heart games

it’s a sick game really
blame boredom
tossing my heart into fast moving traffic
just to watch it squirm as it dodges
leaps and lunges to avoid sheer disaster

strangely addictive
dangerous, evil even
my heart is so fragile
i feel the need to toughen it up
it’s naive
people with road rage confuse her

Maybe it’s not so bad
maybe i’m like a mama bird pushing her out to learn to fly
or a trainer getting her ready for the big day
or, maybe it’s punishment for leaving me wide open
not locking the doors
or turning out the light

whatever the reason
i toss it out again and again
she always comes back
a little worse for the wear
a bit bruised
but wiser

my beautiful grandma, as drawn by my grandpa.

solitary confinment

traveled alone this weekend to my grandma’s funeral. i could have gone up with family, saved some money, spent some time talking...but...i didn’t. no offense to friends or family, but sometimes ya’ll just wear me out. a true introvert, i crave silence, solitary confinement, toss in a little loneliness and i can create again.

besides, i travel through this life a million miles an hour, rushing here, rushing there, behind schedule on everything, like the white rabbit in wonderland, i’m late, i’m late for a very important date. everything seems important, urgent, necessary....but this weekend....i got to travel at a leisurly 70 mile per hour pace...alone.

everything stopped.

traveling alone in a car for so many hoursmy soul got a chance to stretch out in the backseatthoughts finally got a chance to speak their mind and even converseamongst themselves. although, often, i’d have to turn the radio up to chest thumbing, earsplitting volumes to drown out their intenstity especially when the thoughts would start to get too personal, start pushing my buttons.

after the funeral i checked into a hotel. alone. i drew. swam, listened to music, took a bath, watched a movie, read a book, slept with no alarm, i could run away, i could live in this hotel i thought, forever...then i got the bill under my door and realized home was a much better deal.

the drive back was uneventful, my mind shifted to neutral, relaxed, driving under blue skies, everything seems okay again,
manageable chaos.
physically and mentally, home.

fairy tale ending

My favorite fairy tale is coming to an end. The fairy princess has already fell into her deep sleep, her prince not far behind. He wants nothing more than to fulfill their special pact. Made when the story was just beginning.

Some couples talk about what each other should do when they die, where important documents are, should I sell the house, remarry....not these two romantic fools....no, they knew one couldn’t exist without the other...besides they craved the drama, the romeo and juliet passion, their to hell with what people think mindset. I was little, living in their home, listening to the beautiful, tragic ending of this couple again and again. She’d wear a fancy long silk nightgown and robe, he’d wear two piece striped pajamas, they’d take a long nap, side by side for eternity. It was death, but they made it sound so beautiful.

Being told this story for so many years, I knew it was coming, I know people die, I know grandparents won’t be around forever, I know. And the sadness isn’t the helpless feeling that I had when friends or friends children die. It’s not the shock and pain of sudden loss or the agony of a drawn out illness. It’s the end of the best story I ever read. It’s the closing of the book. The selfish sadness of not being able to show her my purple office decorated in her eccentric style or have her ooo and ahh over a new painting, or share words, one poet to another.

Shirley, the poet, songwriter, artist, birdloving gardener. The one with the solar powered house, in the middle of michigan wilderness, with homemade security systems and flowers galore. Trips to Nashville to plug demo tapes and accept awards. Black coffee, dark chocolate, jump ropes, suntanning in the buff.

The world didn’t exist for her most of the time, reality wasn’t necessary, she built her world, she wrote the story, she played the beautiful leading lady, her deep blue eyes and black as night hair, shy, but certain. She knew the end. She wrote it.

sadness sponge

It may be true that misery loves company,
but sadness, sadness just needs space.
Sadness soaks up the tears, fills up every pore.
The memories need to marinate.
The soul quietly collects its souvenirs before moving along

Sadness calls you to look her in the eye
gaze inside, don’t be afraid
the water is deep, still and crystal clear
pause. look. remember.

rest your head on her lap
she’s gentle, and soft...but strong, lean in
sadness supports you now
shut your eyes,

no words, no questions
there’s no comfort in answers
just rest and sadness will
rock you to sleep

shhhhh.....

'Little Red'

playing with a new scanner, pulled this off my mantle, it's rough, but it's mine, i made this a few years ago.

i love this fairy tale with a bizarre intensity, through libary book sales and thrift stores i have numerous versions of this...and... my winter coat looks very similiar to hers. :)

the big bad wolf, the woods, grandma's house...these are a few of my favorite things.

i read

i read

i am a reader,
i read all the time.
stealing moments,
i read like a starving wolf,
gulping words,
devouring pages,
looking for something lost in the dark.

i read
as i walk through the house
carry books in the car in case a meeting is postponed or there is a major delay on the freeway
i prop books up while loading the dishwasher,. folding laundry, waiting for web pages to load

this obsession isn't new, but it's taken on a new life

i read rather than sleep anymore

the words not fully making their way to my brain

but necessary all the same.