.
I embrace my eyes
ears
nose
mouth.
The blessing of sight
sound
scent
taste.
The curse of unattractiveness
noise
rancid
bitter.
Seeing artificial beauty and natural alike
phony
genuine
unique.
Hearing expressions, good or otherwise
music
nature
dialogue.
Inhaling wisps of satisfaction
mouthwatering
smile invoking
memorable.
Tasting another's intimate passion
rich delicacy
astringent
unforgettable.
.
3/29/10
3/4/10
The Man On the Bench.
He sits. The man on the bench does. The man on the bench sits. And observes. Everyday he sits on his little lonely bench. And watches the world. He watches the days huslte by, and weeks as well as months trot on their merry way. He captures emotions, cringes at lies, smiles at giggles, sighs at displays of affection.
His breath stuck in his throat as she swiftly passed directly in front of him. His eyes follow her, and he sucks in as much of her perfumed scent until it fades. Every step she takes has admirable poise, eagerness in her walk. He can't tear his eyes from her and is relieved wih her sudden stop at the street corner. He wishes to catch her nomadic eyes, her searching eyes, she glances around, anticipation in them. She's waiting. Waiting for whom? A man? His own eyes glow a little dimmer.
Her feet shuffle slightly as she shifts her weight, tapping her crisp white heels. She wears a straight, tight balck skirt to mid-thigh, pulled up just to her hips. Her white cotton top half hidden by an off-white, knee-length trench coat. He watches her long sinuous black hair blow faintly in the vague breeze, and the acerbic cold barely tint her nose to pink. Her emerald eyes wane in confidence, sweeping the streets for what they long to feast on.
Minutes tick by reaching an hour. Her shoulders droop as it reaches two more. He wonders what would keep her waiting here so long.
A gentle tap on her shoulder and a low masculine "Ma'am," surges brief buoyancy back into her brilliant eyes. But they clear emptier as he simply offers an undersized purple bible. She graciously waves him off, turning back to her useless street scanning.
Folding her arms to her chest she watches the sun fall out of the sky. Water escages her no longer anxious eyes as stars start to sprinkle the swiftly blackening horizon. The man on the bench still sits, watching her, longer than he ever watches anyone from that weather trodden bench.
Another hour drifts by and she no longer holds restless wait, but stands in sadness. No more waiting for what won't come, just attempting to determine why it didn't.
He watches her stand at the corner for a few minutes more. She turns back his way and gradually steps past, water lined cheeks and slumping shoulders. Just as she passes he stands, determined to fill her with the beautiful confidence that was there hours before. And so he follows her.
The next day. Sunday. The bench is empty.
His breath stuck in his throat as she swiftly passed directly in front of him. His eyes follow her, and he sucks in as much of her perfumed scent until it fades. Every step she takes has admirable poise, eagerness in her walk. He can't tear his eyes from her and is relieved wih her sudden stop at the street corner. He wishes to catch her nomadic eyes, her searching eyes, she glances around, anticipation in them. She's waiting. Waiting for whom? A man? His own eyes glow a little dimmer.
Her feet shuffle slightly as she shifts her weight, tapping her crisp white heels. She wears a straight, tight balck skirt to mid-thigh, pulled up just to her hips. Her white cotton top half hidden by an off-white, knee-length trench coat. He watches her long sinuous black hair blow faintly in the vague breeze, and the acerbic cold barely tint her nose to pink. Her emerald eyes wane in confidence, sweeping the streets for what they long to feast on.
Minutes tick by reaching an hour. Her shoulders droop as it reaches two more. He wonders what would keep her waiting here so long.
A gentle tap on her shoulder and a low masculine "Ma'am," surges brief buoyancy back into her brilliant eyes. But they clear emptier as he simply offers an undersized purple bible. She graciously waves him off, turning back to her useless street scanning.
Folding her arms to her chest she watches the sun fall out of the sky. Water escages her no longer anxious eyes as stars start to sprinkle the swiftly blackening horizon. The man on the bench still sits, watching her, longer than he ever watches anyone from that weather trodden bench.
Another hour drifts by and she no longer holds restless wait, but stands in sadness. No more waiting for what won't come, just attempting to determine why it didn't.
He watches her stand at the corner for a few minutes more. She turns back his way and gradually steps past, water lined cheeks and slumping shoulders. Just as she passes he stands, determined to fill her with the beautiful confidence that was there hours before. And so he follows her.
The next day. Sunday. The bench is empty.
3/2/10
Papa
.
Even taking a breath was
agony.
Be careful, be very careful.
Her free hand placed on her head.
He had seemed immortal.
the small wooden gate,
mama did not come home
that night.
The words kept
turning
into
blood
each time i read them.
Light and Water.
What was the riot about?
i held the clothes carefully.
Things started to fall apart
at home.
