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hmm What do your eyes see when they look at me? Your words say several things, all which I believe are lies, because you always say you like to see how much you can get away with. You got away with me, then you, and now I don't know where you are, but I do. I pretend not to know because it hurts too bad to ever know. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance? You are the Cheshire Cat, that grin that surpasses everything, speaking in riddles, then poof! gone away to attend the Queen of Hearts. And I, lonely Alice, trying to find the right me. Eat me, drink me, love me, hate me, leave me... am I coming or going? The things I do for you, the things you do for me all wrong. You would buy me anything I wished except what could have prevented this. I can hear his heart, you know. It beats much faster than mine because it's got the good sense to be more afraid that I am right now. To be scared shitless of the life ahead of him. I know it's a he, because he will be just like you, Fate will see to it. To torture me, to taunt me, to punish me. And where are you now, my love? Off doing your duty, I suppose, making smiles, turning heads, telling tales, winning hearts. You with your sharp suit that no one but me has the love to see the wholes in, or that the pants are just a smidge too short. They don't see it because they aren't in love with you. Love is not blind; quite the contrary, it sees all. It sees all and somehow can deal with it, learn to love it, and when out of love learn to hate it. You with the blue eyes and dark hair and pale skin who took me to operas and plays and fancy restaurants and kissed my hand and whispered sweet shit in my ear and could look at me like there was no one else on Earth. You for whom the world truly was a stage. For this reason I think you managed to pretend, act to love me. And why, without a second thought you could leave. I remember the night so meekly, little school boy, you asked to kiss me. Asked! Like the slightest sign of negativity would have made you crumble. How you trembled and I consented. How sweet a kiss, so passionate like one in a black and white flick where they never kissed with tongues because that's your style, so? And sweet love letters and recited poetry. How gentle you were, little kitten, little cub. I blame myself this thing I have unleased. This wolf-not-man you became when first I bared my breasts to you. What violence, what hatred, what pure animosity came from you. That rape I consented to. That energy that scared me so badly that I went and drank myself calm and to sleep after you left. What a friend wine has been to me since I've met you! And what a friend it will become when I drink myself asleep again tonight, too much a coward to end what's here and just pray to whatever thing there is in the Universe that listens to women crying like me and take me away. |
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Epiphany while pondering upon a green lawn outside of Park Hall Fall was settling in. Not just on the trees by their color, but on the wind and the faces of the people. Summer's dominating inferno had slowly been lifted, and perhaps they sensed this and their faces seemed less pained. Some where gung-ho about the whole process, already rescuing their fleece sweatshirts from their closets. Some, perhaps not quite so drastic (for the afternoon sun could easily convince a person to crave air conditioning), still wore their sleeves short, but had given up the cool, tranquil pastels of the previous season for those earthy, warm colors that accompainied football and the fall edition of the Eddie Bauer catalogue. They lounged under trees and on grassy patches in the typical college fashion. Alone, mostly, though a few paired up to share small talk before thier next class. They slept, bookbag for a pillow; they read, the latest Anne Rice or the student newspaper; they stared aimlessly into oblivion, lost in their own version of what was reality. Did they think about the changing season? Did they think about the early ape aegyptopethicus? Did they think about just how many people could shove themselves into an East-West bus before the driver slammed the door shut? Did some not think at all, but have that amazing ability to empty their heads of all unnecessary thought? They knew. Under their maples and their oak trees, they knew. On their steps and their grassy lawn, not as individuals, but as a whole and living mass they knew what it was that made this time priceless. It was being here, living, all together, on this, their own little country, their own little world. Their own tree house in the backyard where they shared their own choice jokes and language. Where you might see a person everyday or never at all. Where the rules of outside society exsisted, but didn't. They knew this, for when they left it, there was something not right, something not there. Some feeling they just couldn't catch, couldn't grasp anywhere in the world except within the boundaries of a two hundred year old fence, an abandoned railroad track, and what seemed like a million well-placed orange globe lights. |
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summer I wished for summer today, and it didn't come. I pretended it was summer outside. There was the beautiful bright sun, the singing birds, and the evergreens that made it almost summer, but not really. I wanted the burning heat, the smell of chlorine, the thickness, and the moist earth squishing up between my bare feet. I wanted golf courses and pine forests, bathing suits and radio music. It's not even spring yet, and I wanted summer... they lazy days filled with soap operas and air conditioning. The possibility of anything and the actuality of nothing. I wanted it and it wasn't here. It gave a good face, but outside it was bitter cold as a winter day ought to be, I suppose. I wanted summer today and it didn't ocme.
I sit here wondering if I'm carrying your baby inside me. I sit and wonder if there are two of me now, instead of one. I wonder what you are doing and where you are. I remember that night after your friend's party, when I was yours on everyone's lips, finally. Where I was finally one of a pair. I remember that's when I began calling you Coconut because you loved coconut rum, and to make up for it, you called my burgandy, because I liked wine so much. I imagine people threw up upon seeing us, every where we went, so sweet to death. I told myself I was not embarassed or ashamed because you were a "unique individual" and the rules of society would slide off you like you were an umbrella with a wooden handle, like the one you routinely carried. I told myself that you would take care of me, be like father and lover and friend mixed into one, some sick thing. You needed more care than I bargained for. I cried the other day, you know. I cried and I sat and stared at the wall until I didn't know what time it was anymore and I fell asleep. I shouted at you, called for you, but like summer, you never came. Now I know that was foolish, that you are too far away now to hear me. Far away at your fancy school in New York, love you forever. And me here as always, again. You had to leave. After a summer of smiles, you left. You'll call, you'll visit, you'll write. You'll forget. And what about forever? |
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