Remember That Day?

It was the last day of summer
And it was twilight, my favorite time of the day.
I was sitting on the steps of my front porch
At the house I grew up in
And although it didn't belong to me anymore
No one bothered me, no one asked me to leave.
I closed my eyes slowly, softly
I had no promises to keep.
And the miles I had to go, 
     Brought me home for the very last time.

Dear PTSD, let's talk about me ...

Let her go …

You've been holding her hostage for years

Beating and berating her for what you deemed mistakes

Never giving her a chance, never looking at her point of view.

She was young, grieving, frightened and naive

She believed in signs and God and that love conquered all.

She believed in mercy and forgiveness and absolution.

And none of what happened was her fault

And none of it was her sin.

Her innocence was beautiful and free

And even with the devil in her world

She did the best she could.

No matter how old you've gotten

No matter how clear the windows of the past

And the mis-steps you say she took

She's still just a girl

Trying and loving the only way she knew how.

Your anger at her is abuse.

She did the best she could.

Nothing in her was a lie.

She believed and believed and believed

And that was her only crime.

The truth is, your anger at her

Is your heartbreak for her

Because you know what's coming

What she will have to live through.

Look where you are …

Congratulate her, because she lived through it.

She did her best

And so are you.

Let her go.

POT SHOP MEETING

It's funny how the most important things in life

Seem to start out so innocently.

I was working in a legal pot shop

Selling cannabis, even making my own blends.

And he walked in late one night

Just before closing.

It was dark outside, there were no other customers,

And my first feeling was impatience.

I was ready to go home

I had been at the shop from early that morning.

Had served a lot of customers, made a lot of batter,

Did a lot of business with brand dealers on the phone.

It was time to pick up Anne Sexton

And sink down into sweet melancholia in a hot bubble bath.

I didn't even notice his face at first,

Although I smiled and spoke my usual greeting.

But when I looked up and into those eyes,

A memory of a lifetime flashed through my mind.

We hadn't been together long,

It had started on fire with no where to burn,

And once it destroyed everything in it's path,

                                 It was over.

He was smiling at me, almost shyly,

And I smiled back although I was studying that face,

     those lips, those eyes.

He was older, of course,

There were some grays, a few wrinkles near his eyes

But they were the same sky blue.

And his lips, that beautiful mouth

Had that same old smile,

And I just knew he kissed the same way;

He had a samurai tongue.

I grinned, we still hadn't said a word

Staring at each other, taking each other in.

He was beautiful enough to be cruel

But man enough to be kind.

And he had the heart of a lion.

I had adored him, had worshiped him.

But I was never sure if I loved him or not.

Although I knew he loved me madly.

He put his hand on the counter,

And after a heartbeat, I laid mine on top of his.

It was like a surrender of sorts.

His fingers intertwined with mine,

And our eyes met again, still not one word.

It began to rain

And I felt my soul begin to rise

To meet his, dancing in those drops.

We never even said hello.

But I saw my future, or at least part of it

Laid right out before me.

TAPE AND STRING

This day felt like one of “those” days

And it was almost over already.

I knew I was early and would have to wait,

But I had a secret romance

With train stations.

And even in the rain, this one,

With its art deco station, gas lights, and silver benches,

     Didn't let me down.

I was going to be traveling for days,

All the way from Pennsylvania to Montana,

Because I had a calling I couldn't explain to myself,

Much less any one of my friends or family.

There was something waiting there for me,

     And I had to meet it head on.

It was going to help me repair some damage,

To fix some things being held together

     With just tape and string, 

Things I needed to be whole again.

I didn't know anyone there, I didn't even know where to stay,

But I had my savings

And the good street sense growing up that Pittsburgh taught me

And the good common sense my parents taught me.

I also had my safety shields up and on full blast

     and I don't want to say who taught me that.

The train pulled in and I entered slowly

Knowing what I was doing was right

Although it was confusing as hell.

I had a sleeper car in the back and after dropping my things,

I swung by the cocktail car and got a cold martini,

Taking a seat near the windows, watching the steady rain.

As we pulled away,

Pittsburgh called me to come back, don't leave!

You're safe here with us, we are your home!

     But I hadn't been safe in a very long time,

And my soul knew that Montana had a remedy for tape and string.

Because I knew if those safety's slipped away, I would too.

The bar car was empty but it was beautiful;

It looked like it was made in the 30's with carved smoky glass,

Leather booths, low lights, and the smell of good wine.

That was why I ordered the martini, I didn't really want one,

But Sinatra was playing quietly and it was like a sweet puzzle piece that fit.

You had to be traveling with a sleeper car to gain entry to the deco bar,

     And it was nearly empty.

A couple entered but I was more interested in the rain,

Than people watching, until a man entered a little later.

I watched him order a drink and take a seat near another window.

He was dressed in blue jeans and flannel, long silver hair and tired blue eyes,

And I wondered if he didn't know the story of the tape and string.

He took a long sip of his whiskey and turned and smiled at me,

A question on his face. 

I slightly nodded and went back to my rain.

I was embarrassed, I realized I had been staring.

It was just that he had transported me back or perhaps forward

To a place I didn't even know existed.

And I felt …. solid and whole,

     Just looking at his face.

I sighed and laughed inwardly, when was the last time I felt like that?

And why from a total stranger, why not a lover or a friend?

Life was always a serious of unanswered questions,

That never really made sense of the game.

The lights in the bar carriage were dim and the bartender

Brought me another martini, three olives for luck.

It was nice here, I felt …. inside myself somehow.

     Inside the rain, inside myself.

