Burnt umber ground
and cinnabar brush
crackling icy muddy mush
too-wee the Red Winged Blackbird sings
for her return
an Ode to Spring
It might have been the weed that night
she was higher than a kite
when Janie said “get on the stage”
she jumped up and obeyed
the house was only half full
she began singing with no fear
and smiling at the man in the back of the house
though he wasn’t very clear
he sure looks like he’s smilin back from here.
“Sing out Louise!” her mom would cry
that’s the voice she heard inside
that’s the voice with so much pride
it kept her goin all that night
Gypsy’s singin again…
I long to play
my sweet guitar
though screaming tendons
or skin that’s split around my nails
I slather cream to no avail
and wonder if that part of me
is only just a memory..
The woman sitting by my side,
(where we were I do not know)
the dream is slipping fast away.
My coughing would not quit
she reached for me and held me close
her chest released a pulsing warmth
I felt her energy
transfer to me
this angel stranger
Then in the distance of my mind
I heard the castanets
stirred at once from dreamland
from the sound of whipping eggs
I smiled and went to share
my early morning dream..
In the little rural library I work in there is a back room. In this tiny room we have DVD’s and Video Tapes that the patrons can check out. It sparked a memory yesterday,a sick feeling in my gut. I was reminded of the basement of the Woolworth’s store I worked in, when I was a girl of 16 in 1966.
My boss was a swarthy looking man of 28. A married father with two young children and a beautiful wife. He would just appear when I had gone down into the basement to get stock for the makeup counter. It was kept on metal shelves in little brown labeled boxes. It was so hard to find what I needed quickly, although i tried. He would appear around a corner with that smug smile.
The same question that comes to mind, even all these years later, why didn’t I say something, scream something,do something besides let him touch me, kiss me,hold me tightly.
This memory came back in that little room yesterday and I felt as if I was in the basement again. The store’s, my family home’s any basement will do. For someone to put their hands on you.
I am so angry right now because those men affected all the love I ever had to give. For I am so good at shutting off
and burying everything that should or shouldn’t matter,and I know how to kill the pain.
My heart bleeds for all those who have been abused and I pray for all those who will be because abusers are another cancer in our society that has no cure.
If I could I would tell every girl or boy or man or woman that is being abused to speak out, scream out, NO!!
Parents be aware, it could be family, teachers, clergy,Bosses. More often than not it is people you know not strangers. Protect your children.
I saw you in my dreams last night
your arms held open wide
for hugs you gave so easily
to anyone in need
No average soul would dare replace
that hole that lies within my heart
a sweet Madonna’s face
imbedded in my brain
always the best part
“will you still need me,will you still feed me,when I’m 64″ The Beatles
tomorrow that song will have a new meaning,lucky for me after all these years I have someone who needs me and feeds me. Feeds me with comfort, care and love,which is what I need now and probably always have needed. Back when Sgt.Pepper came out, I was relating to “she’s leaving home” because I was 18 and preparing to. Mom and Dad didn’t know about it though, a self centered and depressed child only left a letter, quoting Kahlil Gibran’s poem on Children.I am sorry for that, as a parent now I realize how devastating that must have been for them. A crazy time for many of my generation.That eventful summer of ’68 became the first time I nearly died. The next time was 10 years later when I was a passenger in a VW that hit another car head- on going at least 60 mph. I don’t remember all those details since I was sleeping and my best friend was driving,(good thing) I lived to tell the story and have scars to prove it.
I probably should have died many more times, if it was “my time” since I am a firm believer in fate . Living and working where alcohol and drugs were very tempting and always available. Looking back now I realize those chances i took were so foolish. Was it the death wish i had had since childhood taunting me,or was I tempting fate.
Dear Fate chose that I lived,skirting past my own tragedy. Surviving,embracing and enjoying life. Tomorrow I will be 64, unless I die in my sleep and fate has the last laugh. Either way I will be grateful to have lived and in retrospect can appreciate what at 18 I feared.