I'm beginning to feel it again. Depression. I feel lost. I'm not sure why.
I want to be. Belong. Be strong.
Be away from myself. No, not that much, just enough
to get through to some other side of something. You know,
sometimes I think I'll never be with you, in your world.
I mean,
I'm going to be twenty-seven years old.
How can I ever be loved? How can I ever have a family
and build my own home and raise my own kids with my own husband?
I have those dreams. I do. It's just easier to not think
about them and chase after something that will either
elude me or betray me.
I feel like I've been following the rules
and any day I will be rewarded for my patience and long suffering.
Am I fooling myself? Are these things not part of who I am to be?
Then who am I to be?
I want to go back to school. At least then,
I had a purpose. I had a goal I could obtain if I kept going.
Falling in love is not something I can sign up for and graduate into.
I have no control over it. Then how shall I be the person of my future?
When will I travel to far off lands and build my own house with two big dogs?
How will I do these things alone? I don't want to be alone.
I am beginning to wallow.
I knew the knee-deep swimming was long over due. The empty days
are not stress over money or boredom. They are loneliness.
Blah blah blah. I'm tired of my own voice. I'm tired of my own poetry.
I'm sick of my memories.
I'm dead-sick-tired of Friday nights in this house, watching reruns
of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, (especially since she's in college now).
How sad is it that I've seen every episode of Pop Stars
and I don't even like pop music?
Well, it's even sadder that I am wondering why it hasn't been on
in the last couple of weeks. And it pisses me off
that Joey and Pacey broke up and that Felicity and Ben made up
and that Ross and Rachel haven't gotten back together.
What's worse than that is that I live in my old neighborhood
and haven't looked up my old English teacher
who still works at my high school. And that I haven't tried
to find Rhonda who made me promise that our kids would know each other.
And that I still haven't ridden the Blue Line to Los Angeles
or been to the Long Beach Museum of Art
or to New York or to London.
I am too scared to leave here and be accountable to some new promises
I will be too afraid to keep. I hate the fact that the weekends are a relief
and a burden, that I have crappy car speakers, and that I don't ever exercise.
I want to be more than I am. I want to be.
5-4-01
To be as far
I want to be tangled
I want to belong to someone
I want to walk through
as far as I can go to
I want to be in the air
and in the walls and in the sheets
I am breathing in fumes
I am lost in the manic-streets
I am walking slow motion
I am lost in my own space
I want to live in the hills&fields&flowers
I want to be an earth-child
to be lilywhitepinkdawnmorning
I want to be arriving soon
I want to be allowed inside
I want to be associated-with comfort
and ease-release-protected
I want to be tightarms and close
I want to be as far as I can go to
as far as I can go
4-26-01
I want to belong to someone
I want to walk through
as far as I can go to
I want to be in the air
and in the walls and in the sheets
I am breathing in fumes
I am lost in the manic-streets
I am walking slow motion
I am lost in my own space
I want to live in the hills&fields&flowers
I want to be an earth-child
to be lilywhitepinkdawnmorning
I want to be arriving soon
I want to be allowed inside
I want to be associated-with comfort
and ease-release-protected
I want to be tightarms and close
I want to be as far as I can go to
as far as I can go
4-26-01
Unknown Habit
I dreamt of you last night
though I have not heard your voice in two years
we were tangled like a habit
I tasted your mouth, familiar as breathing
you forgave me for making you trivial
and I held you without regret
your translucent eyes and eloquent tongue
I held your young body without expectation
and you released me with quiet certainty
4-9-01
though I have not heard your voice in two years
we were tangled like a habit
I tasted your mouth, familiar as breathing
you forgave me for making you trivial
and I held you without regret
your translucent eyes and eloquent tongue
I held your young body without expectation
and you released me with quiet certainty
4-9-01
Concrete Decay
He
was a redhead, freckle-faced boy.
His eyes were pale blue emptiness.
Fair skinned with blonde eyebrows
that got lost on his forehead.
He squinted all the time,
when he looked at you,
when he listened.
He was inarticulate and lacking grace.
He was a white-trash junkyard kid lost
in the wilderness of waist high grass and bamboo.
Lost in punk rock and Billy Idol snarls,
mohawks and dog collar studs.
He bought me a Barbie tea set
and I felt like he loved me.
I forgave him for nailing My Little Pony
to the wall with a hairspray spiked mane.
