The sky was impossibly distant above her as she lay in the dry grass. Pale blue, like a bowl suspended, not a single cloud. She had created a small nook for herself--crushed the tall grass below her stomping, bare feet and now she was concealed, a small boat sunk in a golden, rustling sea.
She'd come here often after the fire, walking the dusty road from the neighbors', escaping the heavy silence in the guest room she was sharing with her aunt, the closed drapes and kleenex wads and untouched tea mugs. In retrospect, it seemed an odd choice, as it was this very same grass that had allowed the fire to spread so quickly, hungrily engulfing everything in its path, death and a blackened smoldering in its wake.
But the grass had grown back since that day, exactly three months ago.
Unlike so many other things, that disappear in an instant and are gone forever, like smoke dispersed in the wind.
The charred remains of the house still stood, as though perpetually against the backdrop of a setting sun, blackened to silhouette. If she sat up and turned east, she could see the roofline in the distance, leaning precariously, doomed to collapse when the winds picked up in early fall.
It had been a spring day, notable for its very ordinariness. She'd eaten her breakfast of yogurt on the front porch, swinging her feet off the edge, watching their shadows pass over the ground. It was quiet, a mild breeze stirring the yellowing grass, birds warbling in distant trees at the horizon. Her uncle had gone out to start the tractor a half hour or so before, and she could see him now, out in the field, bent over the engine. His red cap stood out like a beacon and he was dwarfed by distance and the rusting hood that hung open above him. Inside, her aunt bustled about, humming distractedly as she passed from room to room, pushing windows closed against the gathering heat.
As she turned to open the screen door, she heard a shout, and wheeled about to see a looming tower of black smoke hovering, then moving toward her over the field. Orange flames licked, rose, grew, reached and she could see nothing of the tractor or her uncle.
"Auntie!" she shrieked, and felt her voice strain against the roar in the air, in her ears.
She froze, paralyzed with panic. No answer from inside. She ran into the house, screen slamming roughly behind her, screamed. Couldn't stop. Heart in her throat, bursting. Her aunt on the stairs, eyes wide with fear. "Get outside, now!"
The porch, the field, the road. Air that burned, hot and singeing her throat. And the roaring that grew. Tears on her hot cheeks and rasping, ragged breaths as she ran as fast and as far as she could, and then farther.
Neighbors' voices, loud and then very quiet. The house, consumed, yellow paint melted, peeling, the brick chimney somehow bright, unscathed in the ruin. Distant sirens howled, too late.
Her uncle, vanished, the tractor a shrunken smoking skeleton. The ground black, the sky gray.
Her aunt, silent in the midst of comforting arms, her mouth slightly open, still carrying a dishtowel in one hand.
youth; fleeting
the blast of exhaust
fumes heady, luscious in their toxicity
as we traversed rutted gravel roads
tossed our heads, our drinks back, in wonder
there was no then, only now, and now held such intensity
skin tingling in the sun, lit like copper,
our breath sweet with spirits, and youth
sleep, heavy and hard, under familiar stars that
we knew shone on us, for us, warmth in the cold
of a world we couldn't yet see
were those simpler times? we thought nothing of it,
no more than sand between our toes, the rush of a receding tide
salt-rimmed glasses and tousled hair
thrilling mysteries in the familiar, silhouettes nearly recognizable
exquisite pain in their beauty
steady hum of the engine, melodies in the balmy air
vinyl backseat, tangled arms, legs entwined,
comfort in loose boundaries
cheeks flushed like sleepy children
our eyes incandescent, our teeth white in the setting sun.
passed over.
so long ago, but i remember that day
rush of wind through your hair as you turned away
from me, from it all, from the life that we'd led
you'd pissed it away, said you wished you were dead
and i, shocked and empty, could speak not a word
could not process, understand, anything that i heard
huddled together, under stars, velvet sky
arms entwined, late at night, said my soul made you cry
and i, breathless with bliss, could speak not a word
could not process, understand, anything that i heard
met you under the trees, it had been too long
you gazed at me, whispered something felt wrong
crumpled inside as i watched you go
your footprints disappearing in the snow
and i, wretched, could speak not a word
but understood every single thing that i heard
now that i know how it would all end
your callous disinterest, the note that you'd send
to me in my torment, "you're such a great friend"
wonder if i'd ever trust someone again
nightlife.
San Francisco is a moldy, dank town. No one tells you this, you just inevitably find it out when you go apartment-hunting. I'd had enough of mildew, of damp, of shitty windows that don't close. The woman who met me at the door was posh--tall, lithe, expensive hair. In a low voice she ran through the details--lots of light, storage in the attic, but do not, repeat, do not descend to the basement. I was so grateful for a warm, dry bedroom that I nodded mutely, willing to agree to anything. She seemed unsurprised at my lack of curiosity, only raising a sculpted eyebrow as I hastily wrote a check. The rent was shockingly low. The keys felt good in my hand as I left. I could not have been happier.
