Shh

Will not tell you.
Take it from me.
Will not tell you.
Will not tell you.
You do not fit.
Will not.

Never. As far.
Lighter.
You do not fit.
Tell you.
Tremble.
You will never dream over these mountains.

But I will.

Three months of driving.

I won’t share it.
Mine.

I am alone.

On the left.

I will not think of yours.
I take control instead.

Will not tell you.

If I get lost, it will be better.
A story to tell.

If I get lost,
Will be better.

I will not tell you.

Glide.
One,
One,
two,
two,
three.

Now.
Then. Whenever.

Shh.

I am a painter?

Liquid swirls,
Bristles drip,
How may I keep you alive?
Awake to memory,
A dance in the mind,
Upon a lazy foot will slip.
Fall so freely
Over delicate bridge,
Will it cast you honestly so?
Climb to present
Reach for sensation,
Over tomorrow’s afternoon,
Then trip.
For a lie or a love will you sway me this way?
Or cradle me with home and with care?
Keep me ‘till Wednesday?
Yes that is the day.
I catch you with arm and with wrist.

Seven Years, Three Months, and Ten Days

I still remember the night I prayed. I prayed like I never had prayed before. Not for any of the things for which any other ten year old girl would pray. But I prayed with all my heart, just hoping there might be some one out there. I hoped there was some one who was listening, someone who knew all of my secrets, some one who understood.

I laid still in my bed. There was a spring forcing itself through the surface of the mattress. But I didn’t move, not tonight. I had a feeling. I felt that if I moved, even the slightest, I would set off some unknown reaction. The floor would crack and before I could even hope I hadn’t made a sound, the world would shatter. My whole world would shatter. If I stayed silent, maybe time would stop. No ticking clocks, just the empty black space in front of me. If I couldn’t see the walls or the leering doorway, then maybe I could be some where else.

Then, when I awoke in the morning the sunlight would touch my innocent face. I would lay there completely comforted until my father walked in. Already in his business suit, hair slicked back and cleanly shaven. He would lean over me and whisper, “Your mother says it’s time to get up and ready for school.” I would roll over and smile at him, because I was Daddy’s little girl. “Five more minutes,” he would say as he rustled my hair and walked out the door.

A smile began to form on my lips and then disintegrated when I opened my eyes and felt that spring on the left, upper part of my back, slowly making its way into my flesh, warning me that I wouldn’t be safe for much longer. I tried to take comfort in the silence, only to become more nervous. I knew that the silence would be broken. And so soon that darkness would reveal what I already knew was there.

I adjusted myself slightly. A chill shot up my spine as I broke the silence with the rustle of my blanket. The feeling of the rough fabric moving across my arm resonated. It was telling me, “You’re stupid! Why did you do that? You almost stopped time but you couldn’t keep quiet. You’re worthless! You deserve everything that’s coming to you!”

The spring hurt much more now, but there was no way I was about to move again. Maybe I still had a chance. Tonight was the night he was going to go over the top. I had done something wrong. My mother had done something wrong. I didn’t know what it was yet, but he would find out. He always did. I inhaled a deep breath and held it, another vain attempt to stop time. I lay with my eyes wide, staring at the ceiling, though I could not see it. But I liked it that way. Then, just as I expected, I heard the door knob turn. This is it, I thought.

I took another deep breath, held it. It was him. He flicked on the light and it traveled through the doorway, revealing the ceiling. I just kept on staring. I could do it, I could stop time, I wouldn’t breathe, I wouldn’t move, I wouldn’t make a sound. I wouldn’t even blink my eyes. He opened his mouth. The Horror was about to begin. I could tell, I couldn’t see him, but the smell on his breath traveled into my room as quickly as the light had. That chill, those goose bumps on my arms, they were replaced by a churning in my stomach. I could feel my dinner. I could taste the stomach acid in my mouth. But I could stop it. I could stop breathing, I could stop blinking, and I could hold on to my insides.

It wasn’t words that came from his mouth. It was his fist across my mother’s face. A cry escaped her mouth. When his voice scraped my ears, the rest of my insides jumped out, all that I had eaten the past three days. But I kept my eyes open and took another deep breath. I heard my mother hit the floor, heard his voice batter her almost as much as his fist. I tried to hear what he was saying. Maybe if I figured out what made him mad I could stop it, I could stop this from happening again. But I couldn’t understand him. I felt so light headed. It could have been from the vibration of his voice on my eardrums or the smell of the vomit on my chest.

