She back paddles and avoids
His longing glance
Her intentions backlit like
An antique silhouette
And a back draft of self-consciousness
Stifles her wit
He has psoriasis and sunburn
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Before the doorbell
Pork chops and pasta without sauce
Litter the dining room table
Once fine china, finely cracked
Like dry winter skin,
Holds canned peas, butter.
His bouncing knee rattles
Disarrayed silverware –
He never knows if knives are
Left or right – and he
Gulps down another glass
Of pale red wine.
Maybe he was mistaken,
Today is not the day or
She never really said yes.
Litter the dining room table
Once fine china, finely cracked
Like dry winter skin,
Holds canned peas, butter.
His bouncing knee rattles
Disarrayed silverware –
He never knows if knives are
Left or right – and he
Gulps down another glass
Of pale red wine.
Maybe he was mistaken,
Today is not the day or
She never really said yes.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Shelly
We were still waiting for the bus two hours later, and Shelly kept pinching my wrist.
"Do you really need something this time?"
She innocently nodded up at me and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
"You know what patience is, right?" Another nod, as innocent as the first, but this time she wouldn't look me in the eye.
"Shelly, your mom's not gonna be happy if I have to tell her that you were bad today." Her thumb popped out of her mouth and she pulled her spine a little straighter: at attention. I felt bad threatening her, but for Christsake, she kept derailing my train of thought. Really my worry was not that Shelly's mom might growl at me after hearing about her behavior. Shelly was a great kid. No, I was worried that I might never see Shelly again.
She often reminded me of a marionette; I'd pull her strings or her mother or Carl would play with them. I hated dictating her actions, but I hated her mother's control even more. I truly believed that without me, Shelly would have to deal with the torture, too. I knew it because sometimes at night I would wake up to the quiet whistling through her night-brace when she had crept down the hall for the safety of my bed. I don't think her mom ever entered her room at night; I always told Shelly to lock her door but I think Shelly feared that she might lock the good out of her life along with the bad.
I never had a lock on my door. Shelly's mom found out I put a chain-lock on my bedroom door once and the poor doorframe splintered from her angry crowbar. I was the next to deal with that crowbar's wrath and I immediately ran to Shelly's room to unscrew the chain I had placed there earlier that day before the crowbar found it, too. That was a long time ago; I don't think Shelly could even reach that chain, but for a few hours it made me feel a little calmer.
I think I was about Shelly's age when I quit calling her mom.
"Do you really need something this time?"
She innocently nodded up at me and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
"You know what patience is, right?" Another nod, as innocent as the first, but this time she wouldn't look me in the eye.
"Shelly, your mom's not gonna be happy if I have to tell her that you were bad today." Her thumb popped out of her mouth and she pulled her spine a little straighter: at attention. I felt bad threatening her, but for Christsake, she kept derailing my train of thought. Really my worry was not that Shelly's mom might growl at me after hearing about her behavior. Shelly was a great kid. No, I was worried that I might never see Shelly again.
She often reminded me of a marionette; I'd pull her strings or her mother or Carl would play with them. I hated dictating her actions, but I hated her mother's control even more. I truly believed that without me, Shelly would have to deal with the torture, too. I knew it because sometimes at night I would wake up to the quiet whistling through her night-brace when she had crept down the hall for the safety of my bed. I don't think her mom ever entered her room at night; I always told Shelly to lock her door but I think Shelly feared that she might lock the good out of her life along with the bad.
I never had a lock on my door. Shelly's mom found out I put a chain-lock on my bedroom door once and the poor doorframe splintered from her angry crowbar. I was the next to deal with that crowbar's wrath and I immediately ran to Shelly's room to unscrew the chain I had placed there earlier that day before the crowbar found it, too. That was a long time ago; I don't think Shelly could even reach that chain, but for a few hours it made me feel a little calmer.
I think I was about Shelly's age when I quit calling her mom.
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