I didn't stay up at the hospital until three a.m. waiting
for the
doctors to assess the situation. I didn't have to be the one
to
sign papers for the insurance company, for permission to
treat,
for release of legal responsibility. I didn't have to field the
calls, protect him from his mother, sit next to him for
hours
under the cold florescent lights of anger. I did not bare
the
weight of pen on paper to surrender my flesh and blood to
the
intervention of complete strangers. I am not the parent
deciding always how much to force him to wake up early, get
up out of bed, and live his life. Or how much to let him sleep,
let him fail
classes, let him learn from his own mistakes like a
boy on the verge of
adulthood. I didn't watch the labor of
sixteen years calling out from rooftops for men in uniforms
to
pull him down, dress his wounds, search for more weapons.
8-10-13
I.
It needs to be precise
a delicate claw to remove
the tiny splinters
pale under the skin
the outline like a shadow
from a lit window
It is going to be painful
as it aims at the pores
The grip must be strong
the movement must be swift
and the memory of the wound
can be forgotten
II.
She shapes them
with anger and spite
the growths between her eyes
She tells them who's boss
kills them like spiders
who eat all the flies
and balance the food chain
She will not apologize
for disguising her birth face
She pulls them out
one at a time
keeps the unruly ones
under control
8-8-13
This insomnia lingers
going on two years
Not completely sleepless
more restless resistance
staying up too late
waking up too often
Not like at sixteen
sound asleep 'til noon
I could sleep through it all
earthquakes and rock bands
thundering rhythms
rocking me numb
Is it my age?
Is it all these life changes?
My mind like the skin of water
viscosity fragile
Was it falling in love
or being smacked down
out of the frame of it?
My mind opposes the need
for my body to sink into
the deep surrender of sleep
I've tried taking the pills
to fight its yank and tether
complying to silence
Maybe it's a goalless
struggle
maybe it's a life much fuller
more to see, smell, and taste
more to hear, more to touch
Maybe it's all this re- and new
discovering
possibilities lining up like
fanatics
vying for my dreaming heart
8-7-13
In
1984, every girl
wore those jelly shoes.
Glitter plastic in pink
and
blue and yellow
seemed so frivolous.
They
hurt, they pinched,
gave no heel or arch support,
but still,
I
wanted them.
Flimsy buckles and basket-
weave spilling
toes out,
leaving
sharp red grooves
like a map for hours.
I wanted to be that frivolous,
to
squeeze the surface of
my nine year old feet, marking me
like every girl.
8-5-13
