Dainty feet with pansy tinges toes dangle inches above a straw colored carpet.
They weave and dart with a life of their own as the body remembers a long forgotten dance.
The body remembers the 49-11 eau de cologne she breathed in
as she sat upon the lap of her clean-shaven papa
and he crooned
“My Little Mauserl. What can I give you? Only the best for my Little Mauserl.”
The body remembers
the pain of a child not yet two years old,
crying to her less-loved mother for help.
“Get up. Come here. Then I will help you.”
A harsh first lesson for a little mouse, but she remembered
and passed it on to her own dark-haired daughter.
The body remembers
mouth and fingers on a golden saxophone she bought herself at sixteen
to catch the eye of the young conductor who would become her husband and share her bed for twenty years until they parted
agreeing at last
the sex was lousy.
The body remembers.
Balls, Dogs and Kindness
Every weekend morning at 8 am we all take our dogs to the park at the end of the block and allow our dogs to play together…in spite of the prominently displayed sign that reads “All Dogs Must be on Leash”. It is very illegal. This Saturday Arlo ran after one of Arledge’s balls…the kind you throw, not the other kind. Arledge is a standard poodle. His owner threw a second ball. Arlo went after that one too. Now Arlo was running around the park with TWO balls in his mouth and it cracked me up. My neighbor said nothing, but he leashed his poodle and marched out of the park, muttering under his breath. I thought it was a little strange, but I shrugged it off. I took Arlo and Darcy home and went to my yoga class. When I got back there was a two-page letter in my mailbox addressed to Arlo and me. An angry letter about balls and manners. My first reaction was to march over to my neighbor’s house and give him a piece of my mind. Thank goodness for restraint of pen and tongue…and the fact that during Lent, instead of “giving something up” I have decided to practice KINDNESS. So instead of making an ass out of myself, I drove to PetSmart and bought three bags of multi-colored tennis balls. Then I came back home and shot several digital photos of Arlo SURROUNDED by the balls. I kept snapping until I got one where Arlo had just the right expression. Then I printed that picture on a photo card with the message:
Dear Arledge:Sorry I took your balls. I will try to be a better neighbor.Your Friend, Arlo
I attached the card to the bag of balls and went over to my neighbor’s house. Instead of just leaving the peace offering in the mailbox, I rang the doorbell. I heard Arledge barking like crazy on the other side of the door and my neighbor yelling at his poodle to be quiet. For a moment, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. But it was too late. The door opened. I handed the balls to my neighbor. “These are for Arledge.” The next morning we were all in the park again. All the dogs got along. All the people got along. I carried along some extra balls and left them behind, just in case.
Left Behind
He left his books behind. They are piled there next to the bed he shared with Mama.
His pillow is still crumpled up. Mama has kept to her side of the bed.
He left his shoe shining kit. Guess he won’t need that out there on the Outer Banks.
He left his white shirts and his work pants and he left me.
He took his cigarettes and his lighter and he walked right out that front door and he didn’t look back and he didn’t say goodbye and he didn’t tell me why he was going or where he was going but I don’t think he is coming back.
The house is quiet now. Mama doesn’t smile anymore. I feel like crying but I don’t want to make her mad.
I am just like my daddy. She told me so. I am lazy and good for nothing and I don’t pull my own weight.
One day I will leave too, but I don’t know that yet. When that day comes I will leave behind the white clock radio I got for graduation and the poster of King Kong. I will leave my Phi Mu pin and the notes from Philosophy 201 and International Relations. I will just walk out the front door and I won’t tell anyone where I am going or why I am going or when I am coming back. But in my going away I will finally understand why my daddy left me behind.
His pillow is still crumpled up. Mama has kept to her side of the bed.
He left his shoe shining kit. Guess he won’t need that out there on the Outer Banks.
He left his white shirts and his work pants and he left me.
He took his cigarettes and his lighter and he walked right out that front door and he didn’t look back and he didn’t say goodbye and he didn’t tell me why he was going or where he was going but I don’t think he is coming back.
The house is quiet now. Mama doesn’t smile anymore. I feel like crying but I don’t want to make her mad.
I am just like my daddy. She told me so. I am lazy and good for nothing and I don’t pull my own weight.
One day I will leave too, but I don’t know that yet. When that day comes I will leave behind the white clock radio I got for graduation and the poster of King Kong. I will leave my Phi Mu pin and the notes from Philosophy 201 and International Relations. I will just walk out the front door and I won’t tell anyone where I am going or why I am going or when I am coming back. But in my going away I will finally understand why my daddy left me behind.
When My Mother Told Me
When my mother told me that clothes made the woman, she was wearing a ragged housecoat with a pack of Pall Malls in the pocket and a rip on the sleeve. Her knees were red from scrubbing our old linoleum floor with a mixture of lye and laundry soap
When my mother told me to cram all the book learning in my head that I could, she was standing over an ironing board pressing my daddy’s work shirts with one eye on her soap opera – The Guiding Light – and the other on my baby brother who was running around the kitchen with a wet diaper hanging from his backside.
When my mother told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be she was scrubbing our clothes on an old laundry board. The water was cold and her knuckles were red.
When my mother told me that she wrote me every day in her mind and I was the only one of her kids she never worried about, it had been five years since I had seen her face. Two months later she would die before my mother could ever tell me anything again
When my mother told me to cram all the book learning in my head that I could, she was standing over an ironing board pressing my daddy’s work shirts with one eye on her soap opera – The Guiding Light – and the other on my baby brother who was running around the kitchen with a wet diaper hanging from his backside.
When my mother told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be she was scrubbing our clothes on an old laundry board. The water was cold and her knuckles were red.
When my mother told me that she wrote me every day in her mind and I was the only one of her kids she never worried about, it had been five years since I had seen her face. Two months later she would die before my mother could ever tell me anything again
A Piece Of Perfect Fruit
She caresses his tiny head.
Her stubby fingers touch the soft crown.
She lifts his mouth to food.
He pulls back.
Leaving an apple sized space between her breast and his mouth.
Some were naked. Some were dancing in each other’s clothes.
She sweeps the toy soldiers and bits of apple peel from the table
and lays down her clean white cloth.
She spreads a feast.
Some were naked. Some were marching in each other’s clothes.
She is weeping now.
It has come and gone.
Leaving nothing but darkening flesh, a woody stem
and an apple shaped hole in her son’s breast.
Some are naked. Some are dying in each other’s clothes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
