Fall's Arrival

Today Summer was waning and Fall made it's appearance
there is always one day, one day when you know a season has passed
and another is here
In the Spring it's always the day when you can go out without a coat
and just by chance a crocus will bloom
and you know you won't face another morning of frost
another night of whistling winter winds
not for awhile,
not for a few months,
not tomorrow


Today someone who loves me read me a poem I wrote years ago
that I couldn't remember writing and even though it made him sad
he shared it with me and for a few moments
we lived as Uncle Walt trying to find meaning in the trees
looking for the one leaf that will convince me fall is here
and summer was gone
I wanted to hold off frost for just a few more weeks
hoping that more of the morning glories would bloom because
I think they have become my new favorite flower
they teach me patience
and I will need that patience when the earth is covered in snow
when Superman will look briefly for the green mermaid
when the summer bugs stop singing me to sleep

Oh Emily let the winged creatures you loved teach me about hope
let them land on my sill and share with me the secrets they keep
and I will push fall and winter aside and plan the Spring garden
I will be fearless
I will paint more
I will wrap myself in that cloak of hope and truly believe
I will believe in summers that last forever
for gardens blooming under winter snows
I will believe in sweet men who read poetry to women who cherish them
and of course that the morning glories will bloom just another few weeks.

Fireflies In A Jar

He tells me that in the next life we will find the other sooner in life
we will live by the sea in a house full of books and paintings
and of course a cat with six toes
and when we grow weary of love as lovers often do
I will remind him how long it took to know us
the last time around and I'll dye my hair red
and learn to cook souffle
and we can eat it in a hammock
under an azure sky full of clouds
that look like circus animals

I won't get jealous when women admire your sweet smile
and you'll agree I should travel to meet the poets
and miss me until I return
and we'll meet at the Cafe Du Mond drinking coffee
because the first time I saw you, you were drinking coffee
and I fell like an autumn leaf sailing
happily to it's demise
only to be reborn under an autumn sky
wrapped in the love of the harvest moon
shining in the blue of your eye

I will keep a jar at our bedside table
where I an capture that noise you make right before
the sigh that whispers to me you'll let go
and give up your rib all over again
and when we are old the together kind of old
and on a park bench near the Seine and you ask me
why I have loved you through two lifetimes
because it will take me that long to convince you
we have loved before and will again
I will pull the jar from my bag
the jar that looks as though it holds a thousand fireflies
and open it to play
the sweetest battle cry of desire, a symphony of nights
in foreign hotels, in our room by the sea, in the hammock in our garden
and even the hotel in Paris


and I will tell you that you fill my head with music
that even after two lifetimes my heart beats faster when you are close
that you push away the wallow of sadness I tend to swim in
and you'll ask me what you ask me over and over
so I'll never wonder
and I'll ask you back
was there Spring before I loved you?
Do you really think of me when you put on your socks?
Is it forever thine, forever mine
not a day less
because I'd miss you so
just you and I on the river and a jar of fireflies
planning for the next time

The Monarch's Wing

The arrival of the Monarch holds us
in the reverence of God's design
and as we are an audience to his beauty
we are reminded that nature is the inspiration
for all art and God's Apollonian winged ornament
tempts man's torment his want to pluck apart
anything more beautiful than himself
He is brave he is Mercury taking flight
unafraid
feeding from and nurturing flowers
like the buzzing bee
and as I am an instrument of God I stand here
gentle reader as his shield and in telling you of his beauty,
his sword
beauty can after all cause such want, such need and eventually
such pain

Then there is the tiger pacing in his diminutive cage
man's opportunity to humble such a fierce creature
and they will poke him, this pacing calculated feral animal
who would if left free tear the spectators limb from limb
and with a glance can strike fear even in those who carry guns
some creatures after all believe they can conquer anything
they are born with that inherent belief that they are Zeus
they are of the mighty Gods just walking around us as though
we are furniture
and for their restraint we put them in a cage
trying to capture what we aren't trying to reign in fire
trying to push back the ocean bucket by bucket of disdain
and of course fear

And as we are reminded we are all human
why is it that we take the best of us and try to dismantle them?
pluck their wings
make them into Godlike creatures, make their presence almost unattainable
with doubt and speculation
take for example man, a man among the Gods
a man that teaches, that guides us that would be a prophet of sorts
in an age where prophets no longer exist
and in a moment mans design to be whom he is
he steals a kiss, a simple kiss
we would destroy him, we would take away all he is
make him humble, remove from him what is who he is
just to remind us that he is of us, human
and rather than celebrate the piece of him that was God
we would dress him in shame and pull his wings
cage his soul
poke at him with sharp sticks and tell ourselves we are better for it
such is life
such is love
such is man

********************************************************
I can't think of a better thing to do on the anniversary of 9/11 than listen to Ani DeFranco, she is after all a singing patriot. I love this one:



she says forget what you have to do
pretend there is nothing
outside this room
and like an idea she came to me
but she came too late
or maybe too soon
I said please try not to love me
close your eyes, I'm turning on the light
you know I have no vacancy
and it's awfully cold outside tonight

the rain stains the brick a darker red
slowly I'm rolling out of her bed
the rain stains the streets a darker black
I dress my face in stone
because I can't go back

I feel her eyes watching me
from behind the curtain of her hair
and she says I'm sorry
I didn't mean to stare
I say I think I really have to go now
but oh baby, maybe someday
maybe somehow.

*****************************************************************

Ten years ago I was looking for Best Friend because the Sears Tower seemed such a prime target and I just wanted her close. We waited for Richie to get out of school watching in terror (isn't that what they wanted?) as the city I found myself, the city I love so much go up in flame. New Yorkers would help anyone, that have that kind spirit, that beautiful soul that is unique to New York. So, the three of us held out for a few days, playing dominoes, watching TV when we could, making plans. I think the truly shocking part is that this sort of thing didn't happen here. We were given a window of what it was like to live in Israel and at any moment we get on a bus, we lose everything, everyone we love. Why doesn't it happen here? because you see we live in a place of brave men, men who don't let insane zealots and social misfits light women on fire, refuse to educate their daughters and burn things just to watch it burn. We have brave men here who fight, who write, who do what they do unafraid, bold and for the safety and peace of mind of us all. So rather than dwell on the horrible of the world, I think I will spend the day thinking about the joy of those brave men and how lucky we all are they love us.

A fine addition to any ipod:

Langston Hughes

The Death of the Bookstore

One of my favorite things to do is to peruse the bookstore with my Best Friend. We linger there for hours. I always order some coffee thing and she, iced tea and she will always ask me to share and then remind me why she hates coffee. "Tastes like dirt." will always be her reaction. They are all closing those giant mega mall of books. The days of sipping latte and reading a book you wont indulge in at home because $30 for a book you will just read parts of seems obscene are coming to an end, the end of an era. It's not just books, cds are obsolete with the invention of an ipod, with YouTube, with electronics changing our lives, making us just a little less social. I went to look for a Langston Hughes book of prose this morning and I found it on Amazon for $1, explains why borders would struggle to sell the same book for $15.

And while I do love my kindle, I also love the romance of a book. All my books have little notes on the pages, on the inside cover, little pieces of poems, something I was thinking at the time. And I save them, those worn books, the books I've read too many times to count. When I am feeling melancholy about life I want my old friend Pat Conroy to be on my bookshelf so I can read of men who wish for two lives. I have more Bukowski books than anyone should be allowed to own and depending on my moon I want to read his take on women, or shack jobs, or reading Tolstoy while working in the Los Angeles public library as a janitor. I want him at the end of my finger tips and to feel the pages beneath my fingers and my eyes, it's just comforting. Having those old books close is comforting like having church on Sunday morning and coming home to the scrambled eggs and black currant tea. It's comforting like old photo albums and calling my Best Friend to see what she is reading which I will do in a few moments.

As for the Langston Hughes poem I was looking for?

