Friday, March 30, 2012

I'm a second in her memory

I've always been her favorite. I know because she's been telling me for as long as I can remember. She slouches in her wing chair. Alive, I think. Most times I can see her chest rising and falling slightly. Once I put my fingers by her nose to see if I felt the breath coming out. For one millionth of a second I wondered if she would be better off if I just pinched her nose for a few seconds. she wouldn't have to be so scared anymore. She could see her husband again. Most days I'm sure she thinks we're trying to steal from her. Her car, her imaginary house, her mutual funds. I don't think she remembers that she's rich anymore, actually. She knows that she has drawers of diamonds. She used to smuggle them to me in her napkin under the dinner table. She knows that when she wants to buy crystal covered rose petals and fiberoptic Christmas sleighs, she can. If she can calculate the right amount of cash, that is. I remember the last time I saw her try to use a credit card. It was three years ago. She took me out to one of her favorite restaurants- the type of place where you look like a mess if you're not in heels. She handed the waitress her credit card and told her to keep the change. When her card was returned with her slip, I saw her concentrating. She laughed and went to use the ladies' room. When I glanced at the slip, I saw that she had added the date to the total and signed her name on the tip line. I wanted to cry. On the ride home, I did. Last Tuesday she banged on my bedroom door. She screamed at me and asked me why I had stolen her car.I wanted to cry. Today, I did. I guided her to her chair and gave her a cookie. Pecan shortbread. It's always been her favorite.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

I like shoes. I like you.

rest your arm on mine.
our colors mismatch in pieces
ink sleeves and goosebumps
you wear your heart there-
in pieces.
i wear my peace there-
in feathers.
cold and exposed are okay,
as long as your heart isn't in pieces.

tap your foot to mine
our shoes are mismatched soles
canvas and leather
you wear your toes
in holes there
i wear my heels
in hopes of heights
holes and heights are okay,
as long as your soul doesn't have holes.

rest your lips on mine.
our words match in meaning
laughing and singing
you wear your smile
i wear my smile
more often
buying me those amish shoes is okay,
as long as you remember i love you.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

where is the fir tree?

on a faded page in his pastel clothes
that naughty rabbit ran home.
he dodged the farmer
he lost his tail
but he never turned around-
not until he reached that tree.
blackberries and beds and mother.

on a faded path in my pastel dreams
i'm searching for a home.
i was trapped by the gardener
i cut my off hair
and i always turn around-
i never reach that tree.
olives and sand and peter.

i will run until i find the fir tree.

snow rider

i ride the snow to the edge of the lake
the wind biting my cheeks, i grit my teeth
it's too old here
it's too cold here
i'm starting to fold here
along the edge of the ice
and i'm stuck in my car
and i've lost control of the wheel
and i've lost my ability to feel
i ride the chills until i shake

i was a blur, rushing with the white
in a dream i climbed out, once
snowbanked in my grandma's car
i had her diamonds there
i had my mittens there
i heard a thudding there
it was my savior up there
and i grabbed his hand and climbed
and the blizzard raged
and the highway lines were gone
i made my way into the night

i flew here from the north
to the bottom of this well
climbing up and digging out
it's the hope i have to ride