On a stretcher they wheeled me
3 am in the morning
A time when insanity breeds
And multiplies like cockroaches
Beneath the nail beds of the city streets.
Looking at the clock
It was the last one I would see for two days.
No time in those fluorescent hallways
Only three meals and the mumbling
Ukrainian roommate;
She saw squirrels.
Walls covered in red crayon
From my predecessor:
“Lions are coming to get you…
Eat your eyes”
Eyes that could not look at my unfamiliar
Reflection the mirror or the barred windows.
Locked in this ward
Locked in our own minds
Prisoners of a sick joke and Lakeshore Hospital.
Thelma quoted Gideon’s bible;
Eyes wild pacing red lettered words
As she paced the hall her diaper sagging with each step.
I kept my head down
Don’t seem too happy or they will think you are in denial
Don’t seem too sad or they will think you are suicidal
Don’t talk too much to others or they will think you are schizophrenic
Don’t keep too quiet or they will think you hear your own voices
Don’t be alone too much or they will think you are anti social
Don’t be anything ….be nothing and somehow they will keep
Their vigilant eyes that gloss over you as empty vases
Holding no water for these thirsty dregs of society.
The only friend I made was my mattress
And the bare tree outside my window
The crinkle of the mattress cover reminded
Me that my heart had not crashed through my ribs
To stop beating on the sterile linoleum.
The bare tree bore its own faults in nakedness
Each twisted limb and broken branch became its beauty.
It held no mocking leaves to flaunt hope.
Hope was never a light burden to carry
a pendent around my neck pulling my face,a memoir,
Towards the concrete.
To be hopeless is to learn hope.
To posses hope is to crush its gentle wings
No, it is in release, that hope finds
A way to burst open doors
And call you back to life;
The simple rhythm of feet,
Leaves and breath on the Chicago sidewalk.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Day 13
brittle words, brittle bones:
truth is a rusty nail that I drag
across my mind raining sparks;
a broken muffler on pavement
your eyes were azure sea glass
painfully dull, pummeled by
every matter of water and rocks
in moments of your absence
i wade into the center of the creek
asking to be cleansed of the shards
of memory you have embedded in me
i think of you when I smell rosemary
and thyme...we always had too much
or not enough of both the taste and the measure:
seconds, minutes and hours.
a dash of salt to keep me from
bitterness.
you liked to watch me cook
in your kitchen, standing only millimeters
away from my figure at the stove.
you never knew that the rhythm of
my wooden spoon was your heart beat;
the steam from the saute pan
was the breath you left on my neck.
truth is a rusty nail that I drag
across my mind raining sparks;
a broken muffler on pavement
your eyes were azure sea glass
painfully dull, pummeled by
every matter of water and rocks
in moments of your absence
i wade into the center of the creek
asking to be cleansed of the shards
of memory you have embedded in me
i think of you when I smell rosemary
and thyme...we always had too much
or not enough of both the taste and the measure:
seconds, minutes and hours.
a dash of salt to keep me from
bitterness.
you liked to watch me cook
in your kitchen, standing only millimeters
away from my figure at the stove.
you never knew that the rhythm of
my wooden spoon was your heart beat;
the steam from the saute pan
was the breath you left on my neck.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Day 12
remember when
mixed tapes meant
you were friends forever
remember when smarties were the preferred
Halloween candy.
remember when stirrup leggings
and a baggy t-shirt was the perfect outfit
for any occasion.
remember when shoulder pads
made you sexy and double breasted
suits made you classy.
remember when your VHS
collection of Disney movies
was the envy of all of your friends.
remember when there was nothing
more powerful than an woman
in red lipstick.....and a red dress (Lady in Red).
remember when computer screens
were only black and white or black and green.
remember when Jesse from the sitcom
full house was a total hottie.
remember when Goonies
was the scariest movie ever.
remember when rollerskating parties
were the best birthdays ever.
remember the snowball roller skate and
how you always got picked by the guy with sweaty hands.
remember when gas was 97 cents a gallon.
remember when American made
was the only way to go.
remember
when.
mixed tapes meant
you were friends forever
remember when smarties were the preferred
Halloween candy.
remember when stirrup leggings
and a baggy t-shirt was the perfect outfit
for any occasion.
remember when shoulder pads
made you sexy and double breasted
suits made you classy.
remember when your VHS
collection of Disney movies
was the envy of all of your friends.
remember when there was nothing
more powerful than an woman
in red lipstick.....and a red dress (Lady in Red).
remember when computer screens
were only black and white or black and green.
remember when Jesse from the sitcom
full house was a total hottie.
remember when Goonies
was the scariest movie ever.
remember when rollerskating parties
were the best birthdays ever.
remember the snowball roller skate and
how you always got picked by the guy with sweaty hands.
remember when gas was 97 cents a gallon.
remember when American made
was the only way to go.
remember
when.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
For Grandpa
I feel your strong hands
in the pine boards in the attic.
Passing through each doorway in
this House I hear your methodical
footsteps that moved
rhythmically as
waves against the dock.
I remember the image of your outline
at the edge of the dock staring
into the water as if
to seek a prophesy or purpose.