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

******************************

That poem is so beautiful it is a work of art, it's a song, it's pure art. Hughes was related to the first black man to ever hold a public office. You can find his prose of I wonder as I wander at Amazon for $1. I purchased a copy today and will be here soon. I like the idea of wandering with him a little during an autumn afternoon while leaves are flying, so I am preparing for that.

Here's a little taste of the joy of his work:

In The Rain

Being caught in the rain as a child is a rarity
you aren't allowed to play in the rain
and when I was wandering home and caught a rain storm
I would walk very slowly in watery dreamland

This summer afternoon was covered in rain
a honey dripping August afternoon
and as I was out walking when I turned the corner
there he was
it wasn't Yeats' glimmering girl
it was my shinning boy
his eyes gleaming in the rain
his hair plastered to the sides of his head
his shoes full of water
and that sweet smile that puts women at ease

"Is it five?" he asked
I whispered "Not yet."
and with that he pulled me under a tree
fashioned into an umbrella
and there we whispered the things lovers do
we were the bathing sparrows
drip dropping into fall

Lovers have an umbilical each to each
to nourish their souls and that cord is twisted
and snapped by life's every day this and that;
the moving of the world, the pursuit of our passions
other than the flesh
and on the days that are good
the soft peach days of summer passing into fall
you are certain that you are always taking more than you give
when the conversation is finished like a storm
and everything feels clean
and smells like linens hanging to dry

Those lovers, these lovers pause for just a moment
in the rain
and begin again to want for "hello baby"
and under the tree with the drip drip dripping
of nature singing to us he sat with me and we begged
time to move slower
like when we were children and the summer afternoons seems to last forever
when we held time in our pocket
next to the compass that led us to that place no one knew of
where we shared childhood thoughts of nothing ordinary

I'd like to find that secret tomb and find that unafraid girl
the girl who never looked before crossing
who never crawled
and share her with you
When I tell you of my life there
I will tell you that no one ever told me they loved me in the rain
their shoes full of water
no one ever told me they loved me in the rain
before today
a day like this can change your life
God teaches us that love changes everything
He has changed my heart
he of reasoning and science and romance
I had to ask
"Why are you out in the rain?"

"I was looking for you." he said
and then went on to explain we are born in the water
like the fish
when I am full of emotion, caught in the moment
my eyes are always covered in tears
the rain of my soul
and when he is on top of me moving
that intimate friction will turn to rain
until his skin is fused with mine
and we are one
one soul in two parts, two orbits, two lovers
twisting and holding and pushing one against the other
and both into God and out again

Nobody ever told me they loved me in the rain
you can't buy it or wrap it
you can only sing it or make it into a poem
and hope that long after you are gone someone finds it
and sings it for you
the song of two lovers who find the other in a twirling universe of stars
and who find the other again and again because without the other
life goes on but together there is an undeniable magic
that changes the world
the same love magic that teaches the sun to shine
that fill plants with foods for the harvest
that teach the ants to march
and birds to fly
it's the restrained strength when he holds me down
and and I could stay there forever and listen to his breathing
and the rain
listening to the water wash the dust from the world
and my heart

This is truly lovely:



It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down

Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

It's hard to know when to give up the fight
Some things you want will just never be right
It's never rained like it has tonight before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live

Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm still alive underneath this shroud
Rain
Oh Rain
Oh Rain

The Crescent Moon

Tonight the crescent moon hung in the summer sky
the dangling moon the hopeless moon of late July
You and I yes you and I
You were with me and it was just you and I

Bedouin women sit under that moon
marking days by it's glowing dance
until one day blends into another
then she disappears in the sand
being part of the landscape forever

And she is with us because we share the light
shooting down at us one hundred and eight six thousand miles a second
putting a glow on your face
that makes your blue eye seem an ocean
and your shoulders a trellis for me to cling to in the night air

When you are away we share the moon
I dance in it's light
and look for you
conjure you in a prayer keep you close to me
hear your laugh like thunder in the approaching storm

The summer bugs are out to sing and little fireflies on the wing
If this be just a summer crush
crush me hard and crush me slow
stay with me until the hanging moon
the glowing crescent almost ring
is full again welcoming the harvest
a thousand years from now
when other lovers will sit right here
in this very spot
and he will be her trellis heart

and we will be other people in another place
and the only thing that will be the same
is a warm summer evening the position of the moon
the promise of your blue eye
the forever love of a heart sick girl
and this passionate embrace

Long Summer Days

When we were children and the summer days were long
my father would take us fishing
and near the water I'd spread out a blanket
and listen to Elton John on the radio
and watch for lady bugs in the grass
and he would tell us to enjoy these days
because all too soon they would pass

It was by no means a perfect life
but watching my brother cast like my father
knowing my mother would pack the perfect lunch
knowing she put work aside on a Sunday afternoon
made our life seem almost perfect
and she would tell us to drink the sun
as we'd have to leave soon

There was a Sunday when it rained and rained
and we had a picnic in the back of the car
the blanket spread out under us
and it was an adventure, the grandest of adventures
the fierce warrior taught us to play a card game
that required four people to play
and he told us when we were older we'd remember this day


and if I am still I can hear my mother humming
a neil diamond song and when she looked at him
he was the only man that ever existed
she will always be young and beautiful
and even when she was sad she a tragic beauty
she held the world at a safe distance
and before she could show the world who she was she was gone
and life marches on and on

On summer days like today when the sun is out longer than it's dark
when the fireflies come out at night to play
the dreaded fireflies who would mark our bed time
when the summer bugs get loud I think of them
and hope that maybe heaven will be the place where all those memories
are played out over and over so we can relive all the little details
that made those days magic
and like the miracle that puts the sun and the moon in the sky
at the same time
when night is day and day is night
they will be there too
and my brother and I can tell them of all the times
we laughed in quiet moments
what one of us couldn't remember
the other held on to like a sword and a shield
and indeed she was right
one day it would be the two of us
and it would be just fine

Patience

Morning Glories don't bloom when the plant is two inches tall
they take their time climbing up something strong
something that commands the wind and brings it closer to the sun
and in each tendril there is a hidden leaf
another inch of life another twist and turn
and it can't be forced it just has to come along
but then one day when you least expect it
when there are no buds you are anticipating
no trumpet sound
just one day when you glance over
there will be a bloom so beautiful
it will make you stop and just enjoy it
and that bloom won't last forever
love doesn't last forever either
so there is no crime in lingering there
enjoying it for one more second
holding on
and even wishing for the watch boiling pot of nature
to move faster
no hopeful soul was ever convicted for wanting
who would condemn me for wishing your kiss never ends
who would point a finger at a girl, this girl even
for wanting summer to never end
for you to never stop loving me
for just one morning glory to bloom?

I love the way you Speak to Me

Falling Garden In Venice

The Falling Garden in Venice in 2003 inspired some art project in my head and I knew I wanted a few large tree branches but wasn't sure I wanted to brave the heat to go find a few, the next day we have a horrible storm and it blows down half a tree in the yard. Be careful what you ask for, you never know who is listening.


