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.
tea, toast, and headaches
wrenching pounding in my neck
lights searing behind my eyes
my head must weigh twenty pounds
not counting the mane of hair
that twists and curls
right into my brain
which pulses and sends signals
of the most confusing content
I see walls bending
air moving
and the sky is a green hue
I taste granules of metal in water
and can hear plants growing
but I can’t seem to move my hand
so I look at it
– the left hand-
noting colors like on Munch’s bridge
mostly my hand is a light caramel beige
with bluish greenish undertones
with some pink and white and brown
and streaks of grayish yellow
but it still won’t move
so I note the way the skin hugs the curve of the bone
and how it all stretches and bends
when grasping something
when necessary
turning my head proves too much effort
pivoting brings on nausea
and I’m reminded I need to eat
any medicine that could possibly help
needs a food cushion
so I don’t throw up
but there’s not a damn thing I can think of
that doesn’t make me quake with dread
except
maybe toast would be ok
with a little butter to soften the crusty bread
and a little jam
so I don’t have to face yellow butter
and oh lord, yes, tea!
by all means a hot mug full
tea
brings so much comfort
just holding it
feeling it travel as I swallow
toast and tea bring me hope
that maybe this headache
will be fleeting
I knew
I knew your lips would be sweet
I’d been watching them for awhile
as you talked, smiled
I knew we’d fit when we danced
we’re too old to pretend otherwise
to believe in perfection
when just the feel of skin is enough
I knew morning would come too soon
the stars giving way to streaks of dawn
before we had exhausted our conversation
old friends
I’d always envied her
not knowing the heartache
the swirling sadness
beneath her perfect caricature
she chose to wear
since most people
only saw in two dimensions
she conquered that town
when others had forgotten
there was a battle
small minds versus lofty goals
I’d envied her style
her utter coolness
quietly full of life
and alluringly tough
she was always highly sought after
never an empty dance card
all the calendar squares full
she had hundreds of pressed flowers
from heartsick boys
but no one could find
the rights words to win her
I’d envied her smile
that emblazoned her face
brightening the darkest of days
and even more her sharp tongue
that scoffed at idiots and savants
not allowing anyone to drain her
of her wit or will to thrive
she saw her mirror image
in me
I provided a dark backdrop
for her to shine
I’d always envied her
but she wanted freedom
which I have in the background
and we’ve been happy
to bare our barbed wit
and roll in laughter at small minds
and secretly treasure pressed flowers
soothe me
smooth my rough edges
when the day has gone to hell
give me some sweet words
The Word Rummager 