Sometimes I think you’re the cure for every broken piece of me.
Your fingertips leave memories when you replicate the lifelines
on the palm of my hand, smooth the one-inch circular scars
that dimple my left knee, or trace the curves in the valley of
my back.
Most nights, your eyes stare into mine and I can see the depth of
how much you want to kiss away the tears I shed in the night,
my own fingertips wiping them away silently because I don’t
want you to hear me, but I secretly know you lie awake listening
for the slightest rustle of sheets and you wish by all the gods on this
earth that you could erase every minute of those harsh twenty-one
years and would split the sky to make me whole again.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Cider Mornings
We spent Saturday mornings downtown at Battery Park.
The air smelled of September mornings-apple spice, cinnamon, cider, and the faintest
hint of crisp wind blowing off the waterfront.
The sun warmed our backs through the cotton of our shirts as we strolled along. You held my hand tight as I hobbled over the cracked, treacherous sidewalks, my arms straining from the use of aluminum crutches.
Your laughter filled the silent spaces and you smiled wide as you kissed my cheek.
Time slowed down, froze even, as we wandered the maze of the Farmers' Market.
It was a zoo of crude, wooden stalls, each hailing a brightly colored banner and boasting their goods for sale in larger print. My eyes combed each and every one, sometimes staring wide at things I'd never heard of or seen. My mouth watered to taste every delicious smelling food before me-pastries,chalupas, strudels, croissants, locally grown corn, cucumbers, tomatoes. My hand itched to run my fingers over the soft, woven scarves, make the wind-chimes sing in the breeze, or rifle through the hand-photographed cards.
Our caravan always ended up at the same apple stall. Despite my protests, you always purchased cider donuts-six for five dollars, and two small cups of apple cider.
You'd take my hand and lead me through the gangs, over the soft-packed dirt and moist grass, to the steps of City Hall. We'd climb to the top of the first landing and nestle into the furthest corner, backs resting against the cool stone.
You'd reach into the plastic baggie, and hand me a lukewarm donut,
sticky with cinnamon and a sprinkle of sugar. I'd break the donut into
pieces and take tiny bites.
You always laughed when I did that-and smile when I closed my eyes
and savored every delicious cinammon-sugary crumb.
The air smelled of September mornings-apple spice, cinnamon, cider, and the faintest
hint of crisp wind blowing off the waterfront.
The sun warmed our backs through the cotton of our shirts as we strolled along. You held my hand tight as I hobbled over the cracked, treacherous sidewalks, my arms straining from the use of aluminum crutches.
Your laughter filled the silent spaces and you smiled wide as you kissed my cheek.
Time slowed down, froze even, as we wandered the maze of the Farmers' Market.
It was a zoo of crude, wooden stalls, each hailing a brightly colored banner and boasting their goods for sale in larger print. My eyes combed each and every one, sometimes staring wide at things I'd never heard of or seen. My mouth watered to taste every delicious smelling food before me-pastries,chalupas, strudels, croissants, locally grown corn, cucumbers, tomatoes. My hand itched to run my fingers over the soft, woven scarves, make the wind-chimes sing in the breeze, or rifle through the hand-photographed cards.
Our caravan always ended up at the same apple stall. Despite my protests, you always purchased cider donuts-six for five dollars, and two small cups of apple cider.
You'd take my hand and lead me through the gangs, over the soft-packed dirt and moist grass, to the steps of City Hall. We'd climb to the top of the first landing and nestle into the furthest corner, backs resting against the cool stone.
You'd reach into the plastic baggie, and hand me a lukewarm donut,
sticky with cinnamon and a sprinkle of sugar. I'd break the donut into
pieces and take tiny bites.
You always laughed when I did that-and smile when I closed my eyes
and savored every delicious cinammon-sugary crumb.
Egyptian Addiction
Adrenaline ravishes
my sapphire fuel lines
and
I can taste
spicy addiction
as
the needle approaches.
Guns whiz
and my back's ironclad
against
the black parlor chair.
The veins in my arm
scream
as my fist clenches and
the creamy
underside
of my arm
is exposed to
surgical steel.
One
two
three
deep breaths as spikes
piece my skin.
A miniature prick,
pain becomes pleasure
as it
trickles through my blood
and a prick
transforms a numbing tickle.
Blue, purple, black
ink replaces blood
as a lead Eye of Horus is reborn
and ancient Egyptian souls
mate with mine.
my sapphire fuel lines
and
I can taste
spicy addiction
as
the needle approaches.
Guns whiz
and my back's ironclad
against
the black parlor chair.
The veins in my arm
scream
as my fist clenches and
the creamy
underside
of my arm
is exposed to
surgical steel.
One
two
three
deep breaths as spikes
piece my skin.
A miniature prick,
pain becomes pleasure
as it
trickles through my blood
and a prick
transforms a numbing tickle.
Blue, purple, black
ink replaces blood
as a lead Eye of Horus is reborn
and ancient Egyptian souls
mate with mine.
Daddy, you were(n't) supposed to
You spent twenty years
telling
me
I was trash.
Your voice echoed in my ears
"You're nothing but a piece of shit.
You'll never amount to anything."
Daddy, you were supposed to love me.
My ears still remember
the time you took the thick
hardcover
book,
cracking it against my face.
Blood streamed from my ears
but
it was with my tears
that I saw red.
Daddy, you weren't supposed to beat me.
So many nights
I spent sleeping
on hardwood floors,
crying because
you didn't love me.
Daddy, you were supposed to protect me.
Do you remember the night
your fist smashed the glass
of our blue wooden door
and
your blood
painted
the lawn?
Daddy, you weren't supposed to be drunk.
Two years this December
you walked out that door
and never looked back.
Daddy, your selfishness nearly killed my mother.
Four years ago
you collapsed with three brain aneurysms.
I couldn't bear to look at you
a bloody leopard
corpse
in your hospital bed.
You were supposed to die that October.
Daddy, sometimes I wish you had.
For the first time
in
twenty-one years,
I crush your voice beneath
my tower feet.
Daddy, I am finally free.
In May, I will walk across that stage,
diploma in hand,
and
I'll smile into the crowds
because I will have proven that
I finally did it-
I gave myself a future
when you always told me I couldn't.
telling
me
I was trash.
Your voice echoed in my ears
"You're nothing but a piece of shit.
You'll never amount to anything."
Daddy, you were supposed to love me.
My ears still remember
the time you took the thick
hardcover
book,
cracking it against my face.
Blood streamed from my ears
but
it was with my tears
that I saw red.
Daddy, you weren't supposed to beat me.
So many nights
I spent sleeping
on hardwood floors,
crying because
you didn't love me.
Daddy, you were supposed to protect me.
Do you remember the night
your fist smashed the glass
of our blue wooden door
and
your blood
painted
the lawn?
Daddy, you weren't supposed to be drunk.
Two years this December
you walked out that door
and never looked back.
Daddy, your selfishness nearly killed my mother.
Four years ago
you collapsed with three brain aneurysms.
I couldn't bear to look at you
a bloody leopard
corpse
in your hospital bed.
You were supposed to die that October.
Daddy, sometimes I wish you had.
For the first time
in
twenty-one years,
I crush your voice beneath
my tower feet.
Daddy, I am finally free.
In May, I will walk across that stage,
diploma in hand,
and
I'll smile into the crowds
because I will have proven that
I finally did it-
I gave myself a future
when you always told me I couldn't.
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