you knocked the wind out of my sails
just when I could breathe again
lulled into complacency
you flipped a switch
and there we were
facing each other
over the dinner table
you were angry
fisting a piece of paper
as if you’d wring the pulp out of it
I watched your eyes
and I was stunned by the swirling
the depravity I witnessed
in those depths
I was no longer dealing with a man
but an animal overwrought by rage
it was terrifying
I had to gauge how many steps
to the kitchen door
to the running car on the side of the road
waiting to whisk me away
would I make it, I wondered
or would it end in a kitchen bloodbath
would it make the small town newspaper
how long before it was hushed and forgotten
it felt like hours of thought
but it was only a few minutes
trying to speak
you wouldn’t allow even that
with your jaw clenched tight
and the threat still hovering in the air
I was young and could run fast
but you were insane again
so you had powers I couldn’t touch
we watched each other
across the table
you only had to give the slightest move
and I was gone, turning, running as fast as I could
up the short hill
toward the car where my friend was screaming
run!
she leaned over and opened the door
as she slowly started moving
I leaped and tumbled into the front seat
hindered by your grasp of my leg
but I kicked free
and you bent the car door
as it pulled away
and you were forced to let go
conceding was not in your vernacular
this would continue
another day
another quiet street
tainted and corrupted by you
and your inadequate show of affection
it was and never will be a way to win me
for though I am made of strong stuff
apparently
I really like softness and gentleness
and you can never get beneath
the silky steel of my armor again
painless
nothing takes the edge off the pain
it’s felt like this before
I’ve tried all the usual things
and it’s only been dulled a bit
so I watch my own fingers
swim through the dust swirling light
forming words to explain
something that doesn’t quite make sense yet
like waking up after a vivid dream
but not remembering within seconds
I feel changed in some way
tainted by the pain
am I hallucinating
or has my body turned into a work of art sketched by Picasso, colored by Munch, sculpted by Man Ray
I don’t want anyone to see my eyes
because I don’t want the ensuing pity
I try to read some favorite chapters
but the words do tricks on the page
they spell different things than I remember
so I try to look out the window
but the layers of clouds are moving
in different directions
like before a big storm
but the sun’s rays still penetrate
so I close my eyes
but feel instantly trapped within myself
with thoughts of reds and drums and fire
and I want to scream
but like a drowning mime the thought of that sound hurts
the only thing now is to wait
for time will heal, right?
Make it Count
He was a genius waiting in the wings
Watching her grab other souls for a dance
He laughed with her as she played with their hearts
But his own cracked when she took her stilettos to tango with the statue
The granite was really clay and it became hers to mold
Somehow the simian moved with her, guiding her in a heathen tempo
He wanted to be the one to smite the Greek and step out of the quagmire and into her arms
But he was only a superman when he was alone
He couldn’t keep her from sharks and weasels and wolves and even the more dangerous sheep
Those who would teach her things he would try to erase
So she would meld her mind with others
Which was OK
As long as eventually she stopped dancing with clowns and fawners
And remembered there were good silent film heroes waiting in the wings
She would get tired and he would be the genius smart enough to read her
They would fit like a hand sliding into a glove
And they would share enough moments to make it count.
dared and won
he was new and slick and young and stupid
I was old and rusty and jaded and smart
disaster loomed like a raincloud over a chalky hopscotch game
we dared to buck any odds against chemistry and charisma
but I can’t lie
there was a sweetness too
that couldn’t be helped
couldn’t be fought
devotion won the day
if not the war
so we plodded along with our messy frolic
both happy to be stupid and risky and sated and rich
like betting board-game money except this was real
and we had dared and won
flutter by time
thoughts fluttering
scattered like falling leaves
only I can’t seem to rake them up
and put them in neat piles
gasping, grasping
trying to form letters into words, into phrases
coming up with gibberish and lunacy
which may be OK since that describes my Monday
Tuesday has no excuse for taking more than it gives
while it is not thrilling like Thursday
so close to the freedom of Friday
I don’t want to focus on time as it stands or as it passes
except the lines being drawn on my face
tell more of my story than I’d intended
fall has always been scattered
while spring seems quieter
but then there is that pesky problem
of time again
if we just feast on senses and not schedules
will our bodies take control
despite what our cumbersome brains tell us
and will we become animals reveling in anarchy
or can we listen to our bodies
feel nature as we encounter it
and not question why but how and perhaps find more enjoyment
living like children
with simple faith and open hands and brutal honesty
not bemoaning every event and how it might ruin us but expecting joy and surprise
am I really that scattered or am I more in tune
with the child I once was and refuse to forget to be
I see time but am not captive by it
and am constantly questioning and rarely surprised
if I stop and acknowledge seasons changing
time being printed on my face
will I be forced to grow up or can I remain a child
because I would like to stay open and joyful
The Word Rummager 