Brown Velvet box

Sometimes, in the dark hours, when the birds in the parking garage are silent, and all I can hear is the shushing of the tires of the homebound late shift workers, I think about you.

I try to remember the good times, the times in Technicolor, filled with heart and soul so deep all I could see was rich, brown velvet.
In a box,

that velvet climbed up the walls, caressed the bottom, contained my heart and closed it in, with cover tight. We had a thing that I am unable to name. Your face was my face, I was you and you were me…I think.

But when the chips were on the table, when it was time to show our cards, you folded. Folding, for me, was not an option. I played my hand, but it wasn’t big enough, wasn’t high enough, wasn’t dear enough, because you walked away from the table.

The ripple from your exit still nudges my boat.

Your hateful, negligent rhetoric and absence ripped great, bleeding wounds so deep inside me, that even now when I remember then, 
the scar tissue tingles faintly.

I was never able to let you go, because you see, you were careless enough to leave part of you with me. Funny that you didn’t even miss those parts. You were so full of yourself that those tiny, flickering flames you left me never had the power to make you turn, to look, to see how, as time progressed in my world, those flames became the light with which I traversed my world.

Now I am just I.

And you are living on another planet. I would not want you, or anyone to open that box for me, because you see, my heart was locked inside it. Lid tightly closed, It sits, in shock, unable to move beyond. I’ve tried. I don’t have the technology.

But I’ve learned to persevere. Which is different than to thrive, and in persevering I was able to release my self to those brilliant flames, that you chose to ignore for year upon years. 

So you may now have one of those flames, and I dearly pray you don’t do or say anything to snuff it out. This one needed you; she had always possessed the uncanny talent to get exactly what she wanted.

It’s not for me to say whether it’s right or wrong, it just is. But let me assure you, here and now, if you hurt or damage that flame in any way, I will come after you with a wrath you’ve never even imagined I possessed.

The day named tomorrow

When the day named tomorrow comes to stare you in the face,

to set your blood humming in your recalcitrant veins.

and tomorrow will remind you of the pain of loss,

because that's what it means.

You may have only a tiny sip of relief.

Of this luminescent, sparkling relief,

to slake your thirst, a sip

and then no more.

Tomorrow looks you in the face and turns away.

It has no sympathy for your thirst.

Petitions of the Heart #3

I have been here before. I have danced to the rhythm of the indolent breezes. I have been lulled to a sleepy torpor by the gentle patter of the summer rain. The exotic scent of wet grass is intoxicating. Even more piquant is the aroma of dusty asphalt, summer baked, exhaling fine tendrils of mist; weaving upward, dodging raindrops.

I have been here before. But then you were with me. You who protected me. You shared the Earthy splendor with me. You were my partner, my lover, my friend. And now, when the elements are just right, as they are right now on this uncommon January day, I miss you with a part of my soul that has been hidden away. The longing is hot under my skin. My eyes burn with unshed tears. And so, I dance alone. We do not reach for raindrops together. Our hands cannot touch. My eyes cannot feast upon your face. And so I dance alone.

I have been here before. The shiny streets of Chicago. Blasting out heat, angry at the summer rain. Repelling the water as it cascades through the alleys, and then heaving a sigh of resignation as it begins to soak it up. Perfume. The soft susurrus and rustle as the Earth settles down and takes a long wet drink. And I find myself turning, and searching, for you. A kindred soul who felt the Earth with me. But you are not here, and my mind skips a beat as it adjusts. I have been here before.

Losing Mudpuddle

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away there lived a tiny, short legged pup named Mudpuddle. This pup was loved so truly and deeply by her adoring humans that any sense of her eventual demise was never even consciously considered.

But during an excrutiatingly difficult time in her Mommy's life that resulted in her Mommy almost losing her life, Mudpuddle became concerned to the point of lowering her natural immunity to illness. So, as her Mommy bacame sicker and sicker so did Mudpuddle. But no one knew that Mudpuddle was sick.

Eventually, Mommy crawled back from the brink of 'who knows what comes next'; but Mudpuddle didn't. Mudpuddle was only 13 tiny years old.

As it turned out, Mommy had to go back to work to support herself and her boy, Josh. So the care of Mudpuddle fell to Mommy's oldest child, Jenine. Jenine is big and brave and very strong. She took care of Mommy from the very beginning of Mommy's sickness. She has nerves of steel but a Pure Heart of Gold.

And so it came to pass that Mudpuddle could no longer walk, or see, or control her bodies natural functions. And one day, while Mommy was at work, Jenine called her and said, "It's time Mom." And she took Mudpuddle to the CSU Vet Hospital so they could help Mudpuddle along her path to 'who knows what comes next'.

And still I cry, bitter tears filled with pain, when I chance upon the oh so sweet memory of Mudpuddle and Jenine's bravery that day. Alone she went, with Mudpuddle cradled in her arms, sweet tiny pup, and gave her over the those who helped.

And Jenine cried big, gloppy tears, that fell and stained her t-shirt. But she knew it was the right time and the right thing to do. Did i tell you she is the bravest person I know?

And now Mommy has another pet who is not going to make it much longer, and she needs Jenine. Because Mommy is not brave. And Mommy's tears are already falling and staining her t-shirt, and this is a decision that she doesn't know how to make herself.

spotty at best

My memory is spotty at best. my life turned out to be a turbulent drama; every time I turned a corner, there I was, into more crap than I bargained for. The fact that I carried along with me a distinct sense of disbelief led to, I think, a blurry, washed out sequence of indistinct events.

no big dill-reviews: Dreamstitcher 787 Giveaway

no big dill-reviews: Dreamstitcher 787 Giveaway: That's right.  A serger.   A SERG-ER!   While this technically isn't a review, as I've never touched one of these babies, I will tell you...

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Want!!   Not only are you witty, sarcastic and hilarious, but you also impart great gobs of information!!

Do your dance...

Denver is a noisy and wild place.  I live here.  

Today my son asked me where I would live if I had the choice; I said I'm no longer sure.  I feel like I have no place that I call 'home'.  So wherever I am, I make it 'home'.   To my children, wherever I am is home.  Kind of skewed, but it seems to work.  

   I would like to be surrounded by kind people, by green and growing things, by laughter and babies and my children and grand children.  I don't mind getting older; each day brings me something new to learn or experience and I'm thankful for that.

   In 1997, when I got so very sick, the doctors didn't think I would 'wake from the coma'  'have a functional brain' live more than a few more hours, then days, then months, and now 15 years later they all look at me like they are in the presence of a miracle....and I agree, life is a miracle.  Every day is a gift.  Time does appear to be moving faster, but it's all a part of the miracle.  All it means is that within the parenthesis of each day a person must wring out all the good stuff.  Do your dance.  Don't expect anything, be thankful for the gift of one more day.