And Everything Has Changed

this past year and a half has changed most everything for me and so many things about me: my gargantuan tonsils, my hair color, height, bra-size, complexion, skin-tone, language fluency, wardrobe, menstrual cycle--you name it. my tattoo status (???), my bedding, my circadian rhythm, my favorite professors, my majors/minors, my workload, my attitudes toward actually completing that workload. this oh-so-long, while astonishingly short, year-and-a-half has changed my relationships, my perception of the world right-side up (and down), my attitude toward karma, the content of my prayers. or at least that's what i would have said a year-and-a-half ago.

now i choose to say that i've changed these things: i've changed my passive attitude, i've changed my presentation of myself, the mechanisms i choose to use in dealing with, or enjoying, strong emotions. i've changed my medications (and no, i am not licensed to do that), i've changed the things i've put into my body. i've changed those fantastically-fun DSM-IV diagnoses i choose to recognize in myself, and i've changed the tactics in my relentless battle to change those things i can't.

i stepped away from writing. i stopped crying. then i wrote unfeelingly, until i produced poetry where i managed to find feeling so long as i looked at it objectively, pretending it wasn't my own. it's bad poetry. and nonsensical. it's like emily dickinson before she began her correspondence with sue (and even THAT, i'm sorry to say, is one hundred times better than mine). but it helps to diffuse. to breathe. to make something out of nothing so strong that it feels overwhelming. it helps me to laugh about it. inappropriately. in horribly serious contexts. and THAT, my friends, is how i know that this here poetry is working. enjoy it (or please don't). but i hope you at least giggle, all the while recognizing that it makes all the sense in the world to me.

Wedding

green hydrangeas and lavender wine,

a loose-bodiced dress for me

you chose the forks with the silver tine,

and said how my sash should be.

we grew up together, I grew up too fast

while from you they held the remote

I knew your sadness could never last

when grandma bought you that coat.

and while mine was leaving, your father was there,

playing with cardboard blocks

he built you those rockets, and I didn’t care

I wanted your golden locks

and perhaps all that winter, the boots, the snow

and maybe your world made of glass.

and also your smile ( if you really must know),

and the brothers who gave you your sass.

but now you’re in white, he’s meeting you there

he’s standing—hands folded, a smile.

I wipe away the tear, its glare…

as you walk down the aisle

May Twenty-Sixth

she weeps without seeing; without knowing, she cries

you promised her worlds, you promised her skies.

she turns from the window, a tear on her cheek

she opens her mouth—she tries to speak

but the silence reigns heavy with the weight of you,

disgusted, she’s shameful—the words are too true.

she smiles, as if cracked—the yolk running out,

“inappropriate affect,” she says with a pout

“but please don’t blame them,” she begs, her voice rough

“they gave me their alls, it just wasn’t enough.

so what if they fucked me, so what if I asked?

so what if I put them up to the task?

i’m no longer grieving, it’s only just me

I’m no longer dreaming of what I might be

but please don’t think it’s you that I grieve,

please don’t think it, but please don’t leave…”

Staying In

Those simple lines once started free

They parted with gentle grace.

But when pretty girls—they lied—to me

I forgot to forget your face.

When smiles dwindled—drawn, then cold

I savored your touches, galore.

I spoke to you softly, heart unrolled,

You swallowed me whole—alors?

I cut my hair, it fell in strings,

Like tired thread in the sink,

So I dreamt of castles, of brittle things,

Of the Smirnoff I managed to drink.

But the night girl calls me, sad, alone--

I put up my boxes and books.

Throw on a robe, my hand on the phone

To hear he wanted my looks.

And I wrap my arms ‘round her—

Push hair from her eyes,

Think right back to that sink.

I look at her costume, the sequins—a guise

And though no tear falls, I blink.

She sits for an hour, gets up and goes,

My role again quietly played.

Consoler of sadness, of tired-lost souls,

But what would I’ve done if she’d stayed?

Would I’ve pulled down the windows, the coffee, the tea

To shut out the cold that crept in?

Would I’ve laid a broken hand on a knee

As if to love a gesture, akin?