The Way You Speak To Me

I wandered into a church like any other Sunday
there's a storm brewing
the air has been thick and hot for days
and finally the coolness washes the earth
and over the voices singing
you could hear the thunder carrying the rain
and under the whispered prayer,
the rejoicing song
above mother nature's fury
I could hear a voice ask me
"Why are you here?"
my heart answered back not waiting for me
to formulate a thought
"Because I Love the way you whisper to me"

When I am playing the violin
and I pull the bow over the strings
I can't even believe the music comes from my hands
it feels as though the violin would move without me
and I am just a spectator of the song
that the earth is singing in most any object
and to touch it, to make it your own
will create music and that music could change the world
or just the heart of a wonky girl
in those moments when I a hear the music
whispering to me
it will ask of me "Why do you need this music?"
and lost in the notes
lost in the timing, hearing that metronome
trapping me in the rhythm
my only answer is "I love the way you sing to me"

I find myself in old bookstores,
all the pages stacked one on another
someone else having read the passages
and now those words are their own,
part of their being how they think of the world
and when reading Bukowski's edge
or Wolff's passion, Shakespeare's terror
I found a book of Conroy had written
I'd read a few times
and turned to my favorite passage
one of secrets and how they bear on a man's soul
and I could hear Conroy speak to me
asking me "Why do you read this over and over?"
and if he had been on the other side of the stack
if I could meet his eyes with mine
I would tell him he has taught me much of how men think
and how duty can dampen their souls
and before I left I'd tell him
"I love the way you read to me"

When I am standing in the drive way with no end
and I can see my Best Friend pulling away
when I am already missing her
when I am wishing it was a Monday, a Monday of nothing to do
but drive Lake Shore Drive
in the summer sun and watch her hair get wind blown
to such wild imagination that she will need a large
pin to hold it down
our skin a little sun burn
celebrating the years we didn't sleep
life was too exciting and we couldn't miss a minute
and even when we are apart we are as close as the next heart beat
because that's how life works when you love and love and love
when I have my arms around her and I say
"Call me from the train"
and walk away quickly as to avoid too much emotion
she always stop for a few moments and just waves
and when you are friends for so long
you never have to ask and I never have to say
"Because I love the way you play with me"

And when the day is done
when there are just a few minutes before you drift
and if you drift before me
well then I will be in charge
when I can smell your skin and
yes indeed you smell like summer rain
and your hand slides over my throat
When I am sure I couldn't love you any more than I already do
it would just be silly and impossible
you say something
"Yesterday was long without you"
for a moment I am exactly where I want to be
suspended in time
I can be weak for a few moments
I drop pretense over the side of the bed
and listen to it crash like a glass
your eyes ask me why I love you
and while I hold your head in my hands
reminding you I am just as strong as you
but different
I can feel the days of warm heavy air in my lungs
and the cold front moving over me
this storm between us that never seems to end
I whisper "Because you see, I love the way you speak to me"




The last entry is my favorite passage in any book.




A good interview with Conroy you can watch the entire interview on Borders.com. He's a stunning southern gentleman and I could watch him speak for hours.

A Summer Poem

A Summer Shower
By Henry Timrod


Welcome, rain or tempest
From yon airy powers,
We have languished for them
Many sultry hours,
And earth is sick and wan, and pines with all her flowers.

What have they been doing
In the burning June?
Riding with the genii?
Visiting the moon?
Or sleeping on the ice amid an arctic noon?

Bring they with them jewels
From the sunset lands?
What are these they scatter
With such lavish hands?
There are no brighter gems in Raolconda’s sands.

Pattering on the gravel,
Dropping from the eaves,
Glancing in the grass, and
Tinkling on the leaves,
They flash the liquid pearls as flung from fairy sieves.

Meanwhile, unreluctant,
Earth like Danae lies;
Listen! is it fancy
That beneath us sighs,
As that warm lap receives the largesse of the skies?

Jove, it is, descendeth
In those crystal rills;
And this world-wide tremor
Is a pulse that thrills
To a god’s life infused through veins of velvet hills.

Wait, thou jealous sunshine,
Break not on their bliss;
Earth will blush in roses
Many a day for this,
And bend a brighter brow beneath thy burning kiss.

Source: The Collected Poems of Henry Timrod (1965)

Love Letters

HBO ran the John Adams series over the weekend and of course the romantic in me was truly taken by the letters Adams wrote to his wife and the letters she returned to him. This one was a favorite.

My Dearest Friend,

...should I draw you the picture of my heart it would be what I hope you would still love though it contained nothing new. The early possession you obtained there, and the absolute power you have obtained over it, leaves not the smallest space unoccupied.

I look back to the early days of our acquaintance and friendship as to the days of love and innocence, and, with an indescribable pleasure, I have seen near a score of years roll over our heads with an affection heightened and improved by time, nor have the dreary years of absence in the smallest degree effaced from my mind the image of the dear untitled man to whom I gave my heart.

Abigail Adams to John Adams, her husband.
Abigail Adams



Their letters not only reflected this emotional and intellectual interdependence; they also became symbols of it. Abigail found writing to John “the composure of my mind.” John, even more strikingly, asked, “Is there no Way for two friendly Souls, to converse together, altho the Bodies are 400 Miles off?— Yes by Letter.— But I want a better Communication. I want to hear you think, or see your Thoughts. The Conclusion of your Letter makes my Heart throb, more than a Cannonade would. You bid me burn your Letters. But I must forget you first.”

http://www.amazon.com/My-Dearest-Friend-Letters-Abigail/dp/0674026063


A great book for summer reading romance and for people love history.


Miss Adorable

By the same Token that the Bearer hereof satt up with you last night I hereby order you to give him, as many Kisses, and as many Hours of your Company after 9 O'Clock as he shall please to Demand and charge them to my Account: This Order, or Requisition call it which you will is in Consideration of a similar order Upon Aurelia for the like favour, and I presume I have good Right to draw upon you for the Kisses as I have given two or three Millions at least, when one has been received, and of Consequence the Account between us is immensely in favour of yours,
John Adams
Octr. 4th. 1762

That's Entertainment

I am tearing through novels this summer and just finished Little Bee which was a good read but didn't end quite as dramatic as I had hoped. Best Friend told me Water For Elephants would be a fast read and as usual she was right. I finished the book in two sittings over the weekend and as it was a quick read it was a good story also. I like the old circus images it created and because of those images still in my head I am working on a few circus projects. I am forwarding both books on to friends to share as I have so many books to finish I am tired of storing them and promised myself not to buy another book until I finish another twenty of the books I already have and have forwarded to someone else. I started Beyond Desire this morning, the book based on the life of Felix and Cecile Mendelssohn an old old book I found abandoned in some bookstore for $1 and the $64 Tomato, a book about the cost of making the perfect garden. I spend half of my life doing that and now in two gardens it's a little overwhelming at times. Last year I planted thirty tomato plants and this year only four. I can't take the pressure of what to do with all the tomatoes.

I also went to the movies this weekend to see Larry Crowne. After just spending some time with my 18 year-old niece I was astonished at the energy of 18 year-olds and their power of fun. This movie was as little slow but I think all summer movies are supposed to be a little slow and it was a testament to the power of a life gone awry and how to fix it. I laughed and ate too much popcorn. I can't remember the last time I went to the mall, a fascinating place that people actually pick to spend leisure time there simply amazes me.

It's a lie that sets you free


I have been spinning a conversation through my head. It started a few days ago on a park bench near my house next to an abandoned lot where kittens play. I love to watch the kittens darting out between the tall blades of grass. No, I am not taking another one home. Sitting there on the bench next to me was a guy just reading the paper. He could have been any guy. I would have thought he was much older than me just by the way he carried himself but I'd find out later he was 43 the age I was a few days ago. I forgot for a moment never to mistake shy for aloof. Hell people think I am aloof.

So he started the conversation asking if I was going to take a kitten home. Do I spit out my secret shame about having four? Hell no. I was considering before he spoke though that I could equate three cats to one dog and still have room for one more cat in the house and how I'd be doing the community a favor by rescuing an animal nobody wanted and then a flash in my head of me sitting on the sofa with four cats sitting all around me, on my lap, above my head on the sofa all wanting to be loved and how it freaked me out a little when they are all in the same room. No. No more cats.

We sat there talking for awhile. He was degreed could speak on things that were out of the ordinary and I just had this feeling that somewhere at his house there were star wars characters in boxes still in the "original packaging." I lived with one of these guys for three years. We even made love like Babylon5 characters. Yes, I was in love.

So this stranger tries to provoke me into a conversation about politics, even an argument. The GOP is pissed off because they lost and I try to temper that with how pissed off I was when the war started and I kept thinking even now, when we can microwave things and send up satellites we haven't figured a way around war and killing. I didn't go to peace rallies I just seethed in fear.I wanted to put my arms around him and say "don't be afraid. we lived through FDR and Reagan, oh gods, Reagan." I didn't say a word I just kept my mouth closed. I don't watch CNN enough to speak carefully, all my musings would be from the gut and a little piece of me smiling knowing I canceled out his vote. Besides, I love Republicans. My best friend is a Republican, I've had Republican lovers. David loved Reagan so much that we'd have little dinner conversations about the ten best presidents and when he spit that name out it almost made me smile in the end. If they love me for being a bleeding heart liberal or despite it, that's fine with me. I voted for hope, sometimes hope wins and even succeeds.

