Tuesday, November 12, 2013

I Aint Nothing but Tired

Listen closely to me. One day I will die.

Let my brothers look through my books first. Even the ones I've borrowed and never returned. This is important.

I want you to touch my dead face. Just so you can take it with you that it's all real. Yes, her cheek is cold. Yes.

Someone tell the story of the first day I saw a loon dive.

If you have my secrets, please keep them. And one day when you're old, you can reminisce about this one time there was this one girl who died. How sad, you might think. And if you remember then, at that moment, tell the world. Until, put my words in a quiet box.

Put them in that quiet box with me.

Tuesday I Get a Little Sideways

Somedays this girl wakes up wanting wine, and maybe to die, but just a little bit. Instead, I make coffee. Some victories are palpable. Listening to that one song by Ray Charles that always makes me cry can't be an option on mornings like this, so on second thought, I'll listen to Brooks and Dunn. Sure, I'll think of my dad, but the good stuff.
"Jukebox plays on drink by drink."

My grocery list should be longer than it is; it reads: Peroxide, Cereal. I should add "booze", but we don't have money for that.

Before the morning is over, I'll make the bed. I'll put away the dishes and polish off this pot of coffee. I'm going to waste a few more hours daydreaming of running away. I might research New Mexico towns, look for jobs in Labelle, Florida, and apartment search in Sulphur Springs, Texas.
"I like my women wild."

I'm trying to make good decisions. That's why I'm listening to country music.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Sing Loud for the Sunshine

Our hands have dipped in the same mud. We have grown old together for a million years and this year is just one more. We have passed by and, since the sun warmed the earth, breathed the same breaths, maybe just a lifetime away. Ages ago, we built our house with our hands and tore the meat with our teeth. More recently, we let our sweat fall into the dirt, but with a spectacular spirituality that no one (I know) can even understand.

I know you.
My first morning I knew you - I've always known. Somehow.

Monday, November 4, 2013

a change is gonna come

A year is a long time.

One year ago, my Nena went blind. One year ago.

I counted out her pills once a week. I became familiar with over-reactions, under-reactions and depression from the only strength I've ever known. I learned words that no one should ever know. I laughed at inappropriate times and also cried. I fought with medical professionals. (Fought). Took pills that weren't prescribed to me. Stayed up late to do dishes and laundry that wasn't mine and prepared the Mr Coffee.

One year ago, I was one year younger.

Less wrinkles around these eyes. More elasticity. Less poems written, less life lived, less heartache, more rabies. Since then, I've nearly died 4x. Once for real, the other three times, just emotionally. I've been accepted into a MFA poetry program. I've had more wine than I can really understand, I've gained and lost 5 lbs pretty consistently and I've been through approximately 12 menstrual cycles.

What can ya' say, though, you know? Shit keeps on moving. Blind or not, sad or not, old or not.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Share My Bread and Wine

I am not surprised. I'm the kind of girl who gets rabies. And who breaks her foot before the race. I'm magnetic in all the wrong ways. I feel things too much in my bones. I fall in love with all vibrations. I feel that blue collar catastrophe, personally. I want a sharp hair line and the kind of collar bone that perfectly spills into shoulders. Maybe beer on the couch is best. Or red wine in the morning, in a coffee mug. And stars beaming through electronics. I'm that kind. The ruiner kind.

Things end.

That's how my book would start.