To My Birthmom,

Why did you carry me? Mrs. Haskell tries to tell me you are a bad lady. Do you remember Mrs. Haskell? She helped you find a mommy and daddy for me. She tells me you smoked cigarettes and took medicine the doctor didn't give you, and that hurt me when I was in your belly. Mommy was upset when Mrs. Haskell said you were a bad lady. She took me aside and gave me a big hug. She told me you were human, you made mistakes, but you always loved me. I asked Mommy how she knew and she said;

"Your birthmom carried you." I have seen the news once or twice. Mommy and Daddy don't know, but sometimes after they kiss me goodnight I sneak downstairs and watch the news from behind the sofa. I know some people don't want their babies, so doctors take them from their bellies. I don't know why you kept me in your belly if you're supposed to be a bad lady. Mrs. Haskell says you gave me up, but Mommy says you gave me life. Mommy is always going to be my Mommy but you're the only one who could be my mom.

I am glad you decided to be my mom.

Even if I don't understand.

I love you.

Does the fluorescent man shines like a star -

deep down a fire, igniting the crowd,

convincing himself of his radiant colors?

Does the harshness of street flow right through

as if he belongs nowhere, his own man

spreading the moods of his meadows in air

shedding binding chains, taking different roads

in preposterous lonely twists and turns -

a renegade who desires to soak in own stars,

questions existence but doesn’t question mine

seeing the round world from a square perspective

barefoot life walker never punching a clock

gathering fragments of spirit from outside himself

bringing rays of light to his own deep shadows.

Sand pearl of the street looking back to see

himself right where he started as he sits

in his own high place where ordinary fails.

Now we stand out together as if we exist.

Why do foolish men walk willingly into damnation, and more importantly, do they really have any choice?

I had no idea how long she had been watching me. In fact, I wasn't even sure what time it was when I first noticed her, sitting with her back against the stained marble door to the mausoleum.

I had been sitting alone in the graveyard for quite a while, and the moon had traveled at least three-fourths of the way across the starry sky. For a long time, there had been only dry, dead leaves on the cracked steps leading to the crypt; then all at once she was there, although I wasn’t sure how. The only thing I was certain of, was that I had never seen such a beautiful but intensely scary woman in my life.

My first thought was she must be one of the sorority chicks from school, but the way she moved her hand provocatively across her chest and unbuttoned the top button was too mature, too practiced—too designed—for her to have been an undergrad. My initiation into the Fraternal Order of the League of Crypt-Minders was almost over, and the thought she might ruin my acceptance passed through my mind, but only for a fleeting instant.

I turned to face her and held my candle-lantern up higher.

Her eyes sparkled in the flickering light, and her smile commanded my full attention. She ran her tongue around her lips, and I felt myself go hard. The fact that her top teeth seemed too long and too sharp wasn’t enough to overcome the raw lust that seemed to ooze from those lips. She seemed to know the effect she had on me, and her eyes traveled to the obvious erection that was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. I tried to move and found that other than my eyes, I was unable to control a single muscle in my body.

She pulled her bent legs closer to her chest, then let her feet slide as far apart as she could. Slowly she spread her knees, and her skirt slowly slid down from her knees, along impossibly smooth and creamy thighs, settling into the spot where her torso met the ground between her legs. There it rustled, as if in a slight breeze, playing peek-a-boo with my mind, providing tantalizing glimpses at promised mysteries and elusive folds of flesh, just out of sight.

My eyes traveled back up toward her face, but only made it as far as the swell of her small, firm breasts. Dimly glimpsed in the flickering light, visibly erect nipples strained against the sheer fabric of her blouse. The constriction in my pants had grown unbearable, and a dull ache traveled down into the depth of my testicles. They felt like twenty-pound weights had been inserted in them, and the sound of her slight laughter sent chills down my spine.

I wanted her, and she knew it. She slowly moved her hand from her knee, down her thigh, one finger drawing ever closer to the shadowy spot that had now become my sole focus and purpose.

It was then that I noticed her fingers.

They didn’t seem to match the rest of her, and were in fact bony, and each swollen knuckle was bent at a strange angle, so that none of them seemed normal. I felt an instant of fear, and as I did, her whole image shimmered.

Where she had been seated, there now sat a wizened crone, with shriveled skin and strings of graying hair. Gone were the sexy blouse and skirt. The ancient witch was nude; her wrinkly flaps of breasts lay with elongated and flat nipples across a bloated stomach. My eyes traveled down past the sagging belly to a wiry nightmare of gray hair, and God-help-me, what looked like small writhing snakes.

I felt my eyes grow wide, as I looked back up into that hideous face. She waved one of her skeletal hands in the air, and just like that she was back. The gorgeous young woman, impossibly erotic, in an altogether mind-blowing portrayal of raw sexuality and desire. “Sorry about that, my pet,” she said in a voice of liquid honey. “I’ll try not to slip like that again . . . at least until after.”