Religion is really like politics. Nobody wants to hear your personal views on this. Nobody wants to know that God is a living being if you let him be. Nobody wants to know who you voted for, not really. Nobody wants to know that when you have cramps, chocolate works. Nobody.

His attempts to draw me into an argument weren't working, I was too full of joy. Best Friend will be here soon. I felt free of some weight I've been carrying, I had a book in my head and a secret I've been carrying too. So, the war, taxes and this angry soul were the last of my worries. Tomorrow when I came here I'd wear a tie dye dress and a big peace symbol I'd wear like a talisman, maybe even a guitar even though I don't play.

We just chat and he says the most curious thing to me. He said if he found a good republican girl at the bookstore he'd give her a "shot." I was almost shocked at the idea of how insulting that word is. A shot. Shot. I suppose it's the same as saying I'd open my heart to that, I'd look at that, we'd have dinner, make all cozy, and I'd kiss her because it would be Friday and people should kiss on fridays. No, a shot. (at this point I am missing every charming man I've ever known, even the ones with hooves.) Why do people think that unattainable love is all that great? Seriously, Romeo and Juliet was special but they both died. Being apart from it, or aloof is foolish and let me tell you why. Nobody wants to work that hard to get to know someone who hasn't figured out that the word shot is horridly offensive. And if you make someone work that hard and you aren't everything they imagined in their heart that you better be the disappointment will swallow you like Jonah. That is simply why I'd can't really promote even my art. One time I listed a book I made on ebay. The bids kept going insane, $100 then $200 and I though Oh Gods I better stop this now or they will be horribly disappointed. We are our own worst enemy.

After sitting next to this guy for an hour I can promise you that anyone getting the shot here would be him. After she climbed the wall with her Uzi, after she pulled the brambles of fear from her legs, blood filling her shoes she'd be too exhausted to do the gymnastics it would take to get his pants off. Wait, he admits to being a virgin at 43. This topic seems to come up often anymore and I wonder why but don't ask, I don't want to crush his head like a bug.

"Well he tells me, it's the safest sex, masturbation." (Am I really discussing the war and masturbation on a park bench?) As Suzy would say, Ayup. He tells me VD rates are skyrocketing and there must be a 43 year old woman out there who hasn't had sex and when he finds her he's moving out of his parents house and running away with her. I made a mental note to buy a lottery ticket on the walk home and one of those candy bars with marshmallow on the inside. I blanked out at some point and was listening to James Blunt singing in my head:

I'm not looking for us
And neither should you.
Absolutely gorgeous,
Then nothing I say is true.
You won't find yourself
In these guilty eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

Love, love, love
I can't take your
Love, love, love

And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

I will wrap my body
In other women's arms.
Make love in a hurry,
Feel better than I am.
Hope you find yourself
In someone else's eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

*******************************
I wanted to nudge him in his glasses from 1982 and tell him that he wouldn't want a woman who is a virgin at 43. It would take him 3 years to get her to say yes. I've been a little easy myself lately because I didn't want someone to have to ask me three times let alone three years. (Yes, it was worth the yes) I didn't the nerve to tell him that women who are virgins don't take off their clothes for you, you have to nudge them off and their panties won't match their bra, not ever ever ever, I promise. I wanted to tell him that for a girl who has kept it until the age of 43, who has fielded those petulant demands to her bedroom, her golden mound that you will have to swim farther, jump higher, and sing a song of true grace. He'd have to get rid of those glasses, shave his head, look mysterious and when she kisses you it better be the kiss of a lifetime. You better have lightning shooting out your ass when those hips are moving like a jackhammer. It better be better than horseback riding and eat chocolate at the same time. I have been off sugar and when I ate a piece of my birthday cake it was SPECTACULAR. As it should be.

I have an Aunt Linda. Lovely woman. She waited her whole life to find love. At the age of 48 she meets a man, a curly haired fellow and marries him. Three months later he died of a massive heart attack. I was heart broken for her. As we approached his green, almost milk green casket that amazed me a little my father leaned in as we were praying and said, "let this be a lesson to you kids, he died of stored up pussy power." Two very different perspectives to the situation.


So if this guy's lie was about VD and taxes and that his parents "need him" there why would I care? I kept thinking that Richie once thought I needed him here and now he's sure he's intrusive. I am not sitting around pining for the next time I can make baby richie pancakes sure this motherhood thing is the be all end all. I've done this for 22 years, 22 years of darning things, coaching him along, showing up for football games and protecting him from the other side of parental heartbreak, explaining carefully that "daddy didn't mean to not show up, but you can come along with Auntie and I and we'll have fun, I promise." He knew being here put me out. Perfect. It should be that way. We are supposed to move away from our parents, have our heart broken, wish "he'd" call, love without fear, stand on the edge, let someone else run the day, trust a lie, hold your hand out ever so nervously and hope the other person has a stronger foothold, sing too loud, mail a valentine.

I went to dinner with Richie and his girlfriend Chrissy the other night and in the middle of dinner I reminded them that when they first met they used to wrestle all the time and how I'd watch knowing one day this will go bad. Well they were wrestling on the lawn one night and chrissy hit him in the sack with her keys. He comes hobbling in full of drama and she kinda giggles saying she didn't think it would hurt that much. He calls her a fucking dumbass and she runs out of the house speeding out of the driveway crying huge tears. He stands out on the front lawn until she drives around again and two hours later their hair was all messed up and their clothes a little "off." Lesson learned. Don't wrestle with a bully and if you do expect to lose. Keys and sacks don't work well together. Loads of lessons learned here. When they figure out absence makes the heart grow fonder I will celebrate with cake.

I wondered what I would teach this guy, this guy on the park bench who is sure I am insane. And then it hit me. I am done teaching anyone a lesson. I was here to learn. Open your eyes Carrie, I said to myself, pay attention here someone is talking to you and this is big stuff. I was reminded about why recently even embroiled in romantic drama I put it out there a little. Why I left the window open, why I take risks. I had some wonder in my head and even now as I am typing this I am thinking about him a little, letting him dance around the edges of my mind even looking for the key to my heart. He's off super heroing I thought and he'd be a little delighted by this, maybe even laughing, flying over head thinking "Jesus she is nuts." I hope he's having such fun.

God was here sitting on my shoulder, you see he was missing me and worrying about me. He was sitting near, watching wondering why he has to scream to me to get me to listen. Smooth Sailing. I wanted the God of all that is loving and patient and teaching to stand up so I could see him and put my arms around him and put my face in his gown and stand on his sandals and say thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me strength when I don't have any. Thanks for making the moon bright so I can sleep without the light off, thanks for making Richie joyful this visit, thanks for teaching me to live with my scar, scars. I could hear God's voice in the day and this guy on this park bench could be me, untouchable, so far removed from love and life and very very safe. I bet he doesn't have a scar on his whole freaking body. I bet he has never ridden his bike down the hill where I broke 3 ribs. I bet he has never cried in an airport, I bet he has never let someone push them so high on the swings that you were sure, absolutely sure you couldn't hang on and come crashing to the ground trying to figure out the three numbers you'd have to dial to get an ambulance there.

When I leave God will talk to him in kitten whispers in the tall grass. His parents are alive and he can go sit with them today I would have to call my father down from the skies. His parents are worried about him, you know they are like I worry about Richie when he's raging or lost, when he's supposed to get the car serviced and he won't, when he studies at the very last minute. My parents aren't worried about me at all. If I am sure of anything right now, its that they have no worries in my concern. The world loves me and I love them back without reservation. I will put my arms around suzy soon and I will whisper to her that I love her. I will leave the window open, trust my gut, brush myself off and get on with it over and over and over again. I like the whirling around too much to give it up.

