Samsara

I knelt with my spade
atop the hard gray pavingstone,
mixing a spadeful of ashes
with muddy earth and Mexican sunflowers.

I carried dust in my pocket
as I crossed the Smithfield Street bridge
and opened the plastic bottle, watching
as thin streams of gray
joined the Monongahela.

I stirred the charcoal powder
into the gravel of the chiminaya,
covering you with cedar logs
before warming us both with fire.

I stood on the Mt. Washington overlook
as the wind swept you
from my outstretched hands,
then I kissed the last of you
from my blackened fingertips.

     This is the second exercise I did at writer’s group this weekend.  So what do you think?  Interested in more?  Think it’s worth my fleshing it out into a full story?  Let me know.  If you haven’t yet, check out yesterday’s blog to see the first exercise.

Abigail

I found myself wanting to tear the picture into little pieces. Not because I didn’t love him anymore, but because he was gone and I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t go back in time and undo what had been done.

Our faces looked ridiculous. I ran my fingers over the Polaroid, over our forced, too big grins and the silly party hats. It had been the morning of his birthday. I told him on his birthday. Why did I do that? Well I guess the obvious reason was that I wanted to hurt him, hurt him in the way I imagined he had hurt me.

He spent the whole summer in Ireland working on his Master’s degree in poetry. I wanted to come with him, begged him actually, but he thought I would be distracting. Without his knowledge, I had saved every extra penny I had for months to get me through eight weeks in Ireland plus airfare. I couldn’t fathom that he would want to have this huge experience without me, his new fiancé.

As a booby prize, he asked me to move in with him three weeks before he left. He would need someone to keep an eye on the apartment and since we were getting married, we might as well start living together. I was excited about waking up to him every morning, but still bitterly disappointed about his choice regarding Ireland.

Those three weeks flew by as I packed my belongings and adjusted his living space to accommodate my arrival. He was ecstatic about this Nadia person, this poet who had lived all over the world and wrote about her adventures and lovers abroad. She would be working one on one with him, helping him hone his pieces into polished gems. His whole face would light up every time he talked about it, and I was jealous, so very jealous that he had this gift, this trip, and that I would sit here and wait for him.

Too soon I was alone and he was there. I couldn’t shake my envy even as I worked on our new home. One night coming home from another pathetic night of drinking sugary lattes alone, I met my new neighbor, Abigail. She looked like she had stepped out of a Botticelli painting. Her luminous blond hair fell down her back in shiny curls and her eyes were the blue of cornflowers. My breath caught a little in my throat. Her lips were like Louisiana plums, thick and luscious. Her upturned nose with their tiny dusting of freckles reminded me of a child. I had never had quite a reaction like this before, at least, not with a woman.

“Hi, are you Tim’s girl?” I blinked, staring at her, not quite sure at first that she was talking to me.

“Yeah. He’s in Ireland.” She giggled.

“Yes, I know. It’s nice that he looks out for you, you know? He asked me to help keep you company.”

I, along with my best friend and partner in crime Kara, started a writer’s group.  This Sunday, we had our second meeting and did some writing exercises just to get the creative juices flowing.  I’m posting the first one today and the second one tomorrow.  I thought they turned out well and I’m trying to decide if either/both should be fleshed out into full-fledged stories.  What do YOU think?  Here is the first one.  The working title is Kayaking.

     My eyes flew open as I vomited creek water and algae. My lungs were on fire as I sucked in as much oxygen as I could. I slurped and gasped in the air, my chest rising and falling violently, the spasmodic movements gradually subsiding as I continued to breath. For a few seconds, everything went black once more.

     Coming to, I slowly raised my head and my gaze rested on five heads clustered around me in a circle. The gravity of the situation suddenly became clear, and I wretched once more. Angry salty tears rained down, and I wiped them from my face along with the last streaks of stomach acid. A voice I didn’t recognize began to speak to me.

     “Are you okay, Bonnie? Do you remember anything?”

     My mind began to spin in reverse. The kayak had overturned and I struggled in the rushing water. I did the one thing they said never to do in the safety class and I stood in the shallow water looking to get my bearings before swimming to safety. I felt the shift of rock crush my foot. I couldn’t get it loose. Wave after wave crashed into me, the current swirling around my ankles like a snake, tripping me, sending me backwards.  As I tried to stand, the water smashed into my face again and again. There was no air, not enough air, and my head grew dizzy and light.

     My thoughts had screamed, I don’t want to die here, please dear god, not while kayaking, I hate kayaking, I just wanted to impress a boy, please I don’t deserve to die for that.  But the water kept coming, kept sloshing into my nose and mouth, and as I kept praying, I kept dying.

“Am I alive?” I looked back and forth to the faces I didn’t recognize.

“Not quite. But you’re not quite dead either.  You have some choices to make.”

The weather has been beautiful here in Pittsburgh this week (tonight’s thunder storm being the exception.)  I have been trying to exercise more, and went to the local highschool to walk on the track.

While I walk I usually listen to my I-Pod.  However, after three songs, it ran out of juice. With the music turned off, I found myself lulled into a meditative state as I exercised my body.  I became very mindful of what was going on around me.  I enjoyed the percussive clatter of people laughing and chatting amiably as they worked together.  A father encouraged his teenage son to go one more lap before they went home.  Birdsong floated in the sky above me with a sweet clarity I normally take for granted.

