August 12th

Forty-five minutes into August 12th
I am twenty-five
On the freeway heading south
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
I am thirsty
Much too hot near one a.m.
I’m already depressed
I choose to be alone
To spend the day
Watching Blockbuster movies
I will wear a nice dress
And uncomfortable shoes
That make me look my age
I will sleep late
Indulging in morning fantasies
The dark boy from “The Low Life”
I can close my eyes
On his brown body
I prefer to call him Lucas
Rory is so unpoetic
No one will disrupt my dreams
My sheets are in the dryer
I am waiting in the meanwhile
Five a.m. only four more hours
Time of delivery
My mother in some hospital bed
Heaving my small body
Past her stout legs
Was that my entrance before dawn
No wonder I hate mornings
Whites sitting unfolded
Black fuzz on sock toes
Birthday- who would have thought
I am still here
Floral couch and mauve blanket
Surrounded by home things
House plants and CD racks
Framed photos and green pillows
(I picked the darker ones)
I will wait for phone calls
Feign surprise feign happiness
I choose to be alone
To take a longer shower
Extra shampoo rinse in cool water
My body shows the years
My face denies
“I’d guess fourteen, but maybe more”
I am not offended
Why waste time on the trivial
How would melted wax
Feel between my toes
I gave out books to reach others
I really wanted to be reached
They have yet to come back to me
My words like full grown children
Living on their own
Very well then, I suppose
My short dirty fingernails
My feet bulging blue veins
I use to love my mother’s
Her hands like pipelines
I could push across her bones
Press hard change the color
Of her finger tips
Were they born with me
From clenched fists
Pushing out in August heat
She had three children
By twenty-five years old
I am still single
Barely known
I have little use for these
Markers of time
Twenty-five years on earth
One quarter of a century
I am here despite the calendar
Despite the position of the sun
I am a Leo
Like one out of twelve people
Like one of 366 people born today
I should be a lioness
Aggressive and vain
But I am fashion ignorant
And only speak to strangers
When I need information
My mother smiles a lot
She is old friends with bank tellers
She is not afraid of the unknown
I could learn from her
She was still breathing, heaving labor
Near two a.m. 1974
Nixon had just resigned four days prior
Disco was all the rage
But my mother did not dance
She wore homemade dresses
And drove a Valiant without seatbelts
I am paler than her now
The sun takes too much work
I pull my skirt up when I drive my 626
I’ve always hated too much air conditioning
The dryer buzzed
I can fix my bed
I’ll be asleep at five
With my dark boy fantasies
In my shorts from Express
And my old band T-shirt
I choose to be alone
Think about my body
Diet on chocolate sugar cookies
I am a lioness strong and proud
Less nostalgic
Less affected
Twenty-five
I am by the window
At two a.m.
Listening to distant cars
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see

8-12-99