Sunday, August 24, 2014

Mr. Sandman

but for a thin, deceitful fraction of time, in the disconcerting wake between the things you want and the things you have, I believed he was there, lying in bed with me



wake up

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Or Bust

The elephant in the room has walked out. 
_________________________________

I've been writing this blog for about a year and a half now. On quiet afternoons, I like to flip back through the pages and see how the manuscript changed. How my own vision has progressed. What stories are still buried in drafts (or, worse, in memories). If you've read closely, you may have guessed that my prose of past and present are wholly intertwined; nevertheless, these bits are absolutely true as lived except for chronology. When it comes to the ghosts of men haunting these walls, there was S.B. (who could not be encouraged to speak the truth), there were "the in-betweens" - including Mike (who now finds it best to leave my messages unanswered) and my beautiful French chef (for whom stories are few but cloaked in mystery), and there is Jack. Humble, sweet Jack (with whom my heart is currently entangled in an impossible situation).

So, if you happen to stumble upon this house routinely, then you might soon find stories of "the afters" too. (Those are yet to be made.) My only hope is that I am not stuck in a loop already lived.

I'm done with the Midwest, for now.
Heading back to Texas.


Please please please, just help me untangle.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

What might have been?

I guess that's what I wanted to say.
What?
That I thought we really had something here. That's all.
Me too.



So now it is I who should forgive the sweet liar (for no such optimism should go unpunished).

____________________________________________

He still tells me he loves me every morning
and as I emerge from a haze of restless dreams
I often wonder if, with each passing day, in these tragically sweet moments,
and before the commitment of dawn
if he means it a little less than the day before.

Overtones of disappointment punctuate our every move.
Our present is muted by our future and what might have been a great love recedes as quietly as it came. 

I study his face - 
his pores
the crinkles near his eyes
hints of silver at his temples.
He can stare at the ceiling, expressionless,
for so long
but when I ask him what he is thinking he says
nothing
and I'm afraid that I believe him.

Meanwhile

my brain is abuzz with sensation
constantly churning and negotiating and wondering
(overthinking)

and this is how I know he will do fine when I am gone for good.



Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Lies Our Mothers Told Us.


beauty, brains, and charm
you're a catch, they said
joke's on you, Gorgeous





Monday, June 2, 2014

we made no mistakes


Fingers crossed behind my back, I promised myself I believed in miracles

I made a choice.
And then spring came with a cool breeze and sunlight
(winter was gone)
and I wondered if I had made a mistake -
the kind of short-sighted blunder that romantic heroines pursue, only to come running back at the twelfth hour. 

No, he will never chase me. 
(I have to keep reminding myself of this simple and complicated fact.)

The humidity is almost unbearable now, but I'm holding out on the a/c for a while longer. He lets me lay close in the dark, even though he is too hot for covers.

He touches my spine, tracing the space between ribs. Rolling on my back, my leg draped over his - I pretend not to notice as his hands brush ever so slightly closer with each breathless, finger painted circle. He waits for me to invite him deeper and obliges when I cover his hand with mine, working softly to a place outside of my skin. He knows I cannot be saved but he pushes inside of me with a heart full of mercy so that I may at least forget long enough to drop off the edge of sleep.








Thank you.