I told Suzy recently, I am going to find some adventure. I am such a bad influence I thought. She'd follow along because we do that for each other. Even now in secret moments I plan my escape from here so we can move to be near her, watch her fix the government while I create. I even threw suzy a net, reminded her that hunting for adventure is fun. I kept worrying she'd get hurt, that I was always her bad influence and here I was risking again and I shouldn't encourage her to. Then, this morning she texts me (I really want Denny's Pancakes) I will worry when she texts me that she's feeling a little pang of heart ache, I am always the fun influence in her life and to be reminded fills me with joy. For a moment I was back years ago in bed with the guy so forgettable and she was trudging up the stairs to my room with a box of donuts telling him "it's time to go, we are going antique shopping. Have a donut on your way out the coffee is downstairs." If he only knew that antiques creep her out because they are full of ghosts. "why is she like that?" the boys always ask. My answer: "she has a sickness in her head, thank god eh?" We'd sit in a bookstore later, sharing little bits of this and that like we were gold mining. She'd finish a whole book in an hour and I'd walk out with a Bukowski book, one of a 100. She'd say "It's almost over this thing with the guy with a pony tail." "Why?" I'd ask. "Well he has a pony tail and he drinks too much coffee." Gods she was right and yes it was over. A guy who owns a car that never runs and $5,000 in sex toys is not the guy who is going to kill spiders and open bottles. She was being kind. I appreciate that of her nobody is kinder to me. Nobody.

I was headed back home and I could see God standing in the middle of the street by the house I wonder about, the green house with the broken windows and the giant splashes of orange lilies overgrown everywhere. I remember the day they took the old man out of that house on a stretcher on his way to a nursing home. Funny, I was sure the house had been abandoned weeks ago and he lived in there dark and alone and it made me angry with myself that I didn't check. God was just watching me walk home and I turned to nod to let him know it was all ok. I would be fine, no risk, no reward. I'd pray a little later in the night or early in the morning and yes I'd remember to do something nice for someone today because I am a child of God and I do love the tender mercies when they float this way. We can all be God, we all are. I can feed or kill someone tomorrow and in their life I am God for that moment. He smiled large and went over to sit on the park bench next to the guy with the paper. Let's hope he has his listening ears turned up. Maybe he'll be there next week with different glasses, his shirt messed a little and looking in the paper for his own apartment. Maybe.

I will wrap my body
In other women's arms.
Make love in a hurry,
Feel better than I am.
Hope you find yourself
In someone else's eyes

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe
And you're just one of many who
Broke their heart on me
And so I say I don't love you,
Though it kills me
It's a lie that sets you free.

Love, love, love
I can't take your
Love, love, love

And so I say I don't love you

'Cause I love anybody who's
Fool enough to believe (Love,
Love, love)
And you're just one of many
Who broke their heart on me
(Love, love, love)
And so I say I don't love
You, (Love, love, love)
Though it kills me
'Cause it's a lie
- James Blunt

**************************************
If you haven't given someone your number hoping they'll call out of the blue, I suggest it. If you don't have a cat, shame on you. If I go get one of those kittens later I am naming it fluffy after the almost dead cat. If you think God isn't around all the time, know he's as close as your next thought. If you are worried about having a broken heart, then you'll never have one full of love. If you haven't heard James Blunt sing when you do your heart will be all a flutter. Text someone today and tell them you love them, that you miss them. They're waiting to hear it. Paint something in a few spare moments, put it out there in the world. "Cause I love anybody who is fool enough to believe and you're just one of many who broke their heart on me and so I don't love though it kills me. It's a lie that sets you free."

Carrie

You can always find me at summerpoet@msn.com and my work at poetsummer.etsy.com.

Ipod Adventures

Rhiannon

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
and wouldn't you love to love her?
she rules her life like a bird in flight
and who will be her lover?
All your life you've never seen a woman
taken by the sky
where would you stay if she promised to you heaven
would you even try?

And he says Rhiannon don't go
and he says Rhiannon, stay
and he says I still cry out for you
don't leave me don't leave me


she is like a cat in the dark
and baby she is your darkness
she rules her life like a fine skylark
and when the sky is starless

once in a million years
a lady like her rises oh no RHiannon
you cry and she's gone
and your life knows no answer
your life knows no answer
***************************************

So I often ask people, what's on your Ipod, just random wonderings. I love my little white machine and when people worry about what someone would find in their house if they were hit by a bus, I think I'd be judged best by what is on my Ipod. I made a little deal with myself, when I sell an extender chain in the shop I am putting $10 of music on my machine. You can load books on these things, audio books and it's like someone reading to you at night. Oh Gods I love when someone reads to me at night. Only a few more days and Suzy will be here and she'll read to me.

So the texts start this morning:

me: You ever listen to Chris Cornell?
bf: Who the hell is that?
me: Great voice youd like him
bf: where did you hear him? Vh1?
me: Stuart recommended him
bf: for the music or lyrics
me: both
bf: Are you singing along?
me: yup
bf: there ya go
me: I am grumpy tell me the first three songs you'd put on an ipod
bf: wha? (Ok I am thinking she's trying to do the deaf thing in text messages)
me: ignore
bf: One more time? three what?
me: Three songs you would put on an ipod
bf: Well let's see how about the drops of jupiter from train, Crash by Dave Matthews, tribute to Tommy John and his thousands of hours of fun and Levon by EJ because when I couldn't find you today I was singing that to myself
bf: what first three did you load?
me: elton, all ej
bf: what's the last three
me: eagles; most are sad, the carpenters; rainy days and mondays, Rhiannon
bf: isn't that the chick who got beat up?
me: you need some sugar

and that's how it started. I could have lost the afternoon in music and almost did. I asked my brother what he listened to: Frank sinatra, Grateful dead and the stones. Of course the stones. Then Michael: Rider on the wind; the doors, American Highway, ventura, Woodstock; Joni Mitchell. Can't ask Batman, he's rescuing a damsel. The bossy republican of course picks Bob Dylan (what a fake ass democrat answer), the boxer by Paul Simon and anything by the Stones. Men love the stones. Jagger is a guy's guy. Richie would pick Usher (I like usher also), John Paul (gagging) and thriller by MJ. I love listening him to jam to MJ and hear him dancing up on the third floor.

If you found my ipod you'd find Elton of course, some James Blunt (gosh he makes me sadly soul full, Joni Mitchell, Melissa Etheridge, Stevie Nicks, Pachabell; the Cannon in D Minor, and Adelle chasing sidewalks. On quiet nights you'd find a little Willie Nelson and when I am full of power a little You Ought to Know. I listen to the same songs over and over again until they are good friends. I am intrigued with the theme from August Rush, the screaming violins, the triangle and a little moon dance hidden in there.

If you haven't tried the Ipod craze yet, I recommend it. Music soothes the pacing caged tiger in all of us.

You can find my me any time at summerpoet@msn.com and my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com. Carrie.

Tender Mercies

I have been missing my father lately. What to tell you about my father? He was larger than life, not particularly tall, strikingly handsome though and full of personality. When you wished he'd tone it down that's when he turned it up. I woke up this morning and my throat was aching and I thought about my father. When we were children my father took care of us when we were sick. When I was 11 or so we took a summer trip to Missouri to visit family. Notice I didn't use the word vacation because nothing in Missouri ever felt like vacation. We caught frogs, went to Nascar like things and my cousins shot turtles off logs. My brother was sickly when he was little but I seldom got sick. I had broken bones mind you because I was out of balance and careless then but never really sick. So on the way home from MO in the back of the pick up truck with the cap on the top, sitting on lawn chairs that tilted to the side when my father would turn (yes, this was not a vacation) I was ill. My father took me directly to the hospital and I had tonsilitis.

For my mother to take time away from work was difficult as she ran the show and when my father took time off it was usually to work another job so we would have money put away for a vacation or a new car or something of that sort because my father didn't believe in running up credit. He made me paranoid about it also as I never have a running credit balance. As kids we had a Sears card that my mother would pull out if the washer broke or we needed new school jackets.

