we

are apart of/from up

here/now vision clouded

with/by ether, our lives below

the bible thumping belt, so rare

did you think I wasn’t looking when you quietly ordered

yourself back into submission from the menu

or was that for those to whom you say life is good like comfort food for breakfast

on saturday just before noon in our pajamas with the radio playing/the smell of grease

and gasoline in your hair, citrus on the wind

real maple syrup and bacon/your favorite

race on television. We did things

on that leather couch that would embarrass the children if they existed

we spooned entire days into a bowling ball bag

you won/lost, as if we had nothing

more important to do than touch each other until we did

or maybe we only manufactured that/you

came down from your mountain-top to pull me up

and I was so grateful I gave you things

to desire instead

of me/but when I called down to you from mine

you couldn’t hear me any more

than when I used to tell you

I had a dream

in the night/you reached

out for me from your

fear of light/sleepers

women pilots

weak people

distrust

and we would fly

blindly, madly

in love with passenger seats, advanced

stall warning recovery

whether predictions

down-shifting, flights planned

restricted/visual ceiling fan rules

taking precedence under the covers

your feet my pedals

clutching, crabbing

our forte

negative g-forced

free fall

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Remember

27 Oct

Remember

Way back then

when I dipped my

big toe in the chocolate

fondue pot and it was all

feng shui in the house we built

around love but I got squirmy ‘cause

it felt too good like that day you tried to

eat it all the way home little piggy style so I got

us a school girl giggle with misspelling who loved cupcakes

even when the jump rope tied to your leg

rendered it inoperable, sooner or now and later

we were tired of wrestling as the floor arched

golden between 67 and 73 was about as high

as we could get before the cavities, after

shots shocked chock-full of cancer

or was it the twins who had

to come to my own conclusions

about whether or not we’d have

room for a view

if we said?

I do.

Chapter 3 – The Silver Flute, Pt. 4

30 Sep

As I glanced back at her body sprawled in the death grip from what must have been some type of yoga position; I wonder about her family and how her obituary might read. What is this? A book, no – a journal! Fantastic discovery, Dawn says. Snapping me out of wherever it is I have just been. It is surprisingly blood free, so I pick it up and begin to flip through the pages. The last entry is an exact account of all that has occurred thus far in our investigation. It is titled: “A Dream 07/01/1995”. Today is July 25, 1995. She is a poet. For some reason I am not startled by this information. It only serves to make me curious enough to read the rest of the book. I find another entry marked 07/21/1995 – “Obituaries”. I am beginning to feel a little distressed, but I keep my calm and read on. She wishes in the event of her death at her obituary read as follows:

“The last true dreamer died today. Survived by the rest of her family. She was a self-proclaimed child of the night, saver of small fortunes, does of kind and noble deeds, a loving sister, daughter and niece. She was a poetess who now resides in the land of the muses. She loved passionately and lived fully. When she was awake. She once was lost, but now she is found. May the lord have mercy on her soul.”

Not a bad idea any more to write your own obituary. The papers print such a dismal account of all the day’s news. It has to be a difficult job. The last rights of so and so. Funeral services to be held at blank and keeping track of all those names. She says tragedy takes precedence over happiness. Where on earth is that sweet voice coming from? I feel like I am going mad with all this new prose acting up in my head. Dawn doesn’t even notice as I fall back against the stone wall that once held her shadow and slide spastically if not slowly to the cool, damp earth.

My conscience plays tricks on me. The aquarium light is off, yet the fish swim on. I will sleep. Allusion is pillow. The haunting pages of a young woman’s journal my security blanket. Dreams of youth, my night light. She seeks shelter in a hollow house, in a frameless bed. My health is failing. She is beginning to die a solitary death in a white dress in a deep forest. The flowers of my childhood are tangled in her hair. I dread the feeling of her fingers—stiff and lifeless against the living world. My soul a silhouette. My dream of a perfect being shot down by the whims of society. Efforts gained and lost again. There was a time when I was truly happy and then I peered into the stained glass window and I witnessed reality. It impressed myself upon me stretching my skin until I thought, I am an old woman, mother of no child at 18 years old my body hates me. My brain wants to sleep forever and my hands want to speak of the pain of being. Of being an old young woman and living, and living and living.

