Forever

The day had begun before I opened my eyes. Dawn was spread thin out of darkness, running in lines of glimmering color like firebranded children, their woolen fingers gingerly clutching sparklers.

Cold floor, warm sheets, where I lay curled unconscious to the emptiness of waking. Waking without you there, to murmur and move naturally, as if in-utero against me, filling me with wholeness.

Often it is said, we should learn to subsist alone. Need less, want less. Others can only risk hurting us in the long run, be it through death, loss, departure, choice.

I chose you despite this. I chose to make that hurdle from the crumbling edge of the river bank to the other side, thinking it impossible. Still I jumped, sailing through the air, seeing my legs missing my mark, reaching further, beyond what was possible. Catching the other side in my fingertips and pulling up, out of failure.

They all said, all those who become ‘they,’ the disapproving, the know-it-alls, the omnipotence, they all said, you shouldn’t take the risk.

It was a bare insult. They all done it, and survived, but the rules were different when it came to me. It was as if I were a child, a child incapable of her own making, bound to their divinity board, with the scalpel sharp against my pieces.

For all who were ‘they’ it was clear, ‘they’ didn’t know me. I was never a child who listened well enough, I was too high up in the tree limbs to hear when they scolded and found my mud stained shoes thrown off.

For the girl with different rules, without rule, there was only the instinct followed by the outcome. I leapt across and I watched myself, clear the jump and claim you. Inspite of it all.

Now you are gone, and I can fit into their net of told-you-so’s at long last. I am the emptied woman. The one who sleeps until the very last moment in a vain attempt to quench consciousness.

You will not return. It is not your way to change your mind. As it was not my way to alter my trajectory, coming like a star out of darkness, pinned on you.

What a fool, they will say. What a mistake, they will cluck. And I will spin my hair into clouds and ruise, above the words, the noise.

I am reminded of the saying, better to have tried than not at all. It doesn’t apply in this world I live. It does apply to me because I only know how to try, not how to win.

I am not a good American girl. I stood in the sidelines, I did not have the competition burning in my throat. I did not want to cheer.

But I am a good American traveler. At night I reach as far as my celestial body will carry me, into the caves of others, searching for you.

Yes I have not given up. I know you will be there eventually and I will witness it. The moment you discover, I didn’t stop looking.

When two lie so close the heartbeat of one becomes the other and beneath them both stirs, a symphony, how can they separate?

Do you think death will have the claim to take you far away and never again let me beside you? This is false. I am stronger than death. I have love.

You may be cold now, you may be afraid, but I am on my way, I will travel no matter the cost, it will take time, but I will find you.

30 percent proof

Modern life makes you hysterical

if you are prone to hysteria that is …

I pealed after being sunburned, despite best SF50 attempt

and the internet proclaimed;

“you’re likely to develop melanoma, from repeat burns”

just like Jimmy Carter

except he’s got money to solve life’s woes and you

have only an inflatable canoe

which was bitten through by an angry boyfriend, with pierced ears and buck teeth

not easy to argue, in the middle of the sea

just off a Greek island, one impoverished Summer

he couldn’t stop googling the topless babes

and I

stung by every bee, insect and mosquito

resembled something of a Kraken

can’t blame the poor man really

but did he have to bite my canoe?

especially so far off shore, we had to

make-up pretty quick and swim for nearest rock

he made it and I did not

I burned some more and took longer swimming the circumfrance of the shore

where islands and caves, dotted in jeweled wonder

an epiphany stirred … I no longer needed a boyfriend who

encouraged me to drink too much Metaxa

watching him, watching the girls go by

why don’t I give it a try?

so looking rather dashing

with my red nose and salt bleached hair

I stole a mermaid from her cave and paddled

with a deflated canoe

to a island they call lesbos

where

we both pealed together

demurely sipping Ouzo

Wounded bird

IMG_0920I tried with you, I really tried, and then I let you go

you flew out of the window even as it was closed

panes securely fastened

latch tight and unyielding

because you had never quite been

 

it was you see, a failure of mine

to find you flailing beneath yourself

with a few choice words you could

nourish from my adoration and mend

your rapid fast airy heart

containing only string

for what you need and not

enough for love

 

I was a clay maker

thinking fitfully if I put enough into shape

if my structure were sound and whole

if I poured water to prevent cracks

moistened over the thin spots

despite not being what you wanted

despite being a girl

despite having tired fingers

you would relent and

let me hold you in my lap

as crickets drowned the rush of air in hot melt

 

you were after all

used to mistreatment, I reasoned

surely a bird who had been injured

would long for peace?

the passion of sincerity

a terribly naive hope

when we all know

those who like the wound

will return to their abuse

not the arms of one who

is boring in her devotion

I never thought I should become

that very tedium

you strike against with mended wing

the one you answer last

when bored or idle

not they, who burn in your throat

wakefully lusting

whilst I feel already the part

of spinster and milliner

hemming your spare parts

 

it would be easy for me to

dress like you, smell like you

gather a flock of admirers

play midnight dalliances with

camera and music

cue ..  lights ..  pose ..  fizz

and now that you have shown

your true feathers

I see a little of why you prefer this slovenly approach

it suits your downturn

your denial of yourself

and I feel embarrassed that you had me so hot

as you pulsed beneath my wonder

with practiced charm

so used to hearing the false words you live for

 

I do not own

a penis

though my strength and my passion

would have surprised you

I do not possess

a penchant for games or

the worship sufficient to be

your follower

your worshiper

so little bird

when you escape

please do not

return when the skies fall

and he stops calling

or insults your honor

because my fingers are burnt dry

from believing myself

needy of you

 

 

(Daquin, 1997.)