So my father elected to stay home and take care of me. This was so rare my brother was sure we were doing something secret and I wasn't sick at all. I can't help but smile thinking my brother will call me every day now just so we can laugh together for a few minutes. Soon he's going to be a father. Well, he's not bringing a child into the world. He and the pretty younger girlfriend are adopting an English Bull Dog named Mr. Smoochums (can you imagine what they will name a child?). You have no idea the preparation that has gone into bring this puppy home. I didn't prepare like this when we carted Richie home from the hospital. My brother who never emails me emailed me photos of the puppy, like someone sends out ultrasound photos. The first day this dog chews up an expensive pair of their shoes, the first time it craps in his arms while he's carrying it down the 5,000 stairs to their place it won't all be so cute.

In the rare moments I think of my father tenderly it was during the week I had tonsilitis. He was so excited to be home just doing little things around the house without my mother being there to nag him. He reveled in cooking family dinners, huge elaborate dinners to make my mother giggle, amazed that he attended to the little details. He'd bring me mashed potatoes and ice cream and we'd watch Bozo in the afternoon on the little black and white TV on the end of my bed. We played checkers and he told me things, life things he felt important for me to know. You are wondering now what those life things are. Well Charlie always had a wisdom about him that ran in two directions. In one direction, complete insanity the other such common sense that you can't believe he found the insight. It was even hard to put the thought process together, wonder of the experience to know how he'd arrive to the life conclusions let alone to share them with others. Charlieisms:

Never take a greyhound bus anywhere. People who ride on a greyhound bus either have lice or don't mind having it.
Always wear a hat. Ok, this didn't work for me because my head is too large for hats and I have never found one hat I looked good in.
The trick to good health was keeping your feet dry.
Men who work hard are never drunk. He didn't mention women, I assume he thought they should never be drunk.
People of color didn't really know how to swim. His proof of this? Ever see a really good olympic swimmer of color?
Men in the Marine corp are better men and they have brothers all over the world.
Children should never be heard past 5pm and he's home whatever he wants to watch on the tv is what we are watching even if that means the mating practices of any african animal on marlon perkins
Planet of the apes could really happen
You can always superglue a cut if you dont have bandaids

So he'd glide in, tool belt on, a pencil tucked behind his ear held by this giant flush of dark hair. He'd kiss me on top of my head and he was off again. He'd float by after my nap, feel my forehead and just my luck at 3pm all that week on wls, the planet of the apes movies. He'd make Stan come in and watch too but sit across the room in the big french chair my grandmother sat in while she watched Sox games in the afternoon. The three of us "holding down the fort" until my mother came home. This week he'd fix the dishwasher that she used to store pots for a year. He worked in the garden, worked on the pool filter and looked through the yard for snakes so my mother could hang sheets on the line without screaming like a maniac but mostly he was my guardian and my caretaker.

At the end of the week on Sunday morning while my mother was at church with my brother he'd come in my room, sit at the little electric organ and play swing low sweet chariot and sing loud, waking me. "hey your tonsils saved us from a morning of church wanna watch wrestling with me?" We cooked breakfast, I felt better, the fog of sickness lifting and tomorrow morning he'd be back saving the world. He ate the world. Richie hardly remembers him and he's like my father, a bull in a china shop. He's not as brilliant as my father but he's more tender when you aren't sick. I remember being fresh from heart surgery home,home finally. I told Richie I needed some chicken broth hot in a cup and he said "I'll have to check the salt content on that." I kept thinking how horribly had I screwed up that Richie was in charge and we had to think of the salt content of anything.Soon he will be back at school and my house will be mine again. When I floated through the house yesterday there were two tvs on, the stereo running on the counter and I ached for quiet.

take your head around the world
see what you get
from your mind
write your soul down word for word
see who's your friend
who is kind
well it's almost like a disease
and I know soon you will be

over the lies
you'll be strong
you'll be rich in love
and you will carry on
no no no, oh no
no you won't be mine

take your straight line for a curve
make it stretch
the same old line
then try to find if it was worth
what you spent
why you're guilty for the way you're feeling now
it's almost like being free
I know soon you will be

over the lies
you'll be strong
you'll be rich in love
and you will carry on
no no no, oh no
no you won't be mine - Rob Thomas

***************************************
My father would like that I was writing about him this morning, this hazy lazy summer morning. We've had a rainy cool summer and those are the summers I like the best. Today I am making a bracelet for suzy's visit, something she will love with not too many beads. I am going to wander to the farmers market and find the perfect melon and some very ripe tomatoes to practice something wonderful to cook for her. I'll work all day because that's what I do and I think tonight I will watch the hulk. I could use a little mindless entertainment. If my father were still alive I'd make him lunch and take the kid over to see him, he always liked that best. We'd talk of life and I'd put my head on his shoulder and wait to hear him say, "this shit passes." Bukowski would say life is a "river of shit." word.

You can always find me at Summerpoet@msn.com and my work at poetsummer.etsy.com.

Carrie.

Road Trip!

I was in the yard this morning looking for the long green squash to make some bread. One of the joys of having Richie home is cooking for him and having him cook for me. He's quite the little chef these days, learning as he lives on his own at school. I love to cook and make cozy and since he was little he was always so grateful, marveling what women do as magic.

A bee buzzed past my ear and I almost lost my balance. Those that love me know I have almost no balance and fall all the time and I stopped for a moment to glare at the little rock I slipped on a few days ago and banged my hip so hard it's still sore even though the bruise is gone, a little reminder to 'be more careful.' I could hear my father calling me 'Crash'.

This bee buzzed down my ear, down my throat to my bruised heart and just sat there buzzing. He sneaks in this little bee when no one is looking and then flies somewhere else cause flying is what he does. He sits there and thanking god I can speak and understand buzz talk we share our lives. He tells me about adventure and living life as though it would be over tomorrow and life is like that isn't it? In a flash, in a moment we are worm food or we own the world. The middle part is what sucks, the rotting waiting for the promotion, for love, for happier times, for worry and wonder, for anything good. I'll see Paris soon only a few more weeks, next month will be the start of my busy season and then I'll feel less restless. Summer is the time of wonder and when wonder doesn't show up you start to question your whole world.

So back to this bee buzzing away his stinger taking things I love about me and chewing on it a little making honey, the honey that will make sticky candy later if we are very careful and if we are careless at the same time. This little bee likes adventure more than I do. Can you imagine? It's like finding a child who likes candy more than I do and nobody likes candy more than I do. This bee is singing his song and today he was singing Daniel...Daniel is traveling thursday on a plane. I can see the red taillights traveling to spaaaain. I can see Daniel waving goodbye, Lord it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my eyes. They say spain's pretty though I've never been daniel says it's the best place he's ever seen.

Meanwhile my heart is singing make the world go away, the version by Hank Cochran..Do you remember when you loved me? before the world took me astray? If you do, then forgive me and make the world, make it go away. Make the world go away get it off my shoulder, say the things you used to say and make the world go away. My father used to sing this song when my mother was angry with him, when he'd been out drinking.."i'm sorry if I hurt I'll make it up day by day just say you love me like you used to and make the world go away." I have been missing my father lately, mostly missing the magic he had when he had the world angry with him and with one look, one smile, one kiss on the cheek, the anger would melt away and all you wanted was to see him smile like that for awhile.

