The Sound of Memory

I pick up my phone and press talk,

an all too familiar action.

My voice is pleasant to receive a friend

from the other line, but it’s you.

“Hi,” you reply.

That voice, I’ve heard it before.

I’ve heard it soothe, swoon and boom.

Unfamiliarity in its recent age

tells from a difference in its tone,

but I can still draw each expression line

as I hear you form the words with your lips.

Countries that separate matter not,

as the distance in my memory brings you closer,

pulling your face to the foreground of my mind—

a happy one if I can find it.

The years that brought us here

have led me to erase every inch of our timeline

calling them “the lost years”.

Choosing not to speak of them,

as if the record books of my mind ripped each page

from their leather bindings and burned them all to ash.

Each last one, lost in the fire.

I find one.  It’s short and quick,

a complete contradiction of our love story’s demise.

It was an afternoon drive, with our destination being unnecessary.

An absence of aggression in your steering

led you to slow at a yellow light.  You turned to me,

as I sat cross-legged in your passenger seat

swallowing air through the open window.

Your blue eyes pierced the thin exterior of my polished shell.

You knew me all too well.  Happiness flushed over your face

and you gave a half smile; like a deep breath

slowing letting out a sigh from one corner of your lips.

I didn’t have to feel your hand to know it had clasped mine.

Finger locked together like the gaze between our eyes.

We held a serene silence for just a moment

before the harassing horns of eager cars awoke us and it was over.

The steering wheel stole back your hands and the road had your eyes.

Heaven Calls You Home

I heard them calling you
and the right hand of God came down,
lifted you to crowning heights
and carried you from town.
You soared together on wings of doves
until noon light had shone
and all the while they’re calling you,
“daughter, welcome home.”
You flew over sea, forest and field
towards the setting sun,
while heavens voice kept calling you,
“friend, welcome home.”
Higher and higher til pillowed clouds
led the path to go
and a small voice was calling you
“Mother, welcome home.”
The golden gates sparked bright
and your eyes began to grow,
as he stood there arms open
greeting “my wife, welcome home.”
So towards the sky I gaze
To look for the one I love
and as a vision she appears
cheering, “now, I am home.”

Advice I give, but never take.

The horse drawn carriage promises of love

are not the realities of the ride.

The misfits of this circus are not strangers;

they are us.  Searching for someone

to help us hide our flaws.

Someone else’s perfect life

we can step our feet into

because joining theirs is better

than facing what is left in ours.  Nothing.

The nothingness of what’s inside;

the weak insecurities of a young lost child.

We all want a hand to hold,

someone to lift us when we’re down,

but relying on ourselves should be our first task,

not finding another clown to caravan in our charade.

A Memory From Childhood

I balance cautiously between floor tiles on the tips of my toes

avoiding the pain of broken glass around me.

Razor sharp icebergs float atop the polished white kitchen floor

in unplanned polka-dot patterns.

“Don’t move” a voice yells from beside the refrigerator

but I can’t see them and I don’t try to.

My three foot five inch frame stands frozen

on my tiny left foot in a pirouette turnout,

waiting for a rescue that’s imperative to arrive.

“Maybe just one step” I think to myself.

I’ve never felt the temptation of pain

beyond ripping a Band-Aid, so this is alluring to all my senses.

The sound of its crash from the countertop, shattering the silence

to fill it with the tumbling of diamond sparkled piano scales.

The window light as it echoes against the fogging dust of glass,

covering me in Tinkerbelle glitter.  I stick out my hand

to catch its soft sugar like consistency,

but feel the intrusion of a prickling itch.

Unable to contain myself, I surrender

to my curiosity and begin to take a step.  Slowly,

I inch my right foot down until it’s parallel with the floor

and I begin to shift what little weight I have.  Quick spikes of pain

from my toes to my heel, from my heel up my leg

until I begin to feel the creeping chill of pain on the back of my neck.

I look down to see the clean white floor compromised

as dark red rivers flow outward from beneath my foot.

I take another step to bring my feet together and better my balance.

My fascination of this pain leaves my lips in a paralyzing silence

as my nervous system twitches in a panicking overload.

My rush of adrenaline begins to decease

as the corners of my eyes glisten in tears.

A feeling of deceit shakes through my core

as I stare angrily at my pretty sugar cubed glittering glass.

My bottom lip begins to quiver as small pouts emerge.

“Mom!” I cry, “Mommy!”

A fresh faced woman darts around the corner and gasps

as her vision makes its way from my reddened eyes to my blood puddled feet.

“Oh, sweetie,” she empathizes and rushes towards

with her Birkenstock armored feet. In one fell swoop

she scoops me into her arms and erases my pain.

I bury my head into her shoulder

as she strokes my long brown hair, rocking me back and forth.

Her soft humming distracts my agony as my whimpers dwindle.

I pray for the warm comfort between these skinny pair of arms to
never let me go.

She is my protector, my consoler, my adorner,

she is mine and I am hers,

always.

Another Lesson Learned

I dug you up and held you out, restraint I showed him not.

Although my head had told you “how soon you forgot.

Mustn’t I remind you how things turned out before?”

As headlights blinded vision, straight path I saw no more.

Appeared to me a tan veneer, wide green-eyed buck,

who shook me upside-down as quick as lightning struck.

Tumbled onto shorelines and into sandy sheets,

unfamiliar fawning between our garish cheeks.

Loquacious lullabies soon quietly deceased,

as hesitating allies began to retreat.

Quick-witted fingers turn to place the blame,

but from each other’s lips no resolution came.

So buried back inside I’ll place my lock and key,

for the next suitor amiable must worthy be.

Panic Attack

I can’t breathe.

I feel the suffocation of anxiety

like a boulder on my chest.

Too quick, too close;

I let you near.  For what?

Not for myself.  It was all your doing.

Quick breaths—in, in, in.

I’m not one for affections touch so soon.

Earn your way into my bed

through the honest outpour of speech.

Breathe—out, out, out.

The smothering smolder of your stare

should have warned me I’d be pinned.

Stuck beneath the heavy hand of passion.

Too quick, too close

your smile teased and eyes allure temptingly.

Panic, panic, panicking

when I realized I had let you in.

Dropped my guard a mile back.

I can’t, I won’t.

This feeling all too familiar

as a cold chilling reminder

I’ve been here before

slithers down my spine.

Took too long to patchwork mend me

after the last rips and tears.

I see a small light, I can still get out.

Push, push, push you off.

I can’t, I won’t,

don’t hate me.