Remember

As you age invisibly within your glass

sometimes you forget that time, so long past

when desire welled in your heart and between your loins

like fast, sound breaking barrier

it seems like another person inhabited those limbs

another life captured the longing

to pull them close and within, before flame grew dim

sometimes it is good to be mindful, remember then

the girl you were, bracing for rejection

spending your longing on the long gamble

sometimes, you’d catch a ride on the upside

in that golden arc of wheel, when fortune seemed

impossible to smother

lovers would become eternal

a kiss would reveal the language behind your skin

all the cries you stored inside, chiming for their flight

stroked like an instrument, you gained wings

fingers playing you deep, as river bed will

sift and edy before

releasing her secrets

sometimes, as you turn your fingers in imagination

against the cast of shadow, splayed on plaster

and build within your mind, the press and assault of love

coursing in your veins, as you lie beneath the world

sometimes, as you conjur that first unspoken swallow

of all salinated emotion and the convulsion to follow

inhabiting one another, like thirsty fish struck from sea

will gather close and preserve their need

sometimes, when I think of your fingers stroking my ink

the weight of you, capturing all I am capable of bringing

our motion resonating against mirrors of time

and in the gathering dusk, a mutual cry

folding over sleep, like pressing lips will open

just enough for feeling

then, as I recall the need for you

it is an empty and lovely feeling, of past and new

to walk through time, held aside in wash

O for love and her nourishment

just once, again, your touch, where I have grown parched

asuage the feeling, no-one has climbed inside me, to make their homage

an electricity of joining, cast far into dark waters, dark hearts

Iluminary, please light the way once more

that I can lie salt-blessed, on reversing shore

feeling your claim again, as a flung open door

with warp of sea breeze, denying closure evermore

In sight of land

IMG_0923.JPGMercy is an unexpected hand, steadying

Mercy feels like rain

Mercy hurts as laughter will, the first time you smile again

Mercy is a series of white flowers, forging out of bleached, dry grass

Mercy is a silver arrow, piercing resistance

Mercy is the face you need to claim, before all air is lost

Mercy is the final flood, a lost song, a forgotten book, page 456, line 34

Mercy is your imperfectly knit blanket over my shoulders, smelling of bonfire wood, shivering against wolf pelt, in necklace of thorns

We pull and we pull

Our teeth, our reach, our ankles

Until dearticulated and reborn, pass on our baton of water

Mercy is a legacy

A line in land, seen from air

The silken scar, cut across suntanned throat

Mercy is hearing them again, whether a moment or year since, beholding under solvent skies

The memory of love, held too tight, between clenched fingers

Mercy is the separation between, what we let go and what we keep afloat

When darkness dissolves resolve

Mercy lends hope

The seeking fingers of tomorrow

The seeking fingers of tomorrow

When we were young we thought
just as the saying goes or the first line of every youthful book
we had all the time in the world
time does not speed up as you age
it simply reveals itself, standing unclothed in dawn, still wet with dew
the sundial of life moving slowly in circle
once you believed yourself invulnerable, not because you were young
but the blister in your heart that said
i will never stay here and take this crap!
so you urged yourself to sprout and using every strength
sometimes in the form of what you did not yet know
flew into the reddened sun and burned there a good long while….

later when shade gave salve
it seemed foolhardy to have done battle
but that was the ire of twenty and five
seen differently when scope is set ten years advancing
through all the steps you will take, from there to now
maybe a family, maybe alone, maybe reaching out, maybe closing down
is it possible you think, to change?
so unutterably, as to forget imprint of first edition?
so completely, the way you felt then, now strange and unfamiliar
as if a stranger shucked your skin and walked away
leaving you to puzzle over how you lived as someone else, for so long
the girl who drank herself to the bottom of the bottle
lifting her skirts for her ravages and lowering her eyelids on truth
the boy who snorted off backs of others and
seeing the harm he did, carried on digging the wet way to the pacific
where he hoped to find a green stone and turn himself into a forest
they slipped and skidded, as children with weapons will
damaging better than any terror could have reigned
we know the sharpness of our own ache

and now that time has reflected and returned another summer, another slow
turn of water wheel
sending ducks garbling and spooked across uneven lawn
into waiting foxes jaw
we see the hem of life, peaking from beneath rubharb
as it pillars its redolence among plain earth
declaring a magnificience
we see how the young bathe in their moment, only to rue
that cigarette, that set of choices, laid out Majong and glossy
alongside the diaphram, the emptied promise, drying on cotton sheets
it could be a dinner table set for eight, or just for me
when you have flown, along with the last ears of corn
having lost their golden, turning back spots of age
if we reach now, we reach too late to see
the circumfrance of inevitable fate and so
one day, will be the last seat, left to fill
nobody remaining behind, to open windows to
the seeking fingers of tomorrow

Breathing

It’s just a story we tell ourselves

We will be well

And even Gods forged of longing, cannot always save our plea for preservation

And please, some peace

For the weary, are not the old

They are the ones who know the sear of unwanted pain

An ache rising like wave again, merciless in return

The loss of dreams comes softly as snow

We dream ourselves complete

Waking unable to breathe

This sheltering land sometimes permits tornadoes

When all around shakes, we are battered and bruised

And because we still stand, others never witness, the deep sink of our soul

Or indeed, that dark place we go

When night only burdens with unseen fear

A temperature, a loss of balance, this unknowing doctors touch, with gloved hand

As we find ourselves, subject to midnight

We, who have never been this person

Arising, as if we could separate and escape, inevitable places

Was it really me? Who gasped for breath and cried out to spirits never tested?

As has always been for each life line

Thinking invulnerable, tugged back to truth

All of us wear a harness, all of us hold an allotment

It is the wicked mirth of terror when first we gaze into our future and see the end

No amount of protest will stave

But maybe, maybe with light and courage

With nothing more than salved persistence

We can hold back that day and spend one more

Breathing