Before there was that there were

                        Lights

                                    Kisses

                                                Thunder and rain.

I wondered at the fact that such a small child could know. “Please stop” she said to me, “you’re hurting me.”

            “What’s that?” I asked.

“The world, it’s painful.”

The rain fell down tumbling in torrents upon my windshield, the tightened shut windows and the roof. There was such a small space between us and no air, and that made it worse.

“Please stop.” She held still, and quiet. I couldn’t feel her breathe.

“Wasn’t there a time that I knew love?” she asked.

“Don’t you remember?”

There was only silence in the car.

So I told her a story. It started with a boy who never wanted to go to school. He never wanted to be anything but a writer. And so he lied where he could to write and he lied where he could so the world wouldn’t hurt. And so he never worked because working wasn’t writing and he never saw anyone who didn’t help him. And he never sent out his words because he didn’t want to hear such words like “no”. And so he sat at home and ate sandwiches when he could buy them and ate nothing when he could not. And after some time he said out loud to his lamps and his table and his carpet and his couch that he was a writer, because no one else ever did.

I asked her what she thought.

She sat for a while while the rain held its ground and we lost.

Then after a while she said, “didn’t he have any friends?”

And I said no, because people didn’t like him. Or he thought so, because life told him so, or so he thought.

“That’s sad” she said. A tear dropped from her eye and she reached out for my hand.

I held it in my palm and it was so small and tiny. There were bits of green and blue and gold, like a river holding slight treasure.

“It is sad.” I said, “and that’s also true.”

“Was it painful for him?” she wanted to know. “Like us?” she asked.

“Just like us.” I told her. “Just like us.”

“Why don’t we give up?” she asked me.

“For what?” I replied

And her body became light and her outline began to shine and fade and travel onto mine. She was next to me then onto me then we snapped together like pieces of a puzzle and I heard her voice inside me.

“Before there was this there were lights, kisses, thunder and rain” she shook my bones in remembrance. “Don’t you recall?” She pleaded. There was a flash of bright light and for a moment I thought—but it was gone.

“Yes--” I whispered, alone in the car, the dark everywhere and the rain. “--And now there’s this.”

            

A Katrina Story

A Katrina Story

Black wallpaper with a single red rose print unfolded slowly as the water rose and devoured. She watched it drown from the window of the old Holmes building. And the water rose. And she watched. And she thought it was time to go.

Five days passed as she waded from the building to her business and back again. The water was up to her waist. Still it didn’t bother her but the idea of not leaving (death) not escaping (death) did.  Her family was long gone in Houston now her two sons-and she with no working phone. Her white van was crushed under the roof of the Hilton hotel. That was two days gone and now she must go or something bad may happen. Something bad already had she said to herself out loud and giggled. Her giggle rose along with--

--with a gun her gun she grabbed she grabbed her gun.  She grabbed her backpack and she left with her accountant. A tough man, she thought before; one to have in a tight place she thought before: an ex cop. An ex cop and she was dragging him now through the street he was crumbling along with the buildings and cars and walls and everything was falling but her. It’s just another time she thought, like the time in Mexico when she was strong and the time she was living in the abandoned warehouse with her boys she was strong and it’s just another time she was strong. It’s just another unfolding.

She and he both had guns. “You can’t cross here” the cops said to them as they shrunk into the crowd of people, two streaks of wet white among a blanket of dark night, but it was day. “You can’t cross here” the cops said with their guns and their guns wanted to speak louder than they could.  There was a van a cargo load of dark eyed passengers and they jumped into a nook and sped across the bridge. You can cross if you can hide.

The van kept moving forward and now there were bushes and grass and woods. And woods and more woods and she didn’t know where the woods came from. She had lived her life not far and now there were woods from nowhere. She couldn’t think but:  “stop the van” she announced to the driver and instead he drove faster.  More woods and now panic and only two streaks of wet white among the dark. Now panic and she pulled out her gun and pointed it at the driver. “Stop the van now” she announced again and he slowed, but didn’t stop.

How slow does it have to be to jump and will I hit the truck and be run over by the wheels or will I hit a bush and tumble and she kept the gun on the driver and now “stop the van” and it slowed a bit and she jumped. 

“Jump down!” she calls to the unfolded man; the tough man the ex cop who is broken. “I’ll shoot any of you that follow” she calls to the dark eyed passengers and none do. The man jumps but leaves her backpack. Nothing can be done and now they are in the woods, unknown. They watch the van head down the dirt path and turn. Nothing can be done and they follow. It’s slow but they have their guns and she is not broken.