That is, until about 2am, when I awoke, disoriented, my air mattress sighing angrily as I jumped up from the floor. WHISTLE. CRACK. Over, and over. Maybe an old furnace? WHISTLE. CRACK. Nervous, I turned back to bed. What the hell could that be? I tried to apply a rational answer--probably old plumbing, shifting as the temperature dropped overnight. Yeah. Plumbing. I fell into fitful sleep.
Every night, at the same time. A thin whistling sound, and then a sharp crack. Sometimes haunting moans. Finally I mustered up my meager courage and
tiptoed out into the shared hallway. Louder here. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Worried, I hesitated. The landlady's words reverberated. But I couldn't take it anymore. The stairs were steep, dark. My footsteps were muffled in plush carpeting, and I watched my hand reach for the knob on the door, my heart thundering in my ears. WHISTLE. CRACK.
I pushed the door open a few inches with tingling fingers. Low music, soft lights. In the middle of the room stood the landlady, thigh-high boots and red lips, flicking a whip expertly in one hand. WHISTLE. CRACK. At a sleek bar behind her, several women lounged, cat-like, watching her with heavily made-up eyes as a young man removed his shirt. Her eyes met mine as she raised an eyebrow. "What took you so long?", she purred.
an addiction story, in verse
after.
when, on halting feet
you took those first steps, alone
and away from me, who held you so close
who carried you in my mind, my dreams,
fear and rage left no place
for thoughts of you, of light
a new struggle, now
those early days when you,
fragile as an egg
allowed yourself to be cupped
and passed from hand to hand, now gone
me, justifiably worn, purposeful then
but what now
treatment, 1.
your complaints, strangely confident
bumbling therapists, and
no one to confide in here
nothing to fill the time, the void unbearable
treatment lows and delusions of grandeur,
food you didn't like
noisy neighbors and itchy sheets
cheap cigarette cartons littered the floor
new habits now practiced, new finesse
walls covered in tedious proclamations
that served your purposes
i felt degraded by you,
and so tired
treatment, 2.
the complacency of your denial
suddenly undone, a knot untied
in your hands, turned agile
and your mind, sharpened in new ways
disquiet, a shaking, quivering sadness
that seemed to fill all rooms
its own weight, breath
a darkness filled your holes and lingered
you, alternately vacant and present, charms and talismans
held in a death grip, sweaty palms and
apologies at night, whispered over and over,
a mantra that punctured my soul
and does still
before.
the energy we all own, ours alone
can only bear so much deceit
vague allusions, offhand and yet
so carefully contrived
your lucidity a thin veil
i knew if i looked closely enough
i might see through it to you
staggering under the weight of the mountains
of psychic baggage you could no longer carry
your overwhelming sense of ineptitude,
too often borne out, and my guilt
my desire to avoid it all
until i couldn't
the big top frame a skeleton
that eats you up as you creep in
yawning, haunted, hallowed space
the days gone by have left no trace
of what transpired long ago
townsfolk don't talk, but they all know
oh yes, the circus came to town
and then death brought the curtain down
that lavish world of make-believe
grants merry-makers no reprieve
from pain and sorrow, sin and vice
best think once, or better, twice
she thought she had it all worked out
her sparkling sequins, metallic pout
through the air, an elegant swoon
luminescent as the moon
below the surface lurked a need
twisted logic inviting greed
desperate, she called him twice
knowing this, he upped the price
he who primped and preened and pranced
cracked his whip, made those girls dance
swagger walk and saddle shoes
hair trigger temper; too-short fuse
she met him at the appointed hour
simmering within, seeking power
gleaming top hat, glittering eyes
he beheld his newfound prize
but oh, she had her own dark scheme
had come to her in a vivid dream
tucked up her sleeve a small, sharp knife
she knew that she would take his life
for every small indignity
a chance to finally be free
and as she lunged
he jumped away
(as one will do when one is prey)
and as he did she fell forward
as her arm was tilted toward
her heart, beating hard within her chest
in went the blade, right through her breast
she writhed, she screamed
his eyes were wide as her blood streamed
the reddist red,
she bled and bled
he stood there frozen, numb with shock
and then that ringmaster took stock
placed the baggie at her side
and with a shudder there she died
the darkness overtook this place
revelers claimed they'd see her face
the show would end and there she'd loom
vivid in the gathered gloom
and that was why they dimmed the lights
no one wanted further frights
the clowns dispersed, the music stopped
the glitter swept and balloons popped
oh yes, the circus came to town
and then death brought the curtain down
farraige.
somewhere, deeply, i recall
the years, centuries past, when
on northern shores howled wind
unrelenting, through chiseled stone
earthen, moss, no warmth
no safety in small numbers,
turned inward along rough cliffs
spirits of wood, of rock, of sea
whose faces, forms, mingled with dappled light
through trees, shadows, sea foam rushing
what fear, looking to the sky
envisioning it alive, stalking panthers
rustling through stars in velvet heavens
as distant gods gaze down
and take no notice