It had started to storm and I was comforted.

I wanted so much to look at that stranger again,

But I didn't dare

Not so much for embarrassing him or myself,

But for the fear of that amazing feeling not coming back.

The light suddenly shifted near me.

I glanced up and the stranger asked if he could take a seat.

I nodded, no words forming at all.

He sat his drink on the shining black table next to my martini,

And I looked deep into those tired blue eyes.

Let it be known

He wasn't here to save me, I was going to do that myself.

I didn't need a prince or a hero, I covered that alone.

But there was warmth and comfort in a companion,

With tired blue eyes that held no harm,

And grace in a mouth,

That offered nothing but a smile.

TEA AND ADDICTION

It was a cold, cloudy day and I had slept in.

I woke up alone, rolling over in bed

Scrunching down deeper in the soft comforter

And closing my eyes.

It would have been so nice to drift off

Into the lightness of sleep

But my head and tummy were both demanding tea

And I had no choice but to obey.

I was an addict.

The hardwood floors were chilly,

This was sweater and socks weather.

And after I set my water to boiling,

I lit a fire in the family room,

breathing in that beautiful scent.

Usually the crisp, cool air gives me incredible energy,

But today …

I just wanted to curl up under an Native American blanket

I had bought on my travels in Arizona,

And read my latest, most favorite book.

The sofa was calling my name.

No computer, no phone, no television …

Just me and a book.

I got out my favorite tea service,

An antique set handed down from my Grandmother

On my Father's side.

And was mesmerized by the scent of the Darjeeling steeping.

Back in the family room, I was happy for the rare quiet,

And put on a vinyl album of Chet Baker's best.

The trees in the yard were all showing a magnitude of color,

It was a work of art.

The tea was ready and I brought in the service,

A little honey and a cup.

Heaven

I breathed it in, it was magic, it was Zen.

I was at peace, inside myself, outside myself.

Peace.

Suddenly, noise violently fractured my calm.

The front door slammed, heavy footsteps walked across the foyer,

And into the family room.

I closed my eyes, thinking he'd get the picture.

How could he not? It was painted perfectly before him.

“Hey ...” he waited and I sat perfectly still, eyes closed.

“Babe?” that voice, a voice I have been listening to for more than twenty years.

I just couldn't ignore it. 

I looked up at him, eyebrows lifted, hoping he'd buy a clue.

“Wanna?” He asked, and all I could see were those blue eyes ...

Blue eyes with the most mischievous smile.

I laughed, but I couldn't resist.

I was addicted.

Mary, Mother of Jesus

Mary, Mother of Jesus
You were just a girl
Who traded in her whole world.
I fell in love with you
Before I learned to read about you,
Before my feet were steady on the floor.
My Mother loved you
She told me stories of you
Of how the whole world
Depended on one girl.
And Mary,
I've loved you as a friend and a guiding light
I've felt your arms around me, holding me tight.
When my baby was in jeopardy, to you I prayed
Another mother would understand the fear
I felt you come to me, felt your love surround me
And with us you stayed
And with your grace granted her safe passage.
Oh, Mary
I turn to you for comfort
I turn to you for love
I turn to you in the rain
As it comes down and covers me.
And your love wraps around me.
I'll go on another day
With your strength I have seen.
Mary, Jesus's mother
We are both mothers
And the love is all that matters.
Your grief cradles me
I long to wipe away the tears from your face.
Oh, Mary
Cancer led me into the valley of the shadow
But you held my hand so tight;
You wouldn't allow me linger.
And when I couldn't find my way
When I was lost 
You led me back home through the dark.
Oh, Mary
I love you as a friend and a guiding light
I feel your arms around me, holding me tight.

NOIR

“Sometimes I feel,” he whispered, his muscular baritone vibrating somewhere near my heart,

     “like we're living in a film noir from the Thirties.”

I looked into his blue eyes, noting nothing black or gray lived there.

He was cranky tonight, some project gone wrong,

But I had to admit, he had a point.

Coltrane, Mingus, Chet Baker on the stereo every night,

     scratching vinyl because we're both such music snobs.

Bottles of Macallan scotch because we drink only the best.

     And we drink it on ice made from water procured in the Alps.

We were both in black cashmere, smoking home-rolled clove cigarettes

     And my nails and my lips were both painted deep red.

A few friends had called us hipsters, but we weren't;

We were tragically cool, so tragic, because we meant it from the heart.

Our life was all about emotion through cynicism, 

     Erotica through narcissism, sexual satisfaction through selfishness.

Something had to change; I knew I was annoying him

And he knew he was boring me to tears.

Other than the orange spark when we lit cigarettes and candles

     even our apartment was noir now.

I was worried the food would soon follow …

     White sugar, black beans, white rice, black raspberries,

     Milk and black coffee and never the two would meet.

I walked to the window, black stained oak covered in heavy white velvet

     With black lace floating beneath,

And stared at the magic moon hanging in the sky tonight.

She was so clear and so large, she nearly looked as if she was made of crystal

Just another image to add to our noir, more atmosphere for the next scene.

I turned realizing how much light the moon lent to our darkened apartment

     and how the shadows seemed to play off every wall.

Suddenly there was a flash of silver from the moonlight

     and I remember wondering briefly if it was lightning

     but when I saw it again on the wall, and his reflection in the mirror

I knew Mother Nature had nothing to do with this particular film of my life.

To die in the big city, in a black and white apartment,

wearing all black, my blood as red as my nails and my lips,

that crystal moon watching it all ...

was such a cliché, I don't think I'll ever get over it.