Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Fashion a Story


Help –
My name is ____
I’m
Tinkerbell?
No, I am gerbera daisy, a pink rose?
Surrounded by women in pantyhose,
green polka dots sprinkled on light pink…
Crap, it would seem I am
taunted by the gently-creaking swing set,
unwilling to live with the insistent witch-opera…

Apologies, I digress.
I met the Error of My Ways,
who laughed at me,
so I chose Anywhere,
leaving Nowhere behind,
carrying my body with me,
to the median on Broadway
across from the Flatiron building,
sipping a grande, iced, skinny vanilla latte.

There, I saw Robin who smiled at me, crookedly,
flitting away to perch in a Burch,
as a woman walked by me, muttering.

The woman was gone as I exhaled my breath,
forgetting that my eyes would disappear
before my toes followed suit
then my knees
my belly button
my –

fr
   ag
       ments.

I’m collecting parts
to fashion a story
that feels familiar.

Say, “Goodnight.”

Monday, January 28, 2013

Shattered


Taunted 
by the gently-creaking 
swing set,
you are reminded
that once you were a child.

            Your tears
         are unlike any
          I have heard:
   The soft, racking sound
     of breaking dreams
            shatters 
        the darkness
            that

f
  a
    l
   l
 s

to

pieces

at our feet.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Choosing Anywhere


She opened her eyes wide, took a good look around, and found that she was living in the middle of who she was and who she wanted to become. It was very confusing, realizing that she was suddenly dispossessed of hard-earned self-knowledge. Becoming is a process, a lasting process, and while she had a vision in mind, neither did she want to stifle possibilities as she avidly pursued her path to Somewhere. She found herself wondering how to change the pattern, how to change her mind, how to renew her soul. She found herself reconsidering her friends, an imperfect man, her apartment, her job, her city, her choices. 

Eyes-wide-shut, with a leap of faith, she discovered she was capable of living. She figured it was possible to renegotiate Love. She found that it might be acceptable to relinquish Love in favor of the real thing, vole or ovel or evol(ve) - whatever that might be, however that might happen. She allowed herself to be jealous, to be annoyed, to be irate...to be calm, to find happiness, to feel free. Not necessarily in that order. She allowed herself to B. Existing is half the battle. Being herself, she discovered, is the other half. Being still, being free, being faithful. Being alive, alive and well. 

Unwilling to live in-between, she discovered what it means to Create. Creation does not have to be a battle. She threw herself, head-first, into the light, rejecting the path to Nowhere, deviating from her path to Somewhere, and choosing Anywhere.  


Friday, January 18, 2013

Playing Pretend


Tinkerbell
flits in and out,
lighting up a room with magic,
helping the lost boys pretend
to be more than they are:

Swashbucklers,
students,
the stars of food fights,
children of Wendy -
a child herself.

Tink creates a world
in which magic is key
and, without it,
the boys would feel
utterly
bereft.

It’s not Tink’s fault
that Peter can’t see her,
blinded by Wendy
who brings
her own kind of magic.

Sometimes she knows
that most people don’t
believe in fairies,
but usually Tinkerbell is, 
once again, surprised;
who wouldn’t
notice the small one
who lights up a room?

But Peter doesn’t see her,
and you know what they say:
Seeing is Believing. 

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Who Wraps Easter Presents?


Crap.
It would seem I am

 stuck.

I did not think
I would find myself
here again,
past
between
future
(which is quite silly, really) 
I try to outwit the present, daily,
but whoever wrapped this damn thing
did an excellent job
it’s one of those gifts,
like those trick candles that
manage to revive no matter
how hard you blow
(how does that happen?)
 layers and layers of
striped purple paper
green polka dots sprinkled on light pink,
flying fairies for dreaming princesses,
dancing Santas wishing me an unseasonable Merry Christmas
Easter Bunnies hopping ecstatically
(who wraps Easter presents? That’s what the plastic eggs are for)
and -sigh- finally,
a box!

It contains another box, smaller this time,
brown, cardboard, a tease.
You have to be kidding.

I thought I had gotten to the heart of the matter.

Apologies, I digress.