Sung to her softly the lullabies known

To beat out his crime and his kiss?

And after it all, my sad song blown,

Would she breathe out those notes I’d missed?

Regression

If I told you Maine winters were warmer than you,

If I told you their skies were more blue,

Than your eyes when they froze me so it seemed

I had forgotten to shut the flue?

That the autumn had fallen—more heavy than rain,

And mulch had swallowed the ground?

And Seasons were backwards, solely my gain?

Swallows swallowed but made no sound.

If the crows hadn’t settled up quite so high,

If they hadn’t grown so old,

I might have braved the concrete sky,

Where the sunshine fed the mold.

If I swore to you spring would always come last,

That I’d forever need the cold?

That moonshine melts the snow too fast,

That I’d curse it, were I bold;

If I promised you thunder, lightning aside

Because you feared its clash?

If I took your hand and with mine tied

Together—the child’s pink sash?

Would you find me then, come far from now,

When brick empties and students run free?

Would you suffer a gesture, a shake, a bow--

Would you even acknowledge me?

Cicatrice

Where once there stood a woman,

Now there lies a girl

Where once there lay a single string,

Now he finds a pearl.

But that pearl hung around her neck,

Treach’rous as it was bold.

It made a blister on her breast,

Left her tired as she was cold.

He saw it as it happened,

He never made a sound.

He raised a hand up to his mouth,

Led the mary-girl aground.

The pendant shifted slightly,

It grew loose upon her throat.

And when she left that frozen city,

She forgot to tie her coat.

Monsieur

purple scarves with a knit so fine,

and i’ll always feel your hand in mine

place bossuet and a place so ‘free’

will carry swiftly those memories to me.

sparkling eyes, a hint of scruff

gentle fears curse a heart so tough

gardens by moonlight, cassis, red wine

needless to say, there’s a traveling line

des biscuits de sable, of sugar, of sand

au centre-ville up a staircase so grand

cobblestones braved on teetering heels

remember, remember how good it feels?

windows with shutters sur la rue tillot

bring aerial views of worlds far below

vending machines in la science mirande

furtive smiles as you touch my hand

passing vignettes of Sunday afternoons

of coffee, of sibyls, of vanille in spoons

j’inscris mes mots on red leaves at the park

throw my fears to the wind, i’m home—it’s dark.

i climb into a bed more foreign than free

to dream of lost inches, lost bodies, lost me

you promised me something, i gave you my all

you whispered sweet nothings, i let myself fall

with the windows open, the shutters unfold,

you always remembered i needed the cold

but some things you let slip, from memory, from mind

mes vingt ans, mes soucis, my preference for wine

your scent will soon leave me, the feeling you’re near,

the smell of old leather, of physics, white beer.

because you never could tell me, try as you might

the one i loved most, was it red or was it white?

Mire

there are demons here in me

in places darker than deep.

my monsters lurk in a miry soul

that they might rise and speak.

there are devils here, about

more shallow than I’d prefer

to force my secrets to a head

when I’ve no option to defer.

though I wrap my body in blacks and greys

and I talk my fears away,

though I create my chain and count the days,

my composure starts to fray.

no mnemonic can help me now,

my memories can’t atone.

but ‘talking cures’ I won’t allow—

with my demons I’m all alone.

Smart girls

they say that thin girls ache down deep,

bones shattering against the ice

that coffins crumble and sad eyes weep--

vault-girls jump and pay a price.

that pills swallowed make you sick

and ripped tights just won’t mend,

that pretty girls’ll have their pick

with doe eyes they won’t lend.

they never tell you the way it feels

when smart girls lose their smarts,

when shallow wounds refuse to heal

because smart girls give their hearts.

when books drop from trembling hands

‘cause the finale just won’t come

when she says “it’s over”—that’s the plan

but she just can’t find that “done”.

they always accept, “it’s just a phase—

you know I’ll be back soon.”

they never question the peculiar way

her march doesn’t match her tune.

they neglect that scent, that bourbon, that beer

because “classy” was always the word;

the gum in the dresser, the spot on the mirror

the marks only half obscured.