He came to my church with a motorcycle and tattoos,
after the Marines with spaceship conspiracies
and patent worthy inventions,
with his red hair and freckled-face
and his eyes as pale as ice.
I saw him on Christmas Eve
after his release with his crystal-meth mom.
He hugged me with his sweat-lined skin
at my job at the discount store.
I sunk away from him and his toxic residue.
He called me his little sister, but I only smiled
back a discount employee smile.
I stepped back from his oozing disease
that poisoned his reasoning,
that made him eat dogs
and break into automobiles for a place to sleep.
I stepped back from the dementia
he wore like a tattooed robe on the day before Christmas.
When in backyards as big as city blocks,
the grass grew as tall as children,
we could hide in the long blades
like rabbits resting from the bloodhounds.
We built a world of bamboo forts and yachts
through the holes in the chain link fence.
We mastered block walls between junkyards
and guard dogs and newly constructed condominiums.
We lived adjacent to a graveyard of demolished houses.
We explored the wreckage like Greek ruins.
He was my brother then in our world of demolition.
Wild and without restraint,
the games were more than hide and seek.
Truth and dare. Did I dare?
Red-haired with children in a line,
waiting to prove bravery.
I am not that kind of sister.
I left the game.
I left the decay of concrete
and steel rusted through.
I left the forts and yachts
and green blades as tall as children,
as tall as rabbits.
I left my half brother
as I went back to my work
at the discount store on Christmas Eve.
I left the disease I saw seeping through his veins.
I am not his sister.
I went back to counting money
and separating credit slips and ATMs.
I am not his sister.
3-9-01
His eyes were pale blue emptiness.
Fair skinned with blonde eyebrows
that got lost on his forehead.
He squinted all the time,
when he looked at you,
when he listened.
He was inarticulate and lacking grace.
He was a white-trash junkyard kid lost
in the wilderness of waist high grass and bamboo.
Lost in punk rock and Billy Idol snarls,
mohawks and dog collar studs.
He bought me a Barbie tea set
and I felt like he loved me.
I forgave him for nailing My Little Pony
to the wall with a hairspray spiked mane.
He came to my church with a motorcycle and tattoos,
after the Marines with spaceship conspiracies
and patent worthy inventions,
with his red hair and freckled-face
and his eyes as pale as ice.
I saw him on Christmas Eve
after his release with his crystal-meth mom.
He hugged me with his sweat-lined skin
at my job at the discount store.
I sunk away from him and his toxic residue.
He called me his little sister, but I only smiled
back a discount employee smile.
I stepped back from his oozing disease
that poisoned his reasoning,
that made him eat dogs
and break into automobiles for a place to sleep.
I stepped back from the dementia
he wore like a tattooed robe on the day before Christmas.
When in backyards as big as city blocks,
the grass grew as tall as children,
we could hide in the long blades
like rabbits resting from the bloodhounds.
We built a world of bamboo forts and yachts
through the holes in the chain link fence.
We mastered block walls between junkyards
and guard dogs and newly constructed condominiums.
We lived adjacent to a graveyard of demolished houses.
We explored the wreckage like Greek ruins.
He was my brother then in our world of demolition.
Wild and without restraint,
the games were more than hide and seek.
Truth and dare. Did I dare?
Red-haired with children in a line,
waiting to prove bravery.
I am not that kind of sister.
I left the game.
I left the decay of concrete
and steel rusted through.
I left the forts and yachts
and green blades as tall as children,
as tall as rabbits.
I left my half brother
as I went back to my work
at the discount store on Christmas Eve.
I left the disease I saw seeping through his veins.
I am not his sister.
I went back to counting money
and separating credit slips and ATMs.
I am not his sister.
3-9-01
Mermaids (For My Walking Instructor)
I was right.
I believed with all my heart
that the grown-ups knew.
That my mother knew.
When we left with chaos in paper bags,
I knew my secret was told.
My child thought was
that it was finished.
I knew it.
There would be no more
dark cornered rooms.
Then, when no one spoke to me,
I wondered.
When he went unpunished,
I lost my self-assurance.
When years passed in silence,
I doubted the validity of its importance.
When I went back to live with him,
I went numb again.
I doubted the omniscience of my mother.
I went invisible.
My insides were smothered.
My heart held its breath
as I sunk underwater.
I was right.
I was not a stupid child
who feared being alone with my father,
and believed on that day, my mother tried
to stop him from drowning me.