Should not waste his energy,
fathers car smelled like him.
She asked her children if they wanted
to come into the house.
But they would not come.
The ones left behind did not
even
have the strength to dance.
He admitted that his mother had not really died.
I said no, and
we
sat silently,
our hands
clasped
for a long
time.
He looked down,
his legs bent into a triangle.
Papa came home.
He stared
and then turned away.
i looked at him and wondered
what he was thinking.
My stomach was unsteady.
He stood up and retrieved his things.
God take power from the devil
he muttered.
The next day was Sunday.
i could ease myself.
It had rained all night.
i forced a cough out of my throat
hoped i would not stutter
i hope you didn't break anything.
He came into the room.
Papa shouted, pointing accusingly.
He was standing behind papa.
i want to leave with him. i said
as if doing so would make my
words come true.
Papa started to breath in a
noisy, raspy way.
He will be upset.
i
took a deep breath and Prayed.
The space between us was to
small, too tight. i looked away out my
window. Your Father
said you are to stay. He said.
i pressed my face close to the window.
Weeks after, the hollows were still carved
under papa's eyes.
i came home from school.
I should have
never
let you near
him. Papa was
saying
I should have
protected you.
I should have
made him
stop!
sooner.
My hands unconsciously rubbed my potruding belly
Papa looked away shamefully.
i turned to stare at him,
he hated me now.
Papa's breathing was always noisy, but now
he panted as if he were out of b r e a t h , i
w o n d e r e d what he w a s thinking...
It is a sin.
Why is it a sin?
Father said nothing else.
i hate you. It felt easy saying that.
Why did you have to make him leave?
i pinched back the tears,
i
would
not
let
Papa
see
me
cry.
A neighbor rapped at the door
i want to kill myself. i stumbled out.
His eyes fell to my enlarged stomache.
He looked at me and said,
You can do anything you want.
It was sunny outside.
Father went upstairs.
i lowered
myself
and sat.
i cried for a long time.
i did not want to be awake.
i lay on the floor,
curled tight in a ball.
Dust settled on the teleision set that hadn't
been working for a myriad of months.
A dog barked outside.
The house smelled like
pine trees.
Papa's nearly full
medication bottle
lay open on
the cabinet.
And then i just didn't care anymore.
.
Even taking a breath was
agony.
Be careful, be very careful.
Her free hand placed on her head.
He had seemed immortal.
the small wooden gate,
mama did not come home
that night.
The words kept
turning
into
blood
each time i read them.
Light and Water.
What was the riot about?
i held the clothes carefully.
Things started to fall apart
at home.
Should not waste his energy,
fathers car smelled like him.
She asked her children if they wanted
to come into the house.
But they would not come.
The ones left behind did not
even
have the strength to dance.
He admitted that his mother had not really died.
I said no, and
we
sat silently,
our hands
clasped
for a long
time.
He looked down,
his legs bent into a triangle.
Papa came home.
He stared
and then turned away.
i looked at him and wondered
what he was thinking.
My stomach was unsteady.
He stood up and retrieved his things.
God take power from the devil
he muttered.
The next day was Sunday.
i could ease myself.
It had rained all night.
i forced a cough out of my throat
hoped i would not stutter
i hope you didn't break anything.
He came into the room.
Papa shouted, pointing accusingly.
He was standing behind papa.
i want to leave with him. i said
as if doing so would make my
words come true.
Papa started to breath in a
noisy, raspy way.
He will be upset.
i
took a deep breath and Prayed.
The space between us was to
small, too tight. i looked away out my
window. Your Father
said you are to stay. He said.
i pressed my face close to the window.
Weeks after, the hollows were still carved
under papa's eyes.
i came home from school.
I should have
never
let you near
him. Papa was
saying
I should have
protected you.
I should have
made him
stop!
sooner.
My hands unconsciously rubbed my potruding belly
Papa looked away shamefully.
i turned to stare at him,
he hated me now.
Papa's breathing was always noisy, but now
he panted as if he were out of b r e a t h , i
w o n d e r e d what he w a s thinking...
It is a sin.
Why is it a sin?
Father said nothing else.
i hate you. It felt easy saying that.
Why did you have to make him leave?
i pinched back the tears,
i
would
not
let
Papa
see
me
cry.
A neighbor rapped at the door
i want to kill myself. i stumbled out.
His eyes fell to my enlarged stomache.
He looked at me and said,
You can do anything you want.
It was sunny outside.
Father went upstairs.
i lowered
myself
and sat.
i cried for a long time.
i did not want to be awake.
i lay on the floor,
curled tight in a ball.
Dust settled on the teleision set that hadn't
been working for a myriad of months.
A dog barked outside.
The house smelled like
pine trees.
Papa's nearly full
medication bottle
lay open on
the cabinet.
And then i just didn't care anymore.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
