Saturday, March 26, 2016

BOARDWALK DAYS

I'm sitting here on the steps to the apartment house
that my Mom and I share.
I'm watching him walk slowly up the middle of the street
With all of his confidence and bravado and energy.
With his smoldering beauty he claims not to see.
He never loses but then again, he never tries.
And wouldn't you know
Not one car will come, to make him move to the sidewalk.
I'd bet my life savings on that, not that I'd win much,
But I would win.
He's wearing faded blue jeans, a Nirvana shirt, and plaid
And an old leather jacket he bought in the pawn shop a couple of years ago.
He's not in style but he's in his style,
And oh, boy, does it work for him.
He doesn't look up at me
But I know he knows I'm here
That I'm watching him,
Hell, I'm always watching him.
I used to be so different
I used to be one of the soft pretty girls of the boardwalk
I used to wear bikini's and gold jewelry he bought me.
I used to giggle and scream and wink at the old men looking at me.
The boardwalk with its music and laughter and games
With its food and rides and the strange people you only notice at night.
There were dances in the crystal hall
And there was plenty of time spent down on the beach
Where no one could hear the pleading
And the sweet promises after midnight.
And certainly not the surrender to the first time
On a raggedy beach towel or an old leather jacket
From a pawn show, bought a long time ago.
Now I still go to the boardwalk, but it's to wait tables
Not to ride the rides, and not giggle and scream and wink.
And definitely not to ride on the old leather jacket anymore.
I'm not that girl anymore.
At the Greek, I wait on my old friends and him and they ask me how I'm doing
And make comments when I turn my back
That they think I don't hear .... or that they don't care if I hear.
Everything from “stuck up bitch” to “welfare ho” to “college slut”
And I ignore them and bring them their food.
It's a job, just a job
And it pays for my books at the local community college.
They leave me a tip on their forty dollar bill. A buck.
A lousy fucking buck.
And I sigh and suck up my fury and slip that dollar into my pocket.
It won't even buy me a cup of coffee
But with a couple of other lousy tips …
I'm sipping a Venti, baby.
But right now I'm watching him nearing my steps and he pauses
So slowly, so deliberately and turns to see my face.
He has sunglasses on so I can't read his eyes.
“What's up, college girl? Still studying to be the best?”
“Not the best, Mikey, just better. Just making a better life for myself.”
“That's what they all say and they all end up right back here
…... working on the boardwalk.”
“Well, not me. I did my time on the boardwalk last summer
….... and I paid all my due for all my sins.”
He removed the sunglasses looking at me sharply
A slight pain behind his eyes.
“You shouldn't have ….”
“I'm leaving tomorrow for college in New York. I won a scholarship.  I'm making my life better."
............... you'll never see me again, Michael. Never.”
And in seconds, Christie Lopez is in his arms, pressing against him,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, whining for dinner and dancing at the boardwalk crystal hall.
She grins at me with all of her teeth exposed.
Mikey puts the sunglasses back on, hiding watery eyes.
They turn and begin their walk to the boardwalk.
And for the very first time …....

I'm not watching him anymore.


Saturday, January 2, 2016

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.

Monday, December 21, 2015

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.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

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.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

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.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

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.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

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.