My eyelids were too heavy. I let them close. My breathing became quick. Rhythmic sobs that sounded just like a clock. The clock that reminded me that time was not going to stop. I couldn’t cry, though. If I couldn’t control anything else, I would not let myself cry. “Crying doesn’t get you anywhere,” my mother would say. “Don’t let him see you cry,” she would say, “Don’t let him hear you.”

I had nothing else I could think to do. I smoothly raised both hands up to the top of my chest and pressed them together, just like I had seen the women do at church on Sundays. I had never really prayed before. I never believed in God. If there was a God like everyone said, then he wouldn’t allow this to happen to me. I still wasn’t sure if I believed, but it was all I had left.

I prayed he would die. I prayed that someone would cut him up into a million little pieces and bury him all around the back yard just as he had threatened he would do to us. No one would ever find him and no one would care. I prayed his hands would fall off and his mouth would shrivel up and this would travel down his throat. I prayed his skin would burn for hours before he died. I wanted him to suffer for what he had done. He wasn’t going to get out of this easy and just die, that wasn’t enough. It had to be a terrible death, one that was so horrible, even the worst criminals wouldn’t think to commit it. I hated him, hated him, and hated him again for forcing me to feel this way. I hated him for making me think these awful thoughts. I hated him for, if only for an instant, making me think the way he did, violent thoughts that scared me.

The bed room door slammed. I knew this scene so well. He passed out on his bed and my mother pressed her hand against the floor to raise herself onto the couch. I opened my eyes and mechanically got out of bed. I rolled up my vomit-stained blanket. I tiptoed out to the back porch and set it outside. I took the extra blanket out of the hall closet, unfolded it and laid it across my mother’s delicate and bruised body. I did this all silently. There was no way that he would awake and hear me speak. But I didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.

I climbed back into my bed and closed my eyes. I lay on my back with my arms crossed over my chest, clutching my shoulders. I shivered and my arms tingled from the cold air. A single tear escaped under my eyelid. I wasn’t going to let myself cry, but I had been defeated. Night 87, opponent undefeated, seven years, three months, and ten days left in the game. I turned over on my side, directly on top of the spring. The cold tip of the metal pierced through my shirt and touched my skin. “Go ahead,” I told it, “No one is stopping you.” I loved that feeling, metal scraping my skin, getting closer and closer to my ribs. I hoped it would continue through my back and come out on the other side. I hoped the chill on my arms would overpower the chill traveling menacingly up my spine and the turning of my stomach. I hoped I could focus on the pain in my side and not the pain in my heart.

**This story is based on a truth about my mother (not myself) and is an account of her childhood.

Life

Kitten jumped into the vast sky of blue and soared downward and sideways and back and forth. As he moved farther downward he moved faster. He moved faster until he knew something would have to be done so that he could land and be safe. Kitten felt the cool air brush between his soft orange hairs and thought to himself, “What shall I create?”

The soft yet persistent buzzing of a housefly intruded on his thoughts so he looked right and left, searching for the source of this noise.

“Buzzzzzzzz,” said Housefly.

“But I cannot see you, how will I tell you my name if I cannot see you?”

“Buzzzz.”

“Ok, I’ll look harder.”

Kitten looked to the left, and then to the right, finally he looked straight ahead and sighed in frustration. He still could not see Housefly and the persistent buzzing was distracting him from his planning. He wanted to ask Housefly to be quiet, or move farther away, but he did not want to do it rudely.

Suddenly the buzzing was getting louder, louder, LOUDER! Until with a gentle plunge, Mr. Housefly landed himself directly upon Kitten’s nose.

“There you are! Now I will tell you my name. I am Kitten, who are you?

“Buzz.”

“Hello, Housefly. Can I ask you why in this vast sky you’ve flown so close to me?”

“Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“You wanted to know what I was doing? Why, I am falling. Can’t you see? It is quite a trip but I must say it needs to end soon.”

“Buzzz?”

“How will I end it? Well, just like any other fall it must end in a landing. And so I am working on creating a place to land.”

“Buzzz.”

“I’m not sure yet. I am really having trouble decided where exactly I want to create. There are so many possibilities, so many things to think about!”

“Buzzzz…. Zzzzz… zz….”

“I have never done this before either. But you can try to help me if you want.”

“Buzz. Buzzzz?”

