I want to thank the sunday and wednesday community and especially matthew. already, your thoughts and words have begun to sculpt myself and my work. i have found inspiration and kind words, and although they often appear to be subtle, they have guided me threw the turbulent waters of discord.
when matthew and i first began talking about sunday and wednesday, sitting on his back porch or my side stoop, it seemed as though we were always drunk with wine and cigarettes, laughing and talking about the one day that we’d actually get something done. and somehow in the dwindling twilight of summer days, matthew put together this. and it’s beautiful. and i’m glad i’m here and a part of it, with him and all of you.
with that, i would like to share some new/ish, poems and dialogue shorts.
i wanted to write about my childhood some more, and still do. it’s hard for me to do this. i get worked up and freeze. i tried to use some light repetition to ease back into the flow, but it still becomes paralyzing, .39 is my attempt at this. the ones that follow are about many different things. i may attempt to talk about some, to give some insight, but i still am struggling with whether or not i like the idea of telling the reader what i’m trying to say. it seems to almost defeat any purpose of my writing. although i think it’s good to know what the writer is thinking about when reading his/her work, at the same time, i write to see what the reader is thinking. please, give any and all feedback.
.39
hiding underneath my couch
when i was younger-
i’d spend hours squished under the living room couch
i loved the way the cool hardwood floor
felt on my skin, on the bare skin of
my elbows and forearms
to feel my cheeks pressed against it-
laying flat on the floor
i could see down the kitchen and out the door
i would lay there when my mom was at the door
when she would wring it and to see
if anyone was home to help with the groceries
I would lay there when my father came home
to see if anyone wanted to
I would lay there and i wouldn’t get up
I would lay there and look out the door on the floor
looking at the dust bunnies and dirt
looking at the reflection of light
and I would feel the wood
covered swift with dust
i would turn my head
and look at the door’s reflection in the television
turned off-
i would watch them wring the doorbell
standing at the door.
.00
I work and you buy
I sell and you buy
I give and you buy
I ask and you do nothing
.60
When I was little
I lied to
grownups
but never to friends.
Little things.
Things that I felt weren’t lies.
things that seemed to make
sense.
And they believed me
because they seemed
to make
sense.
So i asked my mom,
How she knew that they were
lies.
.42
kids write poems that slant to the sides
. that move in
. awkward lines
. that make me dizzy
and it’s hard
. to read
and it’s always in
those damn damn damn damn
. college books with
their art and shit -
. they never let me into those
damn damn damn damn college books
. with all my art and shit
because i couldn’t
. read in lines
. that were spread
. like my jam
. all over this
. page.
(please excuse the periods, without them, it moves all the lines back to the left, and the poem looses a lot haha)
.01
Walk in my shoes and you’ll step in holes.
.51
I AM A CAPTAIN ABANDONING HIS CREW.
Like insignificant dust
on a mirror that no longer
reflects. I’m drowning,
a boy with no arms.
The mouse trapped by
his tail and
having nothing
to hold onto or to get
out.
.19
I remember when I had fierce
confidence -
and now even my pen
shows the wear of
city living, leading
my eyes
on a downward slope.
I lost my way
and when she asked about
what I meant
when I said I wanted
to be happy
I didn’t have
anything
to say.
a Conversation
Pat, can we move the couch?
No.
Come on Pat, can we please move the couch? I hate it here.
(Pause.), He lifted his beer can and stood up.
I just don’t want to move the couch and blow out my back.
I’ve been training for the company softball game for three weeks now.
Perry said I’ve been looking good, and you know how all that company bullshit is.
If you play well, they pay you well. I’m a decent player and you’re the one
who keeps saying that we need to save up for a bigger place for the kids.
Helen smiled and held her stomach.
Please Pat, I really just hate it here.
Fine, but if my back or shoulder goes out, we’re never getting out of this shit hole.
Pat struggles with the couch, Helen stands to the side, frantically shaking and waving her skinny arms. With her belly so large, her arms look like nothing more than
straws sticking from a pile of hay.
Pat finally manages to lift one side and continues to walk the couch to the
other wall in the room, lifting the right and then the left side. He set it down
quite impressed by the small feat he had accomplished.
He turned to smile at Helen.
Helen was bent over on the ground looking at the used condom on the floor.
They had never had sex in the living room.
Pat was standing behind her, next to the couch. He was breathing heavily, staring at the condom.
It was there in the middle of the floor, looking like flattened roadkill, eyes still open, staring back at them both.
Pat got two home runs and afterwards, returned home, alone; to the couch that he had moved back to the first wall.
My feelings are indifferent to this. I know it needs some work, but it was a quick twenty minute write up and still somehow, draws me back to it.
have a good one.