In all our singing we were exhausted this little bee and I and I sat on my favorite chair on the deck to look at the green oh so green from the rain the night before. The gentle rain comforted me while I drifted off last night and my last thought was writing this morning. He said write when you want, whenever you want this little bee when he was buzzing at my window last night. He wants me to step on a land mine I thought, and that was my last thought. I woke this morning pointing out the scars in the sun out the window in my sanctuary, all the scars from land mines when I was young and fearless. Now I am a day older, a year older, no longer a daughter, hardly a mother, not a wife, an where was the boyfriend today? Oh yes, golfing, meetings and obligations that had so little to do with me. "I held on to let you go and if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show." I was singing when I woke up, humming a little throwing a few words in here and there. I could hear best friend saying "I will listen for a few words that I recognize so I can figure out what the hell you are singing," shaking her head laughing. "and that he missed me sometimes when he's alone in his room, do I feel lonely too? You have no right to ask me how I feel, you have no right to speak to me so kind. We can't go on holding on to ties, so for now we'll go on living separate lives." If you haven't heard this song, throw it up on the ipod. Phil collins and the woman's voice I can't place will make your heart ache a little. "Well I held on to let you go and if you lost your love me, you never let it show. There was no way to compromise (how do you compromise the aching in a heart?) so now we live in separate lives. Ooo, it's so typical love leads to isolation. so you build that wall, yes you build that wall, and you make it stronger. You have no right to ask me how I feel. You have no right to speak to me so kind. Some day I might, I just might find myself looking in your eyes. But for now we'll go on living separate lives."

Life was waiting, toe tapping me.

I wanted to linger a little longer with the bee buzz, buzz buzzing. I needed to get the car serviced something I'm horrible with, the details that kill me. I dislike driving so much. There are days when I feel free in the car, feel free to be fast and dangerous but for the most part it's about being careful, watching, moving without fear all things I hate not dislike, hate. You see there in my garden the bee was on his way. He was coming to fetch me and he has maps and charts and we were leaving. The bee good at the details and I am good at fun. I was busy making cozy, packing a pic nic you could eat in the car. I'd made banana bread, asparagus wrapped in rare roast beef, little melon balls in the shapes of stars and flowers. I made tiny sandwiches with the most wondrous delicacies each wrapped in wax paper two at a time, one for me and one to share. Nothing ordinary as this is not an ordinary bee, not easy to impress and I ached for some smiling bee time. I packed them carefully in a cooler with honey drinks for me and my buzzing bee friend. I have packed endless pic nics like this for the Best Friend and I on hundreds of road trips and I stopped giggling for a moment as she always makes me giggle thinking of the road trip home, home to see her dad for the last time at Christmas. He was waiting there up for us late late into the night while we trudged through more snow than I can remember, eating an entire box of the little mini fannie mae chocolates. You could tell the pieces she'd eaten as there would be one bite missing and then throw back in the box.I remember being afraid to look at the weight marking on the side of the box.

After our pic nic was packed, a pic nic for lovers and bees and wandering women who mused of poetry and cool tea blended with the black tea from the African jungle I started on the fun part. I packed traveling clothes, things with pockets, sun dresses that wouldn't wrinkle some that would look sexy when they did. I'd pack a hat, a big floppy brimmed hat for sitting next to the place he'd climb. I packed a swim suit for a pool, not a lake, a pool with lights for swimming at night. And finally I'd pack the little dress I kept hidden from any eyes the one I imagined I'd wear to a wonderful dinner eating canjun rice with saffron, sitting in the corner, whispering wanting to tell the waiter to throw everything in one of those horrid styro boxes and finish it in bed.

I'd pack a backgammon board, knowing he'd win and not caring one bit. I'd pack old movies adventure movies like Out of Africa so late into the night we could pretend to be Dennys Finchutton and Isek Dennison on the farm alone at night surrounded by her books, drinking very red wine smelling of the african sun.

I'd pack two box kites for box kite fighting in an open field on the side of the road, traffic slowing to watch us. I'd pack my own mo jo necklace I'd made weeks before hoping to trade with some native New Orleanan who we be fascinated with my handiwork. I'd pack beads because I always have beads with me. I'd not forget the music, some books; one of short stories and another of poetry, an empty paged book to write notes; one of those books that looks a little mysterious and wraps with a leather cord. I'd pack watercolors and little things pieces of this and that to paint on and a book of the impressionists so we could match their paintings with the gardens of the south as we both love to plant. Of course we both love to plant. Later we'd talk of a water garden filled with monet's lilies and koi fish afterward finding one of those long lingering New Orleans light poles where he'd kiss me like I was 17 again and this was the first and last kiss I'd ever think about the pink lipstick on his neck, later.

When I heard the buzz and looked up there he was and when he saw these things piled in the drive way with no end he'd just shake his head and say "I thought you were packing light." That was for the trip to pluto, this was for a trip to New Orleans where the weeping willows would be ever so green and my heart ever so red. The blue was fading, yes we were back to red again. The cooler and quilt in the back seat with a few pillows for cloud pondering, everything else in the trunk and tucked under my arm a book of poetry I think Yeats, yeats had a heart full of summer, faeries and mystics along with some spatterings of wisdom and love.

When you are driving you have to look straight ahead and this would be the perfect opportunity for me to wear my dark dark movie star sunglasses and just peek out of the corners getting in some long lingering looks at his jaw line and his shoulders and his hands the hand he'd hold on my knee waiting for an answer, a secret. I wondered how he got the blood stains off. And with that we were off. We'd take a little detour through Indiana to Mt. Baldy. It was one of my surprises of the trip like the little thin square of dark chocolate I'd press to his tongue one night when we were kissing in a hotel room that must have seen a million lovers, a million kisses, moans that could fill a dark room.

I hadn't been to Mt. Baldy since Richie was little. Suzy, David (the oh too young lover who looked at me as though I had fallen from the sky), Richie and myself went for a winter day adventure. We drove to Indiana about an hour away and found this place. You had to drive down a canyon of sorts down a twisting road. At the end was a hill very high. I would sway a thousand feet tall, Suzy would remember it as about 300 feet. It was all sand a giant pile of sand that she talked me into climbing, cajoling me, one step up, would slide two back and was petrified the entire time begging her to end this trip and head home. At the top, an hour later an hour of me complaining and whining there was lake Michigan. It was something out of a sci fi movie, the lake water lapping on the shore carrying huge chunks of ice that would bang each other like a giant never ending car accident.

I wouldn't stand up, no way no how.I was sure a wind off the lake would take me, whooshing away and throw me down the mountain and perhaps not kill me but make me brain dead, a vegetable, like a carrot. I watched the three run over the ice chunks along the beach and point and laugh at me terrified starting to inch my way back down the sand dune.

Today I had other plans. Today I'd walk to the water, today I'd not complain, today I felt fearless and today Mr. Bee was driving all would be good with the world. We'd find a shaky bridge, we drive through the rain, we'd kiss without fear, throwing our cell phones into the lake. Today the world was full of possibilities and fear well i forgot to pack fear.

Enjoy the day! gas up the car! Don't pack light. Bring everything, write a poem, tell someone you love them because you do and leave room in your heart for more love because today may be as good as it gets. If the bee shows up, open your mouth wide. Let him guide you to thoughts of nothing ordinary. Listen to his buzz and know that when he's gone you will miss him terribly.

You can find me at Summerpoet@msn.com and my work as always at www.poetsummer.etsy.com

Carrie.

Flying






I read somewhere that when you think there is no love in the world you should go to the airport. Love is all around us every day, we step over it, we misplace it, we even take it for granted but at the airport it's difficult to do that. Airports are places we say good bye and then places where we are reunited with people we've missed (and isn't seeing someone you've missed oh so sweet?). I can remember sobbing unconsolable in an airport long before Richie was born in LA knowing I'd never see the blond skiing lover again only to run into him years later in San Francisco wishing I hadn't. And I found myself at the airport, a kind of an airport, people coming and going, looking, moving on and finding adventure. For the past few weeks I have been struggling, kicking back the blues trying to figure out what is missing, I was negotiating a deal in my head sure that if I struck the right balance I could satisfy something broken in me and not risk the space of comfort I had established. I was a hunter, Artemis, again.

I will tell you that I can't remember the first thing he said to me to get my attention. I can tell you that the ease with which he shared himself was alarming. As a woman I tend to be more comfortable around men that are nervous or fidgeting or wary of me. I think the really brave women seek out those that are comfortable with themselves because they aren't going to be injured with a jab when we feel defensive, even the subtle jabs. He carried a log book so I surmised he was a traveling salesman or a pilot. He was a pilot and I was certain someone who had been in the service or was. They never lose the haircut. My father was a marine until the day he died. I remember as a child finding his uniform and putting it on, thinking I'd wear it for halloween only to be scolded and reminded that I hadn't earned the right to wear that uniform and that if I touched it again I would be very sorry I had.

