You know what? I’ve grown into a beautiful girl. Do you remember? (of course not) you didn’t know, I acted the scrawny, sheepish part. Lowered my eyes, shrunk back when standing side by side with flawless blossoms. All bottled up, I only dreamt of waking up one day when I could love myself for all I am and willingly accept all that I’m not. Now I occupy a territory and amplify once muted voice. So hear me out. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, maybe the trick is in fooling yourself long enough. Maybe I simply got tired of caring or gave up on trying to catch up. But I no longer lurk, slouching and lagging behind. Actually it doesn’t even matter how, what’s impressive is that I finally feel alive and expansive. Sometimes you just need to build up your own pedestal.
I don’t want a white picket fence, a villa in Nice or a new Benz. I want to live without contraptions, without the formulas for standard sucess. I know it’s unthinkable. How dare I deviate? I know it’s impractical. How could I possibly face the weight of my choices and their effects? But I must stay fixed on my intent, though to walk alone is to stockpile regrets.
Lie on top of me – weightless, we are a mountain, asleep under moss. On top of me – heavy, my carcass is safe under yours. I will breathe easy once we’re embedded in stone.
glad you're back, and with such a wonderfully sensual offering as well! that "we are a mountain" line... what a great image
Favorite - familiar - black dirt permanent under my nails and in my pores. I AM CLEAN. I. 34,000 ft above endless water. I studied cloud tectonics, islands chipped from alien continents. Through icicles on oval windows, I saw… Dry milky skin, torn into patches stretched to complete horizon. Grey cells formed into spine columns. Gaps, like mouths peered into constant depths. I missed the earth. My tiny ship held its course into the sun. Nosed into Scandinavia, adrift in the Norwegian sky, at last I caught the sight of snowcaps and the toast crust of mountains. II. Moscow – "Oh brave new world with such people in it" Cars whiz by malls, stores, billboards, high rise, duplex, mega, super. I am an exiled paratrooper. III. Dear, sell me a bra. Sell me an image, Sell me first impressions, Sell me something flashy, I don’t stand out on my own. Stripped, ripped and scrutinized, I hid behind the golden drape. IV. Relatives draw swords, domestic apocalypse looms like an angry cloud. They circle in the circus ring, round and round each other. Ready to cut the ropes, jump at each other’s throats. Unspoken blood thirst in the cautious eyes. Telepathic vampires walk on shells, trek through the mine field. With frigid fear of a wrong step, I'm like a medic and a mediator, keep verbal landslide at its bay, I censor slips, a powder keg of buried wrongs. I'm here to keep track of the death toll. V. If I can live through this, I can live through anything. I subject myself to torture, stretch my limits to infinity. I have asked for strength and patience. Draw it out from the within, for I have the grit of madness. to be continued...
VI. Me and you, so opposite, so similar Like the adverse ambassadors. You’ve got your experience. And I’ve got my principles. We spent the nights in the kitchen drinking Earl Grey and whispering about the existence of God and the soul. About psychoanalysis and mental manipulation. You spoke of the evil and I spoke of the good. Yet you said that on the contrary to reach the heights of heaven one must know the depths of hell. At dawn I was inarticulate and dull. VII. He pierces through, bores into my eyes, I squirm. Avoid his sparkling blue lights. In this Gestapo interrogation, his stare blinds me into a confession. Every time my glance freezes. I have nothing to say. He tries to pry into my thoughts. Takes my palm, examines the curves and pitfalls of my life. Smiles, sly without telling me why. Only mentions that I am precious and sighs with awe. VIII. What do you want from me? And he implies the many ways he’d like to have me. I hug my knees, body language fortifies.
IX. Two kindred souls. Hand in hand, sprinted to run out of breath. Arm on the waist, propped up, held on to the belt. 3 am. Drunk and stumbling, mumbling. Let’s not go home. In the street lights, wet cheeks glistened. You pitied me and listened. We walked on towards the forest through the dew in the field, along the fire line of a rising sun. Stopped. Gasped. Exhaled… “I want this to last forever” Inhaled the loyal, native air and sniffled. X. Though century old preserved natural world is starkly juxtaposed with plastic trash on every curb, I saw freedom in the expanses. Freedom had meaning here. When I closed my eyes, I recognized the air. Overwhelmed, I’d evaporate to be one with the sky that spills over the periphery, the sky that knows no ills… XI. You and your sister are rare gems. How would you know, you haven’t known all women… -He smirks- I’ve known enough in my life. -I gulp- Oh yeah? How old are you? 16 No really… -Next day, peeked into the passport- Born in 1975. XII. Nobody greets you. Nobody looks or smiles at you. After all why should they? But I walked down the street grinned and stared at every passerby as they averted their eyes.
