End of a Day

“Mommy!”

He kept them up last night till I got home from overtime. It was like heaven.

“Mommy! Mommy! I got all smiley faces!!”

“Mommmmmeeee mommmeeeee potty!”

She with the blackish brown eyes ran at me and hugged my belly.

The LittleOne ran at me and hugged my legs. A blond and brown pony tail met my eyes as I looked down at my babies, my growing, loving babies that I created. I carried. I care for.

“Ok, back here to finish your stories.” My Love is beaming from the bed, knowing he did a nice, RIGHT thing, proud of himself for lasting ONE MORE DAY as a single dad while I work the 7 to 7 overtime. More money for our struggling family. The little pony tails bounce back to the bed. They climb up, but still face me, chattering like sparrows.

“Mommy, I have a splinter you need to get out.” She with the blackish brown eyes shows me her soft palm, with a tiny sliver of wood in it. My heart soars. I AM the one who deals with splinters. He can’t take it, but moms have to do the things that cause pain to create healing.

“Booboo! Booboo!” Not to be outdone, The LittleOne shows me a fresh shin bruise that I simply must kiss immediately.

Off to get the tweezers, my eyes fill a little. Yes, I’m tired (boy there should be a different word for HOW tired), so a little emotion is predictable.

But really, it was honest joy. Look at all my gifts…

Talisman

From the Podium

Here’s my desperate response.

I can’t pull out the kink.
There are

too many played angles

and euclidian escape plans.

I’ll save you a corner on

hard, straight sheets

done real neat.

You.
Hold it in.
Count me on the losing side

and crowbar me from my ways.

Take a left, then forget which way you came.

After the Hey Day

Hooker eyes at sunrise
Notice blood-shot
Punch bowl mistakes and price tagged dreams
TV assassination glory
Button up spine
How is normal processed?
            Check the bar code.
 
There’s dark bark to any rough tree
The greedy/heavenly ignore the seedy/melancholy
 
Sluts will be sluts
The always motive
 
Losing count of clock ticks
Cocktail napkin warnings
Soap box prophet calls the day,
Smoking away some shitty pain.

Hell-Bent

Out
To my natural habitat
Tip toe till tears
Drop a fresh crop, agog
What seeds are lessons
What charming methods of irrigation
Swimming and swirling or
Forming lunette

Growing Babies

Of the human garden
Its equal opportunity
Fertile
 
Short mercy
Glory
Swallow and dissolve
 
Striations
Ruby bullets
Tells
 
Capacity to know
Less successful at forgetting.
 
You want them to be silly hearts

Erosion

Shortly before reading this post by Uneven Stephen, I had a very bad dream.

I tend to have dreams where I am at the ocean, usually on the beach or on a cement boardwalk overlooking the sand and the water. These dreams usually involve the ocean rising, washing to unknown high levels, eroding the beach to a steep precipice. There is falling in, there is a realization of the ocean towering over me, washing me away, washing me under the curl. Or worse, someone I love.

The recent dream was much the same. I sensed my father there. We were on the cement boardwalk and it was understood that my Meme ( french for grandmother) was sick, and had been placed at the edge of the water in a beach chair to absorb the sun. Reclined and sleeping, her snores reached me above her. Then before my eyes and in slow motion snap shots, she starts to slide into a now high, calm tide. She is slipping and snoring. I am terrified. I cannot just let her go, I have to save her. I see her face resting on the ocean chomped edge of sand while the rest of her is already devoured by the surface far more lake-like than ocean. She isn’t under yet. Between then and when I jump in, she slips down and through my fingers. I cannot find her.

It’s still so much that I need her. She died a long time ago.

Anyway…the dream has been bothering me. I’m lonely. Can it all boil down to being lonely, that I ache for that unconditional love?

Augur

You are late.

I am often late.

Not this late.

Very well. But I am here now.

But LATE.

And HERE.

Yes, here. Did you bring your satchel?

I always bring my satchel.

Including today?

What is wrong with you?

I just don’t even know why you’d ask that.

Fine then. Where should I set up today? The terrace?

Perhaps the dining room today.

The dining room? You know I work better outside.

I do. I think you know where it is.

What is going on?

Again, with such curious questions. Did you not get your money this month?

I did.

Did you get it last month too? And where your expenses paid?

You know the answer.

I do.

You must admit you are acting…out of sorts.

Must I? Watch the candlesticks there. I think that smaller table, in the corner.

Very well. The, uh, energy in here…it’s…odd.

Sit here, Ms. Milner. I think our session today is going to be quite successful.

For He Whose I Am

The bus had been 19 hours and 12 minutes of wasted time.

“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I obviously wasn’t thinking, judging by your reaction.”
“Go home.”
“Okay.”

She was now seated on the bench at the bus station, under the pretense of waiting for the next bus. In her hands, she held the pocket watch.

“That one.”
“This one? Miss, this one is an expensive watch.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Cash or charge?”
“Is it extra to engrave?”
“No, Miss. It’s complimentary. I will get you a sheet of paper.”

For he whose I am.

Counting her money again, she hesitated from buying a ticket. Why did she think he would come and stop her? Just because she came so far? Held back this long, her tears were heavy, overripe and finally fell like devastating bombs on the dry skin of her hands.

Feeling better after her cry, she stood up with purpose to buy her ticket and return home. She would write the whole thing off as an experience, an adventure, and fodder for her work. Maybe she would even get a book out of it…

“Violet!” Then, he was there.

Skin

someday to me someday’s skin someday’s taste
fantasy to you, fantasy’s skin, fantasy’s taste
forever to us
forever skin