She pretended we were mermaids,
and that we could learn to live underwater,
and breathe through gills.
She smiled and splashed,
as her face went blue.
Twenty years.
I have hid in the reeds to catch breaths unnoticed.
I got braver and stole reeds to skim the surface.
At seventeen, I told my best friend
and choked on the swallowed air.
I refused to live underwater.
I kept surfacing. Admitting.
Confiding. Breathing.
Twenty years.
I set my sights on shore.
I told my father I was going on land.
He said I was born a mermaid.
I wanted to believe him.
I kept swimming.
But my feet were not webbed
and my lungs were not gills.
I am heading for shore.
I was right. I am not a mermaid.
I was born to walk on land.
I am taking walking lessons.
I joined a group of mermaids,
without gills and webbed feet.
We are learning to breathe.
We are learning to walk on land.
3-9-01
I believed with all my heart
that the grown-ups knew.
That my mother knew.
When we left with chaos in paper bags,
I knew my secret was told.
My child thought was
that it was finished.
I knew it.
There would be no more
dark cornered rooms.
Then, when no one spoke to me,
I wondered.
When he went unpunished,
I lost my self-assurance.
When years passed in silence,
I doubted the validity of its importance.
When I went back to live with him,
I went numb again.
I doubted the omniscience of my mother.
I went invisible.
My insides were smothered.
My heart held its breath
as I sunk underwater.
I was right.
I was not a stupid child
who feared being alone with my father,
and believed on that day, my mother tried
to stop him from drowning me.
She pretended we were mermaids,
and that we could learn to live underwater,
and breathe through gills.
She smiled and splashed,
as her face went blue.
Twenty years.
I have hid in the reeds to catch breaths unnoticed.
I got braver and stole reeds to skim the surface.
At seventeen, I told my best friend
and choked on the swallowed air.
I refused to live underwater.
I kept surfacing. Admitting.
Confiding. Breathing.
Twenty years.
I set my sights on shore.
I told my father I was going on land.
He said I was born a mermaid.
I wanted to believe him.
I kept swimming.
But my feet were not webbed
and my lungs were not gills.
I am heading for shore.
I was right. I am not a mermaid.
I was born to walk on land.
I am taking walking lessons.
I joined a group of mermaids,
without gills and webbed feet.
We are learning to breathe.
We are learning to walk on land.
3-9-01
What I Forgot
I began to forget his face.
I began to forget if he ever loved me.
I forgot about other things.
About Philip.
I forgot if it was winter or spring or summer or fall.
I forget if it happened more than twice, over months, over years.
I forgot if he spoke to me.
I forgot if it was dusk or dawn.
I forgot if my mom was home.
If I was looking for someone else or if I meant to find him waiting.
I forgot if I was loved in proper ways.
I forgot my birthday parties.
Christmas presents.
I forgot if the sheriff knew.
If I told her with my eyes and my hands.
I forgot if she acknowledged it to me.
I forgot the drive home.
I forgot what my mother might have said.
What she may have let me talk about.
If she hugged me anyway.
If she meant to protect me.
If she forgot when I lived with him.
When she was too poor to live in her own house with her own kids.
I forgot if I was supposed to understand it was all right now.
Now that my sister went to trial and nothing was done about it.
If he was punished in anyway.
If he suffered.
If he acted like it never happened even back then.
I forgot if I was supposed to forgive him.
If anyone forgave him.
If his two brothers knew.
If they cared about their nieces.
If we meant anything to them.
Before his parents died, I forgot if my grandparents knew how he abused little girls.
I forgot if they hated their own son.
If they forgave him or if they never believed anything.
I forgot how Jeremy was.
If he ever knew back then what was happening behind closed doors.
I forgot if Philip understood.
If he was ever normal.
If he apologized for asking for too much.
I forgot about my father’s first born son.
About his first wife.
If she protected her children, her daughter, Toni.
I forgot if we were friends.
If she played with me.
I forgot if she got out alive.
If she went bad like her half brother.
I forgot how old she was, how much younger than my sister, how much older than me.
I forgot if there were others.
If he tried to touch Ashley.
She was hardly two or three.
I forgot if he ever came close to her.
If she was spared at least that one less atrocity.
I forgot if I ever protested.
If I ever tried to get away from him.
If I managed to shut the door before he noticed me.
I forgot if I said a word.
If it wasn’t a silent movie.
I forgot at least this much.
Who’s to say I haven’t forgotten more.