I think what I found most enjoyable was the groundhogs munching voraciously on clover and small flowers.  There chubby bodies jiggled as they feasted of Mother Earth’s bounty.  If a walker or jogger got too close, they would bounce off in quick hops.  Eventually though, the lure of more green goodies enticed them back near the track.  I don’t think I’d ever taken the time to watch them before.

It’s so easy for me to get absorbed in a task to the point where I forget to notice the rest of life as it happens around me.  So I dedicate this post to the well-fed groundhogs of Montour High School. 

Lies I Used to Believe in when I was younger but Don’t Anymore

1.  I can’t be beautiful if I’m overweight.
2.  If someone is mad or mean to me, it must be my fault.
3.  If I can’t do something perfectly, then I can’t do it at all.
4.  I am not a complete woman if I’m not in a relationship.
5.  If my mother doesn’t approve of me, than I’m not allowed to approve of myself.
6.  If I like myself, someone will be offended or feel bad.
7.  I can’t be friends with my sister.
8.  If love doesn’t hurt you, then it must not be real.
9.  Only Christians are right.
10.  I can’t possibly afford to go back to college.  Besides, if I did I wouldn’t have them time.

Wow…this was a powerful thing for me, writing this list.  Some of the items made me wince a little as I read them and remembered how much some of these lies hurt me.  Now, a little bit of truth…

1.  I am so beautiful sometimes that it makes me smile.
2.  Sometimes people are angry, sometimes I am angry, and as long as no one is abusive, it’s okay to be angry once in a while.
3.  Doing something perfectly isn’t as important as trying something new.
4.  A relationship should complete your life, not BE your life.
5.  I like most things about me, but most importantly, I like knowing I have the power to change the things about me that are not useful to my growth.
6.  I love myself.  Period.
7.  My sister is the person that knows me and loves me best. 
8.  Your true love may hurt you sometimes because they are human.  Someone who hurts you most of the time is not your true love.
9.  God speaks to different people in different ways.  The people who listen to God are right.
10.  I went back to college, and by the way, I rocked.

Top Ten Things That have Happened Since Last I Blogged:

1.  Got a BFA in Professional Writing from Carlow University.  Graduated cum laude.  Yeah me!

2.  Defected to National City Bank from Citizens Bank.  The pay is better and the environment is so much more friendly.

3.  Got cat #5 (and hopefully the last one for a while!) from a friend.  Her name is Nora and she’s adorable, just like all the other babies.

4.  Went to a Frida Kahlo exhibit in Philadelphia and finally got to see the work of my favorite artist up close and not just in a book.

5.  Joined a gymn.  Will soon be looking fabulous.

6.  Started a writer’s group with my best friend Kara.  First meeting to be this weekend.

7.  Finally tried Scotch.  It’s tasty.

8.  Wrote some poems and other things of course.

9.  Gave a sermon at a Unitarian church…yes I’m serious!

10.  Did my first recital in probably ten years.

So what’s new with you?  It’s good to be back.

I’m bringing Xanga back – drop a comment if you’re with me!

White Rice

This meant for us that the truck had come
and there would be cheese, meat,
and bread, filling stomachs lonely
too long with the ache of hunger.

The earthy smell of grain filled
the house with the warm scent of comfort
and the rattle of the old pot’s lid sang
with the chimes of neighboring church bells.

Salty margarine melted and spread
over the rice like a child’s blanket,
resting next to fried spam
and canned creamed corn.

Our bellies were satisfied
and Mother smiled again
as everyone yawned and stretched
with the contentment of the very full.

A poem on how I spent my afternoon today .  Seasons Greetings and Happy Holidays.

Afternoon Solstice

“Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on.”
–Jonie Mitchell

Lamps flickered on and waned
as the men from Duquesne Light
worked with a failing transformer.
Cobwebs sizzled as dusty candles
leaned like Italian towers
in ill-fitting candelabras
from an anniversary long past.

Slices of pink and tender ham
were passed beneath flickering shadows.
Butter clung to brussell sprouts
like an embrace as butter beans
shucked off their coats of translucent skin.

The presents were then opened in
the checkerboard kitchen near
benevolent windows reflecting in light.
As the last gift was opened
electricity sang like a familiar carol
bidding the darkness to fly away.

Well, I did it, I am done with school and I now have a Bachelor of Arts in Professional Writing!  I finished last week, and I’ll graduate cum laude with a 3.698 GPA.  Not bad for being 35 and working full time while I did it, eh?

Ok, enough crowing.  Since I’m done, I can go back to writing for pleasure instead of writing for grades.  Here is my first poem in a few months.

Thanksgiving Dinner

The flowers spilled over the edge of their vase
bathing the table in perfumed decadence
until the smells of turkey and dressing
overshadowed the understated floral notes.

Buttered vegetables and basted meat
were passed, scooped, and piled
on anxious Styrofoam quivering
beneath the weight of uncomfortable burden.

The years had not been kind to all who gathered
to dine and forget together salty words
and to hide the things unsavory
with ladles and ladles of gravy.

There were dinners past that no one mentioned
scented feasts on sweet dahlias of innocence
those who ate from the harvest of shame
with fingers that dipped into and tore tender flesh.

It is better to grow drunk on shared silence,
to stare at plates that have no memories
to focus on food that cannot speak
or come back from the dead.