But your purpose was behind you
waiting, laughing and playing games
at the the dining room table.
When your heart finally turned
to us we were silenced by the beauty
that you kept so secret resting beneath
your very own ribs.
You caged it from yourself
for so many years
maybe out of fear
or maybe out of guilt.
But is was not until your heart
began to beat in a broken
rhythm that you pealed back your
own skin for the very first time.
You were new and old.
You were frail and strong.
You were fear and courage.
We let our fears of your new life's end
rain from our eyes, pooling in the crevices
of our own broken and beautiful words
that drifted to the horizon of your open ears.
At dusk now, I think of you.
Of how brightly your burned in the end
not as the smouldering of a setting sun but
as a star that never knew it was a star.
A star that burst open;
a reverse super nova spilling
all of its color and grace on the walls,
the bed sheets and the tops of our heads.
The echo of that deluge will live
in my bones forever.
in the pine boards in the attic.
Passing through each doorway in
this House I hear your methodical
footsteps that moved
rhythmically as
waves against the dock.
I remember the image of your outline
at the edge of the dock staring
into the water as if
to seek a prophesy or purpose.
But your purpose was behind you
waiting, laughing and playing games
at the the dining room table.
When your heart finally turned
to us we were silenced by the beauty
that you kept so secret resting beneath
your very own ribs.
You caged it from yourself
for so many years
maybe out of fear
or maybe out of guilt.
But is was not until your heart
began to beat in a broken
rhythm that you pealed back your
own skin for the very first time.
You were new and old.
You were frail and strong.
You were fear and courage.
We let our fears of your new life's end
rain from our eyes, pooling in the crevices
of our own broken and beautiful words
that drifted to the horizon of your open ears.
At dusk now, I think of you.
Of how brightly your burned in the end
not as the smouldering of a setting sun but
as a star that never knew it was a star.
A star that burst open;
a reverse super nova spilling
all of its color and grace on the walls,
the bed sheets and the tops of our heads.
The echo of that deluge will live
in my bones forever.
Day 8
Record stacks
and plain white t's
I am pacing around the rim
of my glass with my fingers.
Dizzy with insanity
daring not to look up into the eyes
that have been perched on my figure
from across the room
Every time I see you
the floor drops from underneath my knees
my heart does an involuntary hail Mary
and then rolls around your feet
like a lost marble.
Looking up from the drink
I see you shadow boxing
ghosts inside of your own mind.
Peace Be Still.
Peace Be
Be.
and plain white t's
I am pacing around the rim
of my glass with my fingers.
Dizzy with insanity
daring not to look up into the eyes
that have been perched on my figure
from across the room
Every time I see you
the floor drops from underneath my knees
my heart does an involuntary hail Mary
and then rolls around your feet
like a lost marble.
Looking up from the drink
I see you shadow boxing
ghosts inside of your own mind.
Peace Be Still.
Peace Be
Be.
Quiet Tonight
His feet shuffle like sand paper
on the wood floor
down the hallway
to his empty bedroom
There are burn marks where
her hands touched the walls
and oil spots on the carpet
from her leaky eyes.
Sitting on the edge of the matress
he imagines the pressure of her body
on the right side of the bed
warm and restless.
It has been years since
her smile has floated freely
in between the kitchen sink
and the bathroom vanity.
She loved washing dishes;
she would hold her hands hovering
over the water in the sink
and watch the drops fall from her finger tips.
He used to laugh when she told
him she was born of water and fire
as if she were telling some joke
with no apparent punch line.
He sees her now in every puddle
and creek; hovering over the water
like a translucent veil of atoms
that merge the past and present.
After 43 years together
it doesn't seem right that her final resting
place is in the dirt beneath a shroud
of grass and stone
He just could not bear to watch
her in the waves of the lake;
the ebb and flow reminded him too
much of her own heart beat.
He found, though, that
the earth has quieted her spirit
more that he wanted. There is no soft rhythm
with which to measure his own breaths.
Now he lets the faucet
in the bathroom drip continually
just to interrupt the unnerving
quiet of his restless sleep.
on the wood floor
down the hallway
to his empty bedroom
There are burn marks where
her hands touched the walls
and oil spots on the carpet
from her leaky eyes.
Sitting on the edge of the matress
he imagines the pressure of her body
on the right side of the bed
warm and restless.
It has been years since
her smile has floated freely
in between the kitchen sink
and the bathroom vanity.
She loved washing dishes;
she would hold her hands hovering
over the water in the sink
and watch the drops fall from her finger tips.
He used to laugh when she told
him she was born of water and fire
as if she were telling some joke
with no apparent punch line.
He sees her now in every puddle
and creek; hovering over the water
like a translucent veil of atoms
that merge the past and present.
After 43 years together
it doesn't seem right that her final resting
place is in the dirt beneath a shroud
of grass and stone
He just could not bear to watch
her in the waves of the lake;
the ebb and flow reminded him too
much of her own heart beat.
He found, though, that
the earth has quieted her spirit
more that he wanted. There is no soft rhythm
with which to measure his own breaths.
Now he lets the faucet
in the bathroom drip continually
just to interrupt the unnerving
quiet of his restless sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