“Well one of the things I know I want is a soft and cozy place to live. And I want someone to play with and… I want to be important.”

“Buzzz!”

“I know, but those are only a few things, there are so many other things to think about before I begin to create this place and as I fall for longer, I begin to fall faster, and it becomes harder to think.”

“Buzzzz. Zzzz. Buzz?”

“Well I never thought of that. I guess I could just start creating, and think as I go. Yes! That’s a grand idea, thank you!”

“Buzzz?”

“Yes I think I could use your help. Could you crawl into my ear and pull out the sound?”

Housefly made his way up the top of Kitten’s nose, above his eye and into his ear. With his consistent soft buzzing he quickly found the sound in Kitten’s ear. He gave the sound to Kitten. Kitten took the sound with his tail, closed his eyes and flung the sound down below him.

“Thank you Housefly, now will you come to my eyes and help me catch what I see?”

“Buzz,” said housefly and he crawled back onto Kitten’s nose between his eyes.

“On the count of three… one… two… THREE!” Kitten opened his eyes and Housefly saw what Kitten saw and it was so much clearer than they both thought it would be.

“Buzz.”

“I know, it is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Now quickly and at the same time, let’s look down and send what we see down below me.” They both looked down and sent the vision far below them to catch up with the sound.

“What’s next?”

“Buzz?”

“Good idea, now crawl into my nose and reach for my smell.” Housefly did this and they both faced downward for an instant to breathe the scent downwards. It met with the sight and sound and Housefly and Kitten turned back to how they were falling before.

“Now my taste.” Housefly crawled onto Kitten’s tongue and they imaged together the many tastes of Kitten’s new world, they sent it downward. Next they needed to feel Kitten’s world. At this point that was very easy. Kitten had begun to move so fast, and they were getting so close that the pull of the air and the pull of gravity heightened the senses on Kittens paws and Housefly’s little legs as he grasped Kittens fur in an attempt to stay with him for the entire process.

“Quickly!” said Kitten. Now I need a heart but I am so close I am going to need to you to do this part for me so I can concentrate on landing. Housefly agreed and with determination he crawled onto Kitten’s chest and listened for his heartbeat. Once he had Kitten’s heartbeat he buzzed a confirmation and began to send the heartbeat down below them.

But without warning Kitten flipped out of nervousness, for he knew he was getting close to his world. Housefly lost his grip of Kitten and before he got the chance to follow through with the sending of Kitten’s heart, poor Kitten landed with a “THUD!” on a hard dirt road at the end of a curving driveway connected to a cozy little house with a great big picture window.

“Buzzz...” House fly circled around Kitten’s body that did not have a heartbeat. He was telling Kitten all about the cozy place he had created, that he had found someone to play with, and most of all, he told Kitten that he was important.

Point of Change

Unsettling plea.

Shaking voice.

The flexing muscles of my chest cavity

Stop-

Legs move

Automatically.

Right, left, right,

Left, right,

Left, right,

Left.

Fallen face,

Curve all wrong.

Say it all.

Deny it.

Say it.

Don’t.

Picture window,

Picture frame,

Throw it away,

Just throw it away.

When Dreams are too Sweet, it Hurts to Wake Up

Where
               Is this place
               you hold
Dear
Where we
               find
your lost memories?

You color me
               Wet
                              on a soft spring day.
And I warm you
                              Golden

               With sun
I shine
through the trees
               Carefully,
                              watch you stroll by.

               The air is
Crisp.
my heart is by my side

When the crows start to call
the snow gently melts
                              I will wait for tomorrow
And a new glimpse of light.

               Spread me like flowers
Across
                              a vast open field.
We run and
               fall
together
               ever lost in tall grass.

               Until then I will wish
                                             Only for
               the sake of
Wishing.
                              Try
               To move puddles with my hands
And keep time that is gone.

Purple Stairways

Strong purple stairways cross my mind
in the garden of your youth.
They twist and turn. Their levels let me stroll
above all the demons, dragons, and truth.

Small bare feet tiptoe and stairs do not creak
in the solid love of this dark.
Strong purple stairways are leading me down
over and under your heart.

The soft yarn is steady between fingers and thumbs.
The tea kettle hums a soft tune.
Grace lifts you gently and smoothly across it
as you prevent the sharp whistle so soon.

Constant purple stairways lead me to floor boards,
darkened, stained and rough,
Soft purple slippers made with soft, steady yarn
catch bare feet, again, soon enough.