I did not, however, forget it all.
1-24-01
I began to forget if he ever loved me.
I forgot about other things.
About Philip.
I forgot if it was winter or spring or summer or fall.
I forget if it happened more than twice, over months, over years.
I forgot if he spoke to me.
I forgot if it was dusk or dawn.
I forgot if my mom was home.
If I was looking for someone else or if I meant to find him waiting.
I forgot if I was loved in proper ways.
I forgot my birthday parties.
Christmas presents.
I forgot if the sheriff knew.
If I told her with my eyes and my hands.
I forgot if she acknowledged it to me.
I forgot the drive home.
I forgot what my mother might have said.
What she may have let me talk about.
If she hugged me anyway.
If she meant to protect me.
If she forgot when I lived with him.
When she was too poor to live in her own house with her own kids.
I forgot if I was supposed to understand it was all right now.
Now that my sister went to trial and nothing was done about it.
If he was punished in anyway.
If he suffered.
If he acted like it never happened even back then.
I forgot if I was supposed to forgive him.
If anyone forgave him.
If his two brothers knew.
If they cared about their nieces.
If we meant anything to them.
Before his parents died, I forgot if my grandparents knew how he abused little girls.
I forgot if they hated their own son.
If they forgave him or if they never believed anything.
I forgot how Jeremy was.
If he ever knew back then what was happening behind closed doors.
I forgot if Philip understood.
If he was ever normal.
If he apologized for asking for too much.
I forgot about my father’s first born son.
About his first wife.
If she protected her children, her daughter, Toni.
I forgot if we were friends.
If she played with me.
I forgot if she got out alive.
If she went bad like her half brother.
I forgot how old she was, how much younger than my sister, how much older than me.
I forgot if there were others.
If he tried to touch Ashley.
She was hardly two or three.
I forgot if he ever came close to her.
If she was spared at least that one less atrocity.
I forgot if I ever protested.
If I ever tried to get away from him.
If I managed to shut the door before he noticed me.
I forgot if I said a word.
If it wasn’t a silent movie.
I forgot at least this much.
Who’s to say I haven’t forgotten more.
I did not, however, forget it all.
1-24-01
Throat
I remember more than I want to admit
More than I can say out loud.
So much of it has never passed
through my vocal chords.
I can recall a picture at will.
I went so far as to type it out.
I can hold the pages in hand,
but I am afraid to see them.
Afraid to hear them read aloud.
It remains in my stomach,
where I stuffed it.
Sometimes it surges up like vomit
and I catch it in my throat.
It’s like a rope pulled tighter.
My pain sits and I can not speak.
I am voiceless.
I find other things to talk about.
It settles back down.
I move on.
I have ulcers.
1-21-01
More than I can say out loud.
So much of it has never passed
through my vocal chords.
I can recall a picture at will.
I went so far as to type it out.
I can hold the pages in hand,
but I am afraid to see them.
Afraid to hear them read aloud.
It remains in my stomach,
where I stuffed it.
Sometimes it surges up like vomit
and I catch it in my throat.
It’s like a rope pulled tighter.
My pain sits and I can not speak.
I am voiceless.
I find other things to talk about.
It settles back down.
I move on.
I have ulcers.
1-21-01
When I Leave Los Angeles…
I will feel jealous of the aunts and uncles
that will get to see Joshua every week,and see him grow, and watch him learn,
and hear him quote lines he does not understand.
Sure, he’ll come and visit me
and remember my name on holidays and nightly prayers,
but he’ll forget why I was his favorite aunt until age five,
how we used to dance to 80’s music in my living room,
how we drove to the pier and ate fried clams,
how I loved to hold him while he slept,
and protect him from jumping dogs
that didn’t mean to push him on his rear.
He’ll begin school in fall and forgetto wonder how long it’s been since
he came to my house to pet me cat.
On holidays, he’ll begin to have memories
of traveling to far away places
where I hug him tight and tell him how much he’s grown.
He may get tired of my kisses and forget
how he spent long afternoons walking in parks
and watering my front lawn. Someday he’ll visit
and meet cousins he’ll be too old to play with.The years will pass and he’ll visit less,
until I am a memory in photographs
and a name on the family tree, “Aunt Sarah.”
He will not remember how I loved him like my own
or how my heart burst with joy when from his car seat
in the back of my car he sighed, “You know what?
I love you Auntie Sarah.”
1-20-01
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