The bowl

Grandmother calls it a basinette;
It mirrors my reflection beneath
The ornate mirror on the wall
Of the chamber I now occupy,
Until I dip my fingers into the hearth warmed
Liquid to splash my filthy skin.

This morning she added wilted ivory rose petals,
Just as her skin, and I knew to feel fear.
I dipped my fingers in the fragrant deathly garden,
Comparing her aged skin to mine.
Our herb garden has no flowers and grandmother
Never buys them.

The sun is barely seeping through my draperies,
And I strain to hear strangers' voices
In the kitchen below my creaking floorboards.
The occasional clash of pots and pans and the fragrance
Of unusual foods simmering with a mixture
Of pollen and lilies.

I grasp the basinette in a heartless embrace and tiptoe down the velvet stairs, through the front hall,
And into the great room with all of grandfather's
Mahogany.
My arms outstretched to present the wilted dampness,
To grandmother holding those same ivory roses
Over my grandfather's open coffin.
Oct. 12, 1999

Listless

Self worth is based upon them, bright eyes, grinning thoughts
He held my hand and I held on without question or loosening
He read and watched me for reactions, but none came
I was scared to admit that these thoughts were mine
Released before forethought so I couldn't push them under
He intoxicates me and confuses and describes sordid thoughts
I study the whims that he murmurs and question my own
Next he will disagree and I will transform for him
Although I believe everything I will to occur next is worthy
To where did my faith in groundwork retire?
I put forth such obscene amounts without reward
I trust he will come forth to praise the effort
Even if he does not know it is mine
Sept. 28, 1999

Unfinished

Rambling wood where he rambles next to me
I knew he wouldn't say anything about everything
That mattered-what he did choose to discuss
Floored me
Nov. 11, 99

Secret Identity Confusion

He drives home to his bat cave
So I wait for his return down the hall from his room
I guess that just makes me further from home
He can’t hear the red in my voice
So my mother calls again just to make sure
Modest thought and wonderful listless
July 28, 1999

Hunger

I'm remembering the third year
My third summer
Another third summer after the beginning
But I ponder why this should repeat
Fear of sustenance
Of myself
Of others
Especially the good ones
The kind ones who care
The kind who watch me
Dissevering their glare

pondering three

acceptable because I don't affect anyone but myself
sell my face on the market of Saturday night
hiding everything else
fake identity and fake pride
counterfeit smile to feign content
jokes to set aside
the doubt and the anger
laced with smeared mascara
and an elbow in the cheek

pondering the third
July 28, 1999

First Date

Far more interesting than my homeless heart
I'll meet you tomorrow night
I hope I like you
We'll listen to jazz
and dance with your arm around my waist
and your hand on my hip
wispering the lyrics in my ear
murmuring painful memories one day because you trust me
I hope it is not overcast
the moon will spill on us through your windshield
We'll watch star-beams on the tall grass of the field
Far more interesting than a normal monday night
Your fingers and the leaf-rustling breeze in my hair
phone call to ask my thoughts at 3:00 am on Thursday
Intriguing high hopes for the first meeting
Far more interesting than my last blind date
April 12, 1999

Convincing Lie

I don't care that you asked her
It doesn't matter that you only kiss me drunkenly
I don't mind the days I don't talk to you
Your roommate's presence doesn't bother me
I am not affected by your voice when you apologize
Your opinion is not important
I don't miss your attitude
Your arms don't feel perfect around my sleeping body
I don't believe what you tell me
I refuse to wear lipstick for you
I never wait for your call
I don't have feelings for you
April 12, 1999