Wednesday, March 24, 2010


I heard an Arab woman singing, her voice almost a moan
and I couldn't discern if it was an expression of
spontaneous joy or was her voice bleeding pain
There was transfixed wonder in knowing it was real
she couldn't conceal her inflection and I wanted to know
what she wanted me to know as her voice trailed off
and a wise man leaned in and told me it meant what I needed it to mean
if I was sad she comforted me
if I was happy she celebrated with me
When I am anxious the tears flow and I can't stop them
like rain falling down over my arms
watering flowers, no umbrella over my head
and I miss the refuge of our whispers

I wanted to accompany her song to
pull the violin's bow, to conjure you from the sky
as I do and in those rare moments wonder if you were the
construct of a girl who just got tired of wishing on a nebula
in a city where the lights make star finding laborious
when I am pulling the wish bone
and creating your thigh a place for my hand to rest
killing bunnies for their feet,
waving my lottery ticket in the air sure that when they
pull the numbers, mine will appear and my prize
will be your laugh rivaling thunder
watering my parched heart
where I am growing a four leaf clover

If music drew you near as this woman singing
I would pound the piano keys to announce your chariot
I'd be a musician instead of a poet,
to bring you here to me closer,
a little closer, further yet
until you were here under my rib cage
and I could find the magic
to pull the few words that trigger a reserve
the piece of me left, for that very moment

When you are caught in a lover's whisper
when he knows you, stripped naked
when something in your voice tells him you are wonky
or he's made you happier than 5 years of happy
he knows your intention when you are standing on the shore
seeking out the water to carry you home
calling on Freya, the Nordic goddess of Love
and ask her to whisper in your ear that the appointed hour
has arrived and somewhere I am waiting
when I am leaning side to side, petulant
especially when I miss you tender and I do

A song is like a whisper and we each have our own
with every person we hold close
When I am licking that frozen word
and my tongue is stuck I revel in the kindness
of my finished phrase rolling from his lips
His inflection, a word that will be the balm
the almost too perfect compliment of my raging fever
and I hold the words access and manipulate and when he
whispers deep I am sinking in the warm water
and my legs become a fin, my hair flying around me
yes, its deeper than anything I had anticipated
and the fish below welcome me with a wink
and maybe even a prayer

and when reality becomes our big sharp pin
pushing into our big red balloon
when the whispers will change
at the appointed hour when my name will turn
from Baby to Carrie
when I walk past that line, that never ending line
for the roller coaster
sure I can make my car do the same thing
if I drive through Ohio where that
little railroad road has turned over car after car
and the locals drive slowly through there
when the game of chance turns to chess
and I hear "check mate"
I will laugh thinking of the time when you were sure I was perfect
and I was sure that your car was a white horse
and that laugh may be a siren's song to warn other lovers
to hold on just a few minutes more
a heart beat longer
to push aside the papers that will never be done
being pushed
to hold me in that moment so I have just one more sweet memory
to push Spring into Summer


So much of Love is timing and luck I think. I felt lucky and yet today I wouldn't touch the dice. Best Friend assures me this is more my view of the world and that when my head gets wonky I get blue and to push back the blues is a skill I have honed to almost an art. We talked of luck and of course she mentions Bingo. I am not a fan of the game mind you. I get lost in the numbers of it and find it almost silly but I've done it, mostly to spend time with the Best Friend watching people smoke like fiends, watching her set up the markers. The first time we played with army men and that drew some stares. It's akin to sitting in the Star Wars bars and I often wonder if I wouldn't be running a dental referral service. I usually read the paper or play with yarn, sketch something in my head, eat popcorn and of course find ice coffee that I share with her after adding, cream some sort of chocolate thing and smile wide when I drink it assuring her, its so so good. One day I was holding some ticket that indicated I was a probable winner in some instant lottery bingo thing. I didn't really hear the number, wasn't paying attention but assured her I thought I had won and she should go claim the prize. She jumps up, tiggers herself over there well I didn't win. The mumble back to our seats was priceless followed with a gentle head slap and a lecture about why I don't pay attention when I'm there. I seldom pay attention anywhere I am, shoe stores, Bingo, a crowded bar. When I am looking for a smile in my afternoon, it's a close memory. She is my lucky charm, time tested.

Richie was home this weekend, no luck there, just patience and not wanting to squash him like a bug for not being careful of others, for always putting his agenda first, for being 23. When I think parenthood isnt about luck, I see good people raising kids who do something insane and want to nudge them and say "you didn't do this, it's the luck of the draw." By the time the weekend was over, I would have built a rocket to ship him back to school, high speed and screw the seat belts, he can handle it just fine.

There is an element to Love that is all about luck and when I am full of optimistic butterflies I want to believe it's a reward for keeping your eyes open and being full of the possibility of the miracle of chemistry and whispers on the ride home. When someone else hears a laugh and you hear music, when your quirky artistic nature gives someone pause and makes them want to know you, how your head works and take a piece of you with them for the remainder of their life that is magic. When I ask Best Friend how she does anything that makes me marvel she will tell me "it's magic." and then she will show me how to do it because her generous spirit is love. Years ago we worked together and I knew how to do something others didn't know. She told me to teach a class in the evening, to share it. We are not only as good as what we know, we are only as good as what we show others what we share of ourselves even at times at our own peril.

I was missing the whispers today. I have been. Maybe missing something enough to make you angry or melancholy will make you more careful of it when it shows up again. Maybe it will make me more tender to it's mercy. Maybe just maybe, I will grow not to need it. There is a chance that one day I will be enough of my own person that I won't need something another person does or doesn't do to finish me. And if not, I will just cope with whispers feeding me. Hope floats, I am a work in progress and today is a good healing day. Take care of you.



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