From the depths of my animal-brain, I felt only a white-hot desire to touch, to taste, to penetrate and to be consumed by whatever fate she had in store. My reasoning mind wanted to scream, but seemed to be detached from the body that now betrayed me.

The ache in my groin, the pulse in my swollen member, and the hunger in her eyes made my feet move forward of their own accord. In terror, I watched myself take another step closer to my doom . . .

~

the why

see to

we why

do it

is

we

all

ex

is

t?

•

can you feel it?

her heart that beats under your hand

the vibrations of each rhythm that ripples

through your skin

like fire

a cold fire that burns you

even as you shiver at the touch

can you see it?

the way her eyes change

as they meet yours

turning dark with intensity

calling out to you

and like gravity, pulling in

reeling you in

until you can see the unborn stars

she hides within them

and how they burst to life

with each touch

with each move

with each word that rolls off your

tongue

can you smell it?

the layer of watermelon and

a hint of lilac scent that clings you,

echoes of her touches

the dizzying scents that rush into

into your nostrils

how your throat suddenly gets dry

your mouth, drier

can you taste it?

her breath that you inhale

intoxicating kisses

so sweet

melting on your tongue

air turning to liquid in your mouth

filling it up with

a thick gooey sugary fluid that

drips into your throat

disappearing down your stomach

as you gasp for more of her breath

so sweet and intoxicating

tempting

can you hear it?

her silence,

the presence of everything

-------

can you feel it?

her frozen heart

that stays still under your touch

can you see it?

the eyes she hides behind her eyelids

unfocused hollow empty

even, with each touch

with each move

with each desperate cry that

spills off your tongue

can you smell it?

the layer of watermelon and

a hint of lilac scent clung to you

tainted by

rotting watermelons

and withering lilacs

untouched by her

the putrid smell that overflows you

so strong

forcing tears from your eyes

can you taste it?

her last kiss

her breath melting on your tongue

the crimson liquid filling your mouth

bitter sour and metallic

tears running down your cheeks

salty and harsh

can you hear it?

her death,

absence of everything

“Hey you? What are you doing out here alone in the woods?”

Allison remembered her mother once scolding, “We don’t say hey you. People that say “hey you” haven’t any manners.” And she stuck out her pointer finger abruptly towards Allison the way she always did when she meant business. It wasn’t Allison’s place to talk back, she knew better, so she never told her mother that pointing at people was also in fact considered quite rude.  But her mother was now long gone and manners aside, her goal was to get the attention of the little girl on the other side of the creek.

The little girl looked to be about ten years old and blended quite well with the forest.  It was almost as if she wasn’t there or more like she was an optical illusion. Her hair was the exact color of the paperbark maple behind her; strands of cinnamon straight thin straws.  The clothes she wore could have been peeled from the bark or crawled out of the soil, and her skin was comparable, just a shade or two lighter. There was no way the little girl could not have heard her call, unless she was deaf.  Even if she was deaf, Allison was sure the girl had to know of her presence, because the creek couldn’t be more than ten feet wide. If the water wasn’t so cold and rapid, she would walk into the water, over to the girl, and tap her on the shoulder to get her attention, another thing her mother would most surely say was rude.

One more time. “Hey little girl, can’t you hear me? Do your parents know where you are?” The girl remained stoic and busy with what looked to be a mock tea party.  There was a fallen tree she was using as a table, bark as plates and pine cones for cups, set for four. Allison stood still watching her, captivated, as she slowly sipped from a pine cone, with her dainty pinky pointing towards the sky, gently placing the pine cone down in its proper place, then moving to the next place setting.  It bothered Allison that the girl never once smiled at her imaginary friends, nor did she allow them to sip from their own cup. Why did she feel the need to stand in for them? Immense identifiable sadness floated down from the canopy above them when Alisson presumed this little girl had no concept of friendship, real or imagined.  It didn’t occur to Allison that she could have been watching herself as a young girl. Many a day she had combed these very trails alone since her mother insisted friends were just a waste of time. “We have each other,” she often said sternly, when the subject came up. More than first realized, Alisson felt the need to get to the other side of the creek, to wrap her arms around this child, and then sip some tea and sit with her awhile, even if she insisted on silence.