Dawn taps me on the shoulder, ever mindful of our duties at the crime scene. She cheerfully reminds me that I am holding elutriated evidence with ungloved hands. I am in awe, completely and utterly shocked by what I am experiencing but I do not want to miss a minute of it. So, I put on some rubber gloves that make my hands reek for the rest of the day and continue with my private investigations.

So far, I have gathered that she is a seriously lonely girl, intensely sensitive to her environment, slightly paranoid and definitely intelligent. Her entire life is mapped out in this one book; seemingly for the singular purpose of entertaining friends and lovers or her younger sisters or herself. She writes of their future with uncertainty and reminds them of the lessons she has learned along the way. I am beginning to feel the guilt of an eavesdropped rating undue credit for a rumor I had not even heard until – Hey, have you heard? The lion swallowed the fly as the spider entered the stadium and the crowd roared.

My ears are hot with the echo of an eerie lullaby I overheard a mother singing to her child in the cemetery. I am alone in what seems to be an ancient Egyptian tomb. How did I get here? From the glyphs on the wall – Isis, Osiris, Horace the hawk I place myself in the Valley of the Kings. It is cool and dry and the sweat under my arms gives me a chill. There is a resonance to this place although I have a clue to its source. The room is carved in solid rock and I feel I am standing on the dust of the ages. This place has been preserved for over 5,000 years, yet it is far from deserted. A nubile energy permeates the air and fills my head with grand delusional possibilities.

I am queen of all I see, ruler indubitably. On my head a crown of dogwood carved in precious ruby, emerald and diamond gemstone. Oh! My virtuosity. My manhood! Gone in an instant. What is this? Some new illness? I can only hope. My head is filled with a strange apathy. I am drowning in a pool of blood that seeps up through the soles of my shoes into the hem of my pant legs.

Chapter 2 – Umo ja Aiti

6 Sep

Hidden surprises

Under pillows in fancy boxes

Gifts from the motherland

Kind words that heal

I know it was difficult for you to learn

My debt to you

Is far beyond material

Sina ja mina

Parents of more than the those you bore

A lost child in a foreign land

Adopted by generosity

I understand more than you know

My only wish is that you understand me

You have become my Finland family

I want you to see

Through all the bad times

I am happy

You’ve given me more than just a home

And a warm bed

You’ve given me a new life in a new place

And you put a smile back on my face

The strength to write and start anew

I couldn’t have done these things without you

So you see, what I really want to say

Is kiitos

A family like yours is precious and few

And I know that you would say in return

Yes, thank you

Chapter 2 – To Ninni, My Big Sister

2 Sep

I will not verse on your beauty

For surely it has, and will inspire

Many a poet to match in metaphor

That which the artist’s eye does seek

I shall not write about your generosity

Though it has been plentiful

And gratefully received

You’ve given freely without reserve

While I am able

To give you only these

Simple words, spoken softly

Attempting to appease

The bestial sea

Between us

Perhaps one day

Salt water will carry you back to me

Chapter 2 – Mother

19 Jul

I see you

Pretty face, hair

Beautiful

Like the face I saw not so long ago

You stare at me

With emerald eyes that shine

Like mine

You wink

I smile

You are to me all that is good

And fine

Mother

Smile and

Wink

For me tonight

I miss you as I never

Have before.

Chapter 2 – Father

19 Jul

You can smile

And I see

That you are laughing

Just for me

Your face it glows

It is happiness

I think

Or pride in those

You love

To brag about

I will give you something

As in the past

To make that smile last

I know you love me

And I love you

I will make you proud again

And again

I promise.

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