a poem? because.
She said "life is the lesson and death is the pop quiz"
wrong answer? try again. and again and again and again until what?
is there really "unsaid"?
electricity in wordless air can be pretty damn vocal
there was a beauty queen in the southern backwoods
whose talent was skinning a muskrat
I don't remember who told me that story
or if she won...
my dad liked songs about bad girls
Lucy ran away with the preacher's daughter, he wrote once
there was a later one about a bitchy stripper called Katrina
he waits to tell you her name
on his birthday I stood outside the stone with his name and his lyric carved into it
trust in the miracle in your heart he wrote, for me when I was fourteen
it was song about tears -- little did we know...
but I let the air hold me and I prayed make me as strong as you are
make me so vast I can take love into this madness
make that love so real and unwavering that nothing can shake it -- and as I stood there, ready -- I felt it happen.
That's how I could move.
And as I walked through my old house
I felt my past selves jump up
"hey, I didn't know I left you here. Come with me -- we're going on an adventure"
and she was so sweet, inviting me in
after I sat on what I still feel is my porch
star lanterns and lavender candles
big bright pots, blue and green
where she's growing basil
I don't remember it being this big
I remember No Doubt posters covering my bedroom door, that was this room
where I put the Tori Amos song "Leather" on repeat
to take saucy pictures of my best friend
to send to her online boyfriend --
and behind that door was the computer
the alchemy lab
where I turned raw pineing
into art.
and to think I actually walked back into that school --
and was greeted like it hadn't been eleven years.
no one knows what happened to my first love
but in that photograph on the Theatre board, there he is as I remember him
the stuff YA lit is made of.
I can't believe I actually walked with him, along this sidewalk
eating frozen yogurt
is there anything more magical than that kind of heart and intelligence and beauty,
while licking sweet swirls?
and I remember these trees.
and the mardi gras beads dangling from their branches
and the dark-haired fairy
also a writer
who lives in my house now
is married to a man named John (coincidences all around...)
and isn't it funny
that the closet belonging to the girl
who pined away SO hard for all those boys
has men's shirts hanging in it now?
dig that, I said to my fourteen-year-old self (I slip pretty naturally into my father's language)
this healing romance that fills your house (yes I still call it that, we can share)
he's an urban planner that I didn't get to meet
but from the looks of those creased linens
he's a catch.
"We just signed a two year lease," she said. "So if you ever want to come see your house again..."
and this is how welcoming everything was.
even the stomach-gripping moments, the later nights
gave me the dreams I needed to feel my strength again.
What's amazing, is when you stop yourself in the middle of a fantasy to say,
"the real thing is actually much more fulfilling."
So you focus on that for awhile
the layers of it
the breadth of it
the astonishing truth of it
and that will take a few days.
it's a relief that Beginnings are in everything.
wrong answer? try again. and again and again and again until what?
is there really "unsaid"?
electricity in wordless air can be pretty damn vocal
there was a beauty queen in the southern backwoods
whose talent was skinning a muskrat
I don't remember who told me that story
or if she won...
my dad liked songs about bad girls
Lucy ran away with the preacher's daughter, he wrote once
there was a later one about a bitchy stripper called Katrina
he waits to tell you her name
on his birthday I stood outside the stone with his name and his lyric carved into it
trust in the miracle in your heart he wrote, for me when I was fourteen
it was song about tears -- little did we know...
but I let the air hold me and I prayed make me as strong as you are
make me so vast I can take love into this madness
make that love so real and unwavering that nothing can shake it -- and as I stood there, ready -- I felt it happen.
That's how I could move.
And as I walked through my old house
I felt my past selves jump up
"hey, I didn't know I left you here. Come with me -- we're going on an adventure"
and she was so sweet, inviting me in
after I sat on what I still feel is my porch
star lanterns and lavender candles
big bright pots, blue and green
where she's growing basil
I don't remember it being this big
I remember No Doubt posters covering my bedroom door, that was this room
where I put the Tori Amos song "Leather" on repeat
to take saucy pictures of my best friend
to send to her online boyfriend --
and behind that door was the computer
the alchemy lab
where I turned raw pineing
into art.
and to think I actually walked back into that school --
and was greeted like it hadn't been eleven years.
no one knows what happened to my first love
but in that photograph on the Theatre board, there he is as I remember him
the stuff YA lit is made of.
I can't believe I actually walked with him, along this sidewalk
eating frozen yogurt
is there anything more magical than that kind of heart and intelligence and beauty,
while licking sweet swirls?
and I remember these trees.
and the mardi gras beads dangling from their branches
and the dark-haired fairy
also a writer
who lives in my house now
is married to a man named John (coincidences all around...)
and isn't it funny
that the closet belonging to the girl
who pined away SO hard for all those boys
has men's shirts hanging in it now?
dig that, I said to my fourteen-year-old self (I slip pretty naturally into my father's language)
this healing romance that fills your house (yes I still call it that, we can share)
he's an urban planner that I didn't get to meet
but from the looks of those creased linens
he's a catch.
"We just signed a two year lease," she said. "So if you ever want to come see your house again..."
and this is how welcoming everything was.
even the stomach-gripping moments, the later nights
gave me the dreams I needed to feel my strength again.
What's amazing, is when you stop yourself in the middle of a fantasy to say,
"the real thing is actually much more fulfilling."
So you focus on that for awhile
the layers of it
the breadth of it
the astonishing truth of it
and that will take a few days.
it's a relief that Beginnings are in everything.