Everything is broken the houses the street—she crawls over downed electric lines and under caved roofs and torn tarps—she sits on the stoop of a dirty Fourplex. It, unlike them, is still standing. The woman inside accepts her twenty dollars to use her phone. One call to her boys in Houston. She is ok. She is also stuck, but not broken. 

“Is that Ms. Brooks?” She hears a voice say and yes it’s me. It’s me. She knows (me) the husband of the wife who leant her the phone; he’s an old employee and she has four hundred dollars. She has four hundred dollars and two twin sons in Houston. The old employee has a van and he earns the four hundred dollars over 400 miles, driving in stolen sunglasses with the stickers still on and stolen sneakers he took from the mall. And why not? Everything is broken and everyone and everything. But not her.  She isn’t unfolded just the world when the water rose.  Just the world when the water rose.

i should have died when i had the chance.

And there weren’t enough trees that night

And there were

Then there weren’t

And when I was ready there was nothing to crash into

              Only sky

And some would say it was your gift to me

But I say you weren’t there and if you were you would have brought more trees.

a love poem

I wanted to write you a love poem

            But I spend too much time surviving. Surviving isn’t living she said.

And I wanted to tell you about the softness of her round face, pressed against the glass looking at nothing at something making sounds like coo and goo and ah and oh. And how I couldn’t quite make out her mouth through the silk and chiffon.

 (she could have been our baby oh)

I wanted to drive a hundred miles to see you read this love poem

But instead I was old, a visitor in my life

And I saw you with your wife, and your son and daughter and you were all in a fucking prius.

I was there, behind the cold metal bench pressed hard against my loss with a grin wide and leering at the l o v e.

Fuck

I forget wh.y I'm like this. Every day I had someone who loved me beyond anything, beyond love even. Every day he was there and all I had to do was reach out to him, not even, because he would reach out to me. Every day for 14 years, If I need him he was there. Every day that we spoke was like the fucking sun shining through some dense ass clouds, warming my skin no matter how much rain had fallen.

And now I don't have that and haven't had it in years. And there is no one who can ever give that to me. I don't believe it. I can't. Shit like that doesn't happen twice.

I forget that that's why I'm like this. Because the fucking universe took the one person in my life who made me feel real, who made me feel loved, beautiful, creative, amazing. The one person who really saw me.


There was the possibility of another at one time but that will never come to pass and can't. He chose his life.

So now I'm fucking alone and always will be and I'll never have that sun shining on me again like it did. My fucking heart and soul was torn out. I should have just driven into the trees that night like I almost did. Occupational hazard of soulmates is that one is no good without the other.

This is where

I have suicidal thoughts frequently. It's just a part of my thought process. I have a degree in Psychology and I know the line is that if you have suicidal thoughts it's not considered natural. I think that's a crock of bullshit.

Anyway, I won't act on them because I care about my family and it would ruin their lives, especially my mother, who is already a depressed person naturally.

I've been thinking though. I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. At the core of my being I'm scared all the time because I don't have a home. I have a temporary, physical home, and I have my mother's home, which also seems temporary because they don't own their house. 

It started when my parents divorced the same year my grandmother died and all my uncles decided to sell the house. We moved with my mother to another house, then another, then another, then another, then another. They owned the last another then lost it to forclosure. So we moved to another then another, they are there now. I moved next door.

I've never felt like anyplace was home and I experienced a few times what it's like to have to move in 24 hours. The result of all this is that as a 31 year old woman I never feel safe, and I never feel settled, and I never feel anything permanent. It's a bit scary.

I also don't feel like I belong with my family. I love them dearly, and when I'm with them I have a natural place and role. But when I'm away I'm alone and I don't feel like they are a stable group that I belong to. I also don't feel like I belong with my friends. I have one very good friend who I love..doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about her. But I can't be with her always and we both need to be alone and I don't feel like I belong with her either. She's looking for a mate and that's natural too.

I feel like a visitor in my life. I move forward because days move forward and that's the natural thing to do. I work because it's good for my mental state but it isn't a permanent state. I may go to grad school because it's the next thing in my life and I'm moving forward. But I don't think I'll belong there either.

I sometimes wonder if I will belong anywhere and I don't think I will. 

I may be wrong, though.

I'm thinking of joining the Peace Corps because if I don't want my life, which I don't anymore, then I may as well give it to someone. I recognize that I have talents that could benefit someone else and if not, I have hands that can build. Since I can't die (on purpose) then someone should benefit from my life.