he says, shut it down
he says, shut it down
he says, shut. it. down.
he says, push down & stop feeling that
Monthly Archives: December 2007
i said..
i said, there is no end like the present
and the roar comes
and the roar comes back to me,
soft and gentle and strong, and
suddenly
for the first time
i realize what it is: it is mourning,
it is loss & it goes on
without stopping
i said, he says
i said, i made nothing of it.
he says, you make and make spindles of threads that we all choke on through our navels until we’re hung like christmas ornaments over fireplaces grown cold and blasted with soot.
i said, you’re making nothing out of this.
he says, you’ve made a mess of things, you’ve made a mess in your shorts, you’ve soiled our mouths, you’ve rubbed it in, you’ve rubbed our faces in it, you’re so full of shit.
an end then, she said
an end then, she said, an end to sadness, an end to hope. i had been dreaming, she sat against the headboard, arms wrapped around knees pulled up underneath her chin. there were tears in her eyes, thin rivers of blotched mascara down her cheeks, i was turning. her voice was hoarse as if she was shouting, a cigarette dangled from loose fingers, traces of ashes peppered the sheets. no longer dreaming i stared at the ceiling, measured it’s length and width, judging the weight of it. and i found myself lacking, my body bruised from the night before, perhaps we had been fighting, my knuckles swollen from punching walls. she inhaled the cigarette deeply, furious glow and a slight tremble in her hand. i watched and felt the hot furnace of it fill my lungs, felt it shorten my breath as she exhaled. catching myself i whispered, i never thought i would die this way, but she was gone.
mutter-stutter-chatter
first it’s the chill from his skin inward until it hits his bones, then shoots outward. he doesn’t understand it, how sudden, this wave of nausea, this harsh way it wipes him out. he thinks “i’ve been poisoned.”
poisoned and restless, reckless and rotten, “it must’ve been something i ate.” he gathers the rinds of figs, inspects them, looking for mold. flash of cold warps him, his stomach turns, catches suddenly bile in his throat.
“i must’ve caught something,” tremble in his belly, the stench of cigarettes in his hair. he wants to say, “i think i going to be sick,” but he barely makes it staining the floor with vomit.
up and down staircases for hours, doesn’t know whether to turn right or left so he keeps turning, stumbling about, reaches out for anything to steady himself. someone touches his shoulder, says, “let me take your temperature.”
his mouth is dry, he is so cold, he mutters to himself, mutters himself into the shower, mutters to himself until the water hits his skin, he swears it sizzles, leaning against the very same wall where the knobs are, turning it and turning it.
he stutters himself under blankets, he chatters to ghosts in the room with him, his child puts a wet towel on his forehead. the dead one, the one never born. “would you have given up on me if it was the other way around?”
rabid
the lather of it rides
planks stolen from kennels
we raided while hungry
for that one piece
of gamy meat with tendons
for threads you stitched
across my neck a tattoo
of sinews parted
& vocal chords bared
the harsh kiss of leaving this life, any life
there are times when i feel clustered, an enormous pressure to put the pieces back together, this enormous need to put things back as they were, but i don’t recognize the pieces, i don’t recognize my hands. what were, what when, what now. i look at all of you and i am shattered, a million sharp edges without remorse, weeping for stones, for something to rest my head against. and i cannot find a way back in and i am terrified of finding a way out, the streets beckon me, the harsh kiss of leaving this life, any life behind me. i want to forget this, i want to forget my name, i want to forget the history that travels in this blood. i want to forget i am my father’s son, i want to forget the taste for cruelty the years have given me. how perfect you left this life, you cold cold bastard, without ever opening your eyes again, without ever fucking even acknowledging what you’ve rendered in me. i will cut my face off for you to let me be. i will shave my scalp, crack my skull, bleed my wrists open to get your blood out of me. do you understand? i am twisted up into mourning for you and for who i could have been but i need to be free of your legacy to be anything normal. i need to you to leave my thoughts, i need you to no longer be the shadow behind every gesture i make. i need to look at my children without pain, without the fear that i too will do to them what you had done to me. i scratch and scratch my wounds and i know it’s not because the air is dry. you’re still there, you’re still here and only i wish to remain.
bedside manner
the voice, any voice. there, somewhere in the throat. i had written it. it came out in spools, it came out in coughing. i had dreamt it in a sunlit room. the curtains were sheer, i could see the morning. diffuse and bright. she was there. she was leaving. she had turned away from the curtain, it left her fingers and the voice left me. i still had something to say. i coughed instead, writing it down. she couldn’t understand, she left but brought back a glass of water. it smashed in my hand. the pieces caught the sun, made a prism of the quilt. there at her thigh, a flank of muscle tense, neither coming nor going. the door was still open, i had stopped breathing, i wanted nothing to chance. i was committed and the afternoon was too early, a mugginess, a certain thick quality. her voice, any voice. spare change on the dresser, a notebook, a pen. a book of matches torn to the last.
and when i tell him
and when i tell him my name, he tells me he’s forgotten it. and when i tell him how long it’s been, he tells me it’s was just like yesterday. and when he asks about mom, i remind him that she’s dead. then he looks at me like i’ve killed her and i wipe the dribble off his chin. i pick up the spoon and he tells me he’s not hungry anymore, he won’t eat until she comes to see him. i tell him that she’s gone. he asks me who i am as i feed him, and it begins all over again.