there was an Old Woman
who lived in a House
ingrained with Bad Memories
just like her Body was
they were Both
Ramshackle
Shabby
Crumbling in Decay
the Old Woman
Buys
Procures
Secures
Knick-Knacks, Bric-A-Brac
Trinkets, Trifles, Tchotchkes
Baubles and Bibelot
to keep the Wolves at bay
but the talisman Close In on her
become her Prison of Pain
with Bats and Squirrel Squatters
residing in her Attic
while The Boogeyman
settles into Her Soul
Days
Weeks
Months
Run together
Viscous coagulation
Nothing about me
Or my life
Feels special anymore
Even 15 minutes of fame
Was always too much to ask for
The old man sat in his chair
Looking out the window watching vultures
Circling in the air
What did he think of since his mind
Was no longer all there
Were they thoughts of his childhood
Prize winning pork chops at the fair
A cold beer in a boat on the lake
In the hot summer air
So many memories to ponder while
The old man sat in his chair
If I kill myself now
there’s still enough money
to cremate me
plus a little left over
in case anyone wants to
throw a party
Just remember to
sprinkle me in the lake
as I’ve asked
Or don’t
I’ll never know
My son won’t stand
before you and say
“She was a good mom
she always had my back
she was always there for me
she loved me with all her heart”
Because he doesn’t believe those things
Maybe I’ve spent
too much time believing them
Maybe my perception
of my mothering of him
isn’t reality
And if it’s not
what is there left
to live for
Steel tipped missives
is what we trade
Aiming for center
that bullseye of pain
Chalked points
for destroying each other with words
A tournament of fools
Flights broken
Stale beer and cigarette smoke
the only reminders of games once played
Both
checked out
because you never really stepped up to the line
and I was always crossing it
You should have been
cool rain on hot pavement he said
but you were 100 degree days
suffocating me with humidity
like breathing through wet gauze
I needed frozen tundras
and ice covered branches
which you will never be
6:06 brings the sunrise
but fiery skies
can’t chase away lonely
even though it feels most comfortable
cloaked in the inky blackness of night
Time
makes alone safe
and as 50 approaches like a freight train
it seems easier than starting over
The mulberries
stain your fingertips and lips blue
The sting of knees skinned by pavement
forgotten when the sweetness hits your tongue
and it’s summer once again
How many people’s lives are you allowed to ruin
in your own search for happiness?
Surely it is finite
maybe at some point the universe will stop you
but maybe not
You would think there would be a limit to one’s suffering
and sorrow
but it seems there isn’t
The world is always the kid
standing at the top of the slipper slide
waiting to kick you back down
after you’ve struggled
gripped the sides tight
dug in the toes of your tennis shoes
climbing up that slippery slope
to the peak where the happiness seems to reside
Silly girl
you’ll always be the not thin enough adolescent in polyester shorts
whose thighs rub together
who gets made fun of on the playground
and nobody wants to slow dance with in junior high
There is no love for my body
only hate
No matter how much I weigh
it is always too much
Men will say “I love curvy women”
But what they really mean is
“I love thin women with full breasts and hips but I do not love you because you are fat and that does not equal curvy”
I am 49 and there is no peace to be made
with this carcass
I will go to my grave hating it
for being ugly
Fiction, and other made-up stories
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
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