“This is crazy!” Allison said to herself, “I’m calling 911.”  The absurdity of the scene suddenly engulfed Allison. “Why is this little girl out here alone in the woods!?”  But she couldn’t call; not because she didn’t want to. Allison was raised to do the right thing. It was as if her fingers wouldn’t work, like she was frozen, a part of the oak behind her.  And she wouldn’t consider just walking away, but if she had, she would have found out that her legs were just as frozen as her fingers. It seemed the early morning dew that surrounded her as she entered the woods was drying up, so she was aware of the passing of time, but felt no urgency to be elsewhere.  She was where she was supposed to be and thought of nothing else, when she heard a sound that sounded like an alarm, but where was it coming from? It wasn’t coming from across the creek, it almost felt as if it was next to her head and it was getting louder making her long to cover her ears, but she now realized she was completely paralyzed.  Scared to death of her circumstance, questioning her lung function, her eyes were the only thing that worked as she kept them on the girl. Once again, the girl lifted her pinky towards the sky, sipping slowly, signaling to Alisson the very same action was all she needed to do to break free. With every ounce of energy left within her own shell, Alisson channeled that strength to her own pinky, attempting to move it ever so slightly, knowing the girl’s instruction was going to work.  And when it did, she took a very deep long sombre breath, barely remembering her dream as she turned off the alarm next to her bed.

What did I do to deserve you?

The way you speak eloquently

The way you smile delicately

The way you move elegantly

You sweep my heart onto the floor and dance

Leading me to and fro

Leading me on

Until I feel like my heart bursts

I forgot what it was like

To be taken care of

And to not be asked for anything in return

Yet you refuse to let me pay you back

And you refuse to let me help you

I forgot what it was like to receive attention

To be doted on

And made breakfast in the mornings

Yet you force me to sit down

And you refuse to let me wash dishes

I forgot what it was like to love so deeply

To not need to ask for things

And have my needs met before they're needed

Yet somehow, you always know

And I thank you for it

When I'm with you I forget about the heartache

The pain,

the fear,

because I feel like with you

anything is possible

But there is a fear that someday you will be gone

and I'll be alone again

Wondering what I did to deserve you?

Because it feels like I'm doing nothing

and i dont

What is snow?

"Well. I suppose it looks like the clouds and is very cold."

Cold like the floor below? And what are clouds?

"Clouds are water droplets in the sky---that float,

Like cotton in the wind."

But then shouldn't they be warm like my quilt?

Why do we cry?

"Because there's something in our eyes."

My knee hurt when I fell off my bike.

There was water in my eyes.

"Sometimes our hearts hurt too

And pour themselves into our eyes."

What is love?

"This is love."

Asking questions?

"Yes and answering them."

But isn't there something more? Something harder to understand?

"It's love, Love. Something we'll never truly understand.

It's what we feel, it's what we give,

It's what we sink into unworried, unashamed, wholly,

Like drifting off to sleep.

It's what sets us free and holds us together,

It creates memories and believes in forever.

It transcends ages, colours, size and shape,

It makes us alive, it flows in our blood,

It's sweet surrender, it's chasing your heart,

It's freedom, a dove in the sky,

Only by loving can we hope to learn,

What is love."

I feel warm and safe and happy.

I love you dearly, Mommy.

#love

#parent

#family

#child

#question

#answer

#heart

#soul

#LittleThingsGiveSoMuchJoy

#prose

"Why don't you take a long walk on a long pier!"

"Thank you that sounds nice"

"Wait no, I meant take a long walk on a short pier!"

But it was too late.

He did take that walk, and he enjoyed it immensely.

The sunset was beautiful that evening and he met the love of his life, feeding seagulls.

He made a great joke about how if they were in the bay they would be called "bagels"

He loved that joke.

They fucked that night.

Oh Lord did they fuck.

She showed him things he never imagined.

Christ, the things the human body is capable of if one is determined.

"Bagels" hahaha that was such a good one.

He understood why her body welcomed his so willingly.

Bagels.

How absurd.

They got married and had a child.

They named the child "Bagel" to commemorate that beautiful evening of raw passion and consensual violence.

I am that child.

My dream is to meet someone to be the cream cheese to my bagel, as my parents were to each other.

If you think you can be that person please leave a message at the tone.

[BEEP]

How does one lose a person?

Crumpled up papers lie in the bottom of her bag-hundreds of notes she has written, but never sent. I run my fingers through them, too hesitant to open them up, as it feels too much like an invasion of her heart-the heart that has long forgotten its way.

The smell of her-roses, with a hint of cinnamon, lingers on every piece of paper and I take a deep breath inhaling the hidden words. I never knew she had so much to say. I put her bag down, and make my way to the stained glass window at the corner of the room, prying open the window panes.

These days, I seem to find traces of her everywhere and anywhere I look. Old, faded black and white photographs--her face captured mid-smile, mid-word, mid-frown, constantly moving from the middle to the end. Broken bottles of glass, stained with blood-also hers, litter the alleyways behind her house.

She tried to keep her grief a secret, but it coats and stains every surface of every room she walks into. Her sadness is so infectious that I can feel it burning under my skin, singing inside my bloodstream. She is within me, but she is lost. She is everywhere, but she is never at home. I want to find her, I have to catch her. But when I run, she sprints. I leap, she soars. She is nameless, and I am flightless. So I pick up the faded paper notes she will never remember again, and burn them all to dust.