XIII. When born into poverty, living in mud and war wreckage. Beauty finds a way to sprout forth out of giant puddles. XIV. We’re all crazy specters to one another because we’re selfish monsters who don’t take the time to understand the motives and each others inner lives.
XV. I warn you do not look at me with those fox eyes. Or else I will fall in love. I already have... XVI. Nobody will change. Our truce is called off. Nobody will admit they’re wrong. Our iron will is daft. I curse these genes. XVII. Vagabond among the thorns. This is not my home. Where will I go? XVIII. I gesticulate like her. Roll my eyes like her. Remind you of her. My tone of voice is hers. We’re sisters, asunder.
IXX. I sat alone, watching the long awaited rain drum on my bench, run down the roof, and into the empty tub. Later, I treasured every yellow drop.
XX. I play Frogger with traffic. There are no laws in this current of foreign, speeding cars. Sweat makes cotton awful prickly. Fresh breeze is rare pleasure. Congested, humid town coughs exhaust fumes. My lungs hack in response. My ankles moan. The denizens adapted to the morning chill and midday heat don layers, garish wool. I’m stunned and panting. All worn out, I carry a throbbing needle in my chest, with every step it burrows deeper. Prior to the sun there was a downpour. Now puddles flood walkways, where wooden planks serve as uncertain bridges. But holy children, do not mind, all bare feet and smiles, they test the depths of muddy waters. Quite jealous, I walk on past them down ragged roads, slide under low stooped branches, leave minute footprints in the soggy soil. Across the street, I meet a raven haired princess in stilettos balancing on the cement curb, all in white and proud. There, in the shade of maples trees are boys with baby faces but adult habits, they gesture with ciggy butts and follow me with raptor eyes until I disappear behind the corner, and they forget me as if I never came into their view.
XXI. Children mimic youth, youth acts grown up. What do grown ups have to look for? Age is ugly. Today they are trendy but tomorrow they’re obsolete and forever last in line. Make way.
XXII. Pines and sunshine. God is here in the tall trees, among the bright wreaths. Black marble or green metal monuments like an army, salute those who passed on. Crosses, below them are photos, dates, names and tender words engraved in stone. Wild flowers bloom from the hearts’ of the mounts. Silence is loud and peace is here in the tall trees among our loved ones.
XXIII. Why is mercy so absurd? XXIV. There is no religion, there is only faith in better days for our kin, we do not ask for ourselves. Our time has passed. These are not mere prayers. Our blood was not spilled, our backs were not broken, our hands did not tame this soil for nothing. So let our children never know toil, let them never know war, and let them finally learn to forgive.
XXV. These dinosaurs must have patience of titans. They’re so used to waiting, so used to being degraded and willingly accepting when officials equate them with worms. So they stifle themselves, wasted and tired. The thought that they too have rights doesn’t seem to enter the mind or maybe it does with every waking moment as it slowly creeps from behind and with every breath they take, like a parasite it embeds in the lungs, being at its worst at night, as they turn and toss, coughing up blood. And yet they stand.
XXVI. The lucky are those who do not realize they are slaves. They’re quite content with the lack of free will. They are the ones who at ill times reprimand the fate. Of course, choice all on your own is alarming, better let those more adept orchestrate the existence. XXVII. Life is best perceived through contrasts. XXVIII. My scab might never heal, keep peeling it off to reveal more flesh. Lick escaping blood, saliva blunts the aftertaste of rust. IXXX Another day is killed, slowly dripping off my fingertips. I look up, amazed that even the sky is liquid dirt. I smile, eager. The blind sun cuts in through the strata with scarce warmth and a requiem.
XXX. Behind concrete walls with painted swastikas are the abandoned factories, victims of age and apathy. Thick grime on thin glass, rusting train wagons, slanted and hidden in the grass. Toy houses blink by with dull colors and symmetry carved into its timber sides. Rust is everywhere, on fences, nails and faces of the hung over men standing, idle on the platforms. Middle aged mothers, slouching, with wrinkles like battle scars hang on to their plastic bags and sons. Frozen markets, frozen crowds, frozen windows are illuminated with virgin beams of light. I witness the stirring, the palpitation of rural life.
XXXI. Orphan. He is nameless, but he is still my brother. He sits alone in the box and he draws hunger. Grey skin is stretched over his bird like bones. He’s cold, he’s got a runny nose. I watch, detached and guilty. I am a murderer too.