Surrounded by people, by noise, by the comings and goings of life; he told me about flying. "aren't you ever afraid?" I asked. Driving a car was difficult for me, so flying seemed impossible. Best Friend is very nervous about flying, I love it. I didn't really give a thought until now how it had worked, only knew there would be adventure at the other side, a land unexplored, someone or something waiting for me, toe tapping. "The white clouds are exciting, it's the dark clouds that will break your plane." They wouldn't wreck your plane I thought later, just break you. You can fix a break, you can't fix a wreck and he was certain there was no situation he couldn't fix, you can break a leg you can't wreck a leg. Dark clouds are like dark men, they too will break you.

Behind every set of eyes there is a story. These days my story was sitting too close to the surface and if you poked hard enough a delluge of tears would show up, not out of sadness I haven't had a day of sadness in a very long time. The tears would be frustration, anxiousness and uncertainty. These weren't issues someone could help you through, merely distract you from. When he told me of the colors of the sun, the strips of light and the colors, I wanted to see them, give him another set of eyes so they could transmit the images back and let them sit in my head, to hold the beauty without the risk, impossible. And behind his tender eyes, that story just sitting there a puzzle piece wedged in around others that may fit, but if you closely maybe not. Sitting alone here? he wondered. What's the story? I'd quote the asking part but I can't remember he just knew like someone knows if it's raining. You can't tell someone you are dying just a little. "it's a secret."

We talked of our mothers, missing them. For a moment I imagined my mother arranging this, having tea with his mother, cutting her hair, the two of them baking bread. My mother would pick this one for the same reasons she picked my father years ago. I knew my father had no involvement, he would have picked a guy with a wonky eye to make me comfortable and laughed and laughed. When we were children, camping with my parents my brother and I had gone swimming only to arrive back and the campsite where my father had befriended a group of carnival freaks. He was cooking for them on an open campfire, a lady with a beard, a short man with some problem I did't understand at my young age, a woman large enough to sit on back of my father's truck bed, small people in costumes who flew through the air every night. It was surreal to watch him interract with them like he'd know them a hundred years listening to johnny cash music on an old 8 track player that looked like a stick of dynamite. You had to "set off the bomb" to change tracks. He'd feed them as he thought feeding people was taking care of them. My father was drawn to the unusual he liked the challenge of loving the unlovables.

"So when you are up there and there's trouble (Isn't there always trouble?)," I asked him, "do you have fast anxious thoughts or are you slow and careful when you are in a dark cloud?" I knew the answer before it fell out and of course I was wrong. I can't remember the last time I was surprised by an answer. He told me it was both, but there was a photo quality like snapshots, thinking through things exciting and yet careful at the same time. Sitting there with him was exciting and yet careful and the little snapshots of his life were sitting on my lap like polaroids, the images of his mother laughing wondering if her hair was dark like his or blonde and whispy. When he was talking I thought that if we left here we could travel up to the big lake where you can feel very small. We could make a big red kite, write all those little troubles that were biting at me, his oh so beautiful girlfriend, my oh so powerful boyfriend and what to do with them, to ponder the next step. I'd jot my fears of summer making you old, he'd write a secret thought he hadn't shared with anyone else and we'd let the line run out flying so fast through our fingers it would cause a cut, the blood tasting sweet like melted licorce.

He held out his hand
"If you put your secret here I'll take it flying with me and when I am twisting between the ribbons of white I will throw it there and you'll be free of it."

"It's fire and will burn your hand."

"No, it won't. You've made that part up in your head. Nothing you do can hurt me."

"How would you know that? I've caused hurt."

"You don't know me but you should listen to me, especially about this."

I thought on it over what seemed days. When you are figuring your life days can pass in an instant or each day can be a year and I could hear emily in my head she had the voice of an old librarian, slow and methodical (If you were coming in the fall I'd brush the summer by with half a smile an half a spurn as housewives do a fly. If you were coming in a year i'd wind the months in balls, putting them in their separate drawer until their time befalls) A few days I found myself sitting there again, in the same outfit, sipping the same diet coke, listening to my ipod humming a little thinking: some day I will be born.

This time his face seemed closer. Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer but when they are striking the windshield they really are closer. We spoke of first kisses that tasted like lemon and the mysterious boy who would show up at my house late into the night not afraid of my father warrior, taking me walking until the wet from the grass made my feet ache in my white Keds a little. Oh to be that girl again, to feel lips brush my young lover's for the first time. I'd like to build a time machine and be in Kentucky watching him kiss this girl seeing him smile a few moments later when he'd walk away from her knowing it was the best day yet and being near the street lamp down the block on Mayfield kissing my first true romance and not wanting it to ever end thanking the night, seeing him in school the next day wanting it to be dark. I picked the home coming dress with more thought than that some women pick their wedding dress. A pleaser to the point of exhaustion.

"ready?"

Oh gods his hand was there again, this time balancing on my knee, palm up and I looked at each finger a few times.

"terrified." His eyes said, of course it's supposed to be like that, even a little bit of a smile that if we hadn't talked of mothers and kisses and the tender mercies of love I would have taken as a sarcasm.

"it's ok."

"I want to believe you."

I closed my eyes and could picture letting him drive in the snow, knowing we didn't even need to drive in the snow. We could stay in, I could make an excuse. I make excuses all the time not to be here or there and the people who love me understand or pretend to understand. The snow would melt in a few days and nobody would miss us. We could play scrabble and he could tell me about flying. I'd show him my scar and he'd tell me about longing. Or he'd show me his scar and I'd tell him about longing. There was no telling, no play book and if there was a log book he wasn't giving a hint. Play your hands close to your chest darling otherwise I will have figured all this out and the last thing sitting in that oh so confident hand will be my secret.

I went home and drew a map. From midway you drive south down Cicero to 79th street, west, a right to Mayfield, past the place I grew up until the end of the block a quick right and the street lamp, now older overlooking a new school but most of the same houses. I left the map at the airport, where I had been sitting. I waited until dark and went the house, sat on the curb, it belonged to another family now, another set of dreams. Out of the sky there was a whoosh that sounded almost like a storm. In the middle of the street landed a plane, certainly a surprise and quite out of place. I lived here almost half my life and nothing like this had ever happened. The most exciting thing that happened was the stoner girl down the block who fell out of the second story window or when I hit Jimmy Mandernack in the head with a lunchbox full of rocks because he bullied my little brother.

The door opened and he just fell out like he'd done this a thousand times and then some.

"Carrie, cmere" he held out his hand again and this time I wasn't going to hesitate. "You can't leave that here," I was pointing to the plane.

"Why don't you let me worry about that." this time his smile was large amused with my astonishment.

We walked quietly, I didn't lead. When we approached the corner he pulled me to him and he kissed me hard. I just had to close my eyes and let go. The ground opened up and I fell through for a few moments and I could feel the air flying through my hair and he caught me, whispered to open my eyes and see all the cloud cover. He carried me back down the block and put me in the grass and the plane was gone.

When I turn on the bat signal he won't show up right away. But when I am in the studio working, when the little gray cat is in my lap sipping an ice coffe; I'll hear the whoosh. I can glance up and there in the driveway with no end and there will be the plane. This will cause me to squeal like a little girl. Soon we'll be in my room at the top of the stairs. It will be quiet and in one pinch he will pop off my bra and every time he smiles he looks 17 again. We'll dance and make merry and he'll tell me something I didn't know, just leaving little footprints in the garden so I will be sure later that he was really here.

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When someone holds out their hand you can look away.
When someone stands in helpless abandon you can look away.
When someone is hungry you can feed them or you can always look away.
Or you can be a hero.
The path you take is the way you will be rememberd.

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You can always reach me at Summerpoet@msn.com and find my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com.

Carrie.