Birthday

(Pre-Script: This poem smells fresh when read as the song, "Everybody's Changing," #14 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

I have stopped carrying you.

Actually, I never carried you,

but you have never stopped

wanting me to, expecting it,

which is something like expecting

a banana to jump out of the fruit bowl and dance

on the crumb strewn kitchen counter.

With my hand,

I will wipe the counter clean,

so clean that

no one could know just by looking

that anyone

had ever made toast.

I'll use my cucumber scented kitchen spray

so that no one

could know just by smelling.

-XOXO,

Deposits

(Pre-Script: This post will carry you out to sea when read as the song, "Uncharted," #44 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

When I was 4, the ocean knocked me over. Not in a gentle or graceful way, just flat out, cold salt water smacking into my back and pushing me face down into the sand while it rolled over me, then back out. This is the risk that any small person takes when stepping into the ocean, never mind if she is wearing her prettiest pink swimsuit or not. Never mind if parents or grandparents are standing nearby with a large towel and a red box of Cheez-It's.

I have never been knocked over since.

When I got a little bit older, I used to go out as deep as I felt brave, and body surf. It was always cold, so I would wait until one level of my body got numb before daring to go any deeper, and finally I would be up to my shoulders, and finally, dipping my head under. Eventually, the chill of the ocean would take over the numbness I had taken for granted. When I realized I was cold, I would get out of the water in pursuit of warm sand and my towel.

It's surprising how much sand a body can hide and then later that evening deposit in a bath drain. You thought you'd left the water, but so much of it had stayed with you, in crevices you thought you'd already rinsed clean.

-XOXO,

Desperate Wanderlust

(Pre-Script: This poem should be read as the song, "Going the Distance," #17 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

I have a horse called Desperate Wanderlust.
I ride him bareback.
He's not exactly the kind of horse you can saddle,

though sometimes he lets me guide him;
mostly he just runs and runs.
I am convinced we are trying to find the outmost reaches
of grace's wastelands
but we never get there,
I just become extremely tired

sick, even,
so we go back home, where I wrap myself
in the thickest comforter I can find
and sleep until I feel better.
The horse doesn't get tired;
I don't even think he rests.
He just huffs and paces impatiently in his pen.
He can be distracted by small domestic things,
-for long-ish periods of time, even-
A sugar cube, A quilt on his back,
new hay, the melody of wind chimes on a porch
in the late afternoon-
but these are just distractions.
It occurs to me that grace has no wastelands-
that all I do is exhaust myself with the effort I put into finding them,
that I am safe here,
and that warmth is a pleasant feeling.
But then Desperate Wanderlust starts to whinny,
and I start to itch...

-XOXO,

Leprosy

(Pre-Script: This poem is meant to be read as the song, "Keep Breathing," #24 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

Let's face it

(or don't face it, if that's easier)

no one wants the cure

we all just want the leprosy.

No one wants to wake up,

we all just want to dream through it

and believe that we're happy,

smiling as our fingers bleed and our flesh

is eaten away

one nasty gash at a time.

-XOXO,

Centered

(Pre-Script: This poem best felt when read as the song, "Bend and Break," #47 on the playlist, plays in the background. After that, click on "Maybe," #19. Go down to the playlist, click on those songs, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

I didn't even know you existed

until you showed up on the screen,

bright and blinking like a homing beacon

in the middle of some dark nothing,

and it centered me.

To think that there was light

and goodness

and something perfectly thriving

in the center of me,

and I'm not even that great of a person,

not half as healthy in my habits as I'd like to

say I am.

But that's the mystery of the thriving thing,

of a hope haphazardly placed

in the center of

where you thought only nothingness

and destruction were low maintenance enough

to survive.

I don't know everything;

I know that now.

-XOXO,

Post Apocolypse: AKA, a funny thing happened the morning after I watched "The Book Of Eli."

(The following is a true story with some added rambling thoughts sprinkled throughout.)

(Pre-Script: This post will leave you feeling like you are all alone in this world when read as the song, "Soldier," #48 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

Imagine my surprise when I pulled up to the Starbucks drive through at 8:30 am and there was no line. I thought they must be closed for the first time in recorded history. But no. They were open. The customers had all been raptured, and I'd been left behind. The employees of this particular Starbucks were also left behind. So I got to thinking, and when I get to thinking, woah. And when I got to thinking, I thought, maybe I'll have to form a band of scavengers with these Batista's, like the ones in the movie, "The Book of Eli." (which, coincidentally, I had just seen the night before.) We'll just wander around all dusty and ragged and grunting for water, and if we're lucky, we'll find a hairless cat to shoot for dinner. Maybe I will be the one wielding the chain saw. In a Post Apocalyptic World, When you're down on your luck like that, you can't be too picky about the people with whom you band, the small critters on which you dine. You can't even be too picky about who gets to carry which power tool. These people made a decent coffee drink, I really was delightfully caffienated by it, so I figure I can trust them Post Apocalypse and all that. At least in the mornings, I'll be able to trust them. I just don't know if I can get used to smearing cat oil on my lips when all the chapstick in the world runs out. Maybe I wont have to. Maybe my lips will stay moist from drinking coffee. Maybe we'll have enough coffee stockpiled to last for our entire lifetime. Coffee, coffee, coffee; I can just live on coffee all day long. Coffee for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Lots of incredibly rich celebrities survive on just coffee and Redbull; why can't I? Minus the Redbull? Think about it, people. One can do worse than being left alone in this world with a group of espresso experts. I'm not exactly complaining.

-XOXO,

When I fell

(Pre-Script: This poem is meant to be read as the song, "Bend and Break," #39 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. When you read it a second time, choose "Better," #39 on the playlist, as your background song. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

The blanket was up to my neck, more like just
under my nose. Did I say blanket?
It was actually 3 blankets and a comforter.
I felt warm and safeguarded, was not conscious of falling asleep.
At some point I started to dream. It was the
coldness in my dream
that woke me-
The covers were now down below my arms,
my arms goose bumped and probably blue
(in the midnight dark, everything looked blue)

oh the inconvenience of how that happens, my ability
to fling my own warmth off
just when
I am beginning to
sink into
something comfortable,
something safe
and I'm not aware that I'm doing it,
don't even realize I've done it
until it's too late.

After that, you know, my right shoulder was sore all morning?



-XOXO,