weirdo
July 2nd, 2010
“Never mind,” she said. “I found it.”
“You’re being silly,” he said. “You haven’t found anything.”
She turned around and looked at him, holding it in her hand. “But, it’s right here.” She brandished it at him. “What are you talking about?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
She looked at it. She examined it. She sniffed it, gave it a tiny taste with her tongue. She glared at him. “Yes.”
He grinned. “Okay, then.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He reached his hand out. “May I see it?”
She clutched it to her chest. “No. You’re weirding me out.” She turned away from him. “I’m out of here.”
His chuckle sent chills racing down her spine. “Suit yourself.” She spun around, stuck her tongue out at him, and ran out of the building.
“Weirdo,” she muttered to herself, just before the explosion.
breaking all over again
July 1st, 2010
“I don’t want a baby girl,” I said, my eyes filled with tears without release. “I want my baby girl.”
But I lost her, I won’t ever have her. There are days when I wake up wondering where she is, and then I remember that she was never even born.
I see other people with their daughters, and I miss mine so much. She would be 7 years old this August.
I don’t want a baby, now. I want my daughter. I want my little sister for her big brother, who loves and misses her like I do. I want to have never lost her, I want to not have never gotten to meet her.
For a long time, just the possibility of someday maybe having another baby mitigated that pain – even if I didn’t want to have one, knowing I could helped. For a while, I planned to give other people what I had lost, and that filled the hole in my heart, eased the ache.
“And now I’m losing that, too. And my heart is breaking all over again,” I said, and the tears found their release.
seasons
April 21st, 2010
I begin in the wind, with my breath gusting and whirling.
I grow in the heat and rain, budding curiosity and boldness.
I age softly into shades of red, gold, amber, peace.
I freeze to death slowly, with my eyes blinking icicles.
his
April 5th, 2010
He flopped down on his mattress, grabbing his coffee from the floor. His feet burrowed under the comforter as he inhaled the strong, bitter fumes from the mug. He sipped gingerly, his eyes casting about the room.
His glasses lay within arm’s reach, his phone right beside them. Soon, he would face the day, but for the moment – for a long, luxurious moment – he lay here, on his mattress under his warm comforter on his bare wood floor in his empty living room with his fresh coffee. He watched rays cast by the morning sun creep ever-so-slowly toward him.
A lone box, all that remained of her, sat by the door.
in the yard
March 31st, 2010
Wind dances through the grass, rippling waves of sharp green tendrils waving. Stalks of dandelions tipping touching kissing the ground; their delicate white seeds whirling like snow across the yard. The sky above so clear – the blue that makes you fall in love – while the sun warms and caresses my face gently. Scattered single blossoms, colors vividly varied, open to the day’s sweet encouragements, as a few single-minded bees diligently dart to and fro.
A lone cardinal alights on a low branch, his feathers the bright deep red of lust stark against the calm mellow browns. He bursts into song and I burst into tears.
the blanket and I
February 23rd, 2010
This blanket, richly colored the red of pomegranates, curls around me. It is so soft, and I am soft. Imperfect blanket, imperfect me. We both have frayed and tattered edges. We offer comfort; we are happy being touched, held, wrapped up wrapped around. The cats lay on us, kneed our softness, curl up and nap. There is a hole in its center, like the hole in my heart.
We give little bits of ourselves to those we love, little pomegranate fuzzies clinging gently.
this time of year
November 4th, 2009
The days grow short, the night overtakes, and my heart aches for the loss of you.
It’s always early November when I miss you the most.
Not the summers, even though we filled them with love and laughter, snow cones and shrimp. Not the holidays, when we were together more. But the slow increase of darkness always brings a slow increase of memory, and with it, the pang of absence.
I often wonder what you’d think of me now, in my wacky freaky life, but in my heart I know. I can feel you in the wind, loving me from beyond.
I love you, too.
haunted
November 3rd, 2009
In the dark, in the quiet, in the silence.
Only then can I hear you. Like the wind whipping around me, I can hear you; a roar in the storm, a whisper in the silence. And the hearing of you brings memories, distant like the night sky. Looking up, the stars overwhelm me, tiny beads of light against the darkness of my heart.
You haunt me, and o how I long to be haunted. Such delicious delirious torment.
dark and twinkling
November 2nd, 2009
After leaving the insane asylum, Nathan needed coffee.
He drove across town, the ghosts of what he’d seen haunting him, cloying and disturbing. He shivered and cranked the heater, and wished the sun wasn’t setting so fast. The echos of tormented screams bounded across his mind, but far worse were the whispers.
Those tiny little voices, hidden in the cracks of his memory.
The eyes of that one girl, so dark, twinkling (mischief? madness?) in spite of everything.
The crooked smile she offered him.
The way she spoke his name… as though… she knew him.
Wait… how had she known his name?
He shook his head, parking in the café lot. He threw open his door and took several deep breaths of the cold, crisp air. Shivering, he ducked into the café and went to the barista. “Coffee, black,” he ordered.
“Yes, Nathan,” she said, and met his gaze with eerily familiar dark eyes.
the new day
November 1st, 2009
Day births, growing brighter by the moment. The sunlight kisses my eyes, and I open them. I stretch and linger in the warmth of bed, taking deep slow breaths that fill my lungs and recharge my spirit, reconnecting to my body and my Goddess.
Eventually, I rise and don long stripy socks. The chill air wraps around me as I open the back door and step out into the morning. The sun makes stripes on the cool cement, and I move so my stripes align. The synchronicity brings me joy.
I sing a greeting to the day. I gently lower myself into the swing. I watch the breeze and the tall grasses dance.
I am ready.
