It's Many Years Since I Fell

My secret drawer holds all the remnants of my past lovers; those letters, those mixed tapes, those photos, those little notes written on bright yellow paper. Sometimes I take the items out and turn them over again and again in my hands trying to remember the feelings that brought me to now; thin pieces of folded paper holding all the secrets of my past.

The crows are sitting on the telephone wire across the alley way. My cat watches them from the window making little clicking noises of annoyance at their tantalizing presence. They call to each other in echoing voices of a time before time. A universe unfolding held under their wings; carrying our importance in their mouths. The seeds of us planted in fertile ground; each black feather a story you have forgotten and should have remembered. My cat flicks his tail turning his golden eyes to me; such a cunning devotion. He curls in my lap and purrs soft love extending each claw as an echo to his wildness. My own little panther in my bed.

This bed, some days, seems so strange to me. There has been traffic here; the only constant being me. I open my eyes to the filmy light streaming in from the window casting long shadows down my body and onto the far wall. The wind is whipping against the window, rattling the frame and clinking little pieces of metal and glass together creating the tinkling music of my morning life. I have woken to a storm. I have woken to rain pelting the streets clean. I have woken alone. I stretch my limbs testing my ability to move; I get up and go find something to eat.

I sit in my living room and stare out at the darkening day; the dark clouds bring down the sky so you can touch it. You can feel it sliding over your skin; dampening your hair, matting it to your head. The fall has come and my tomato plants have died waiting through the long winter months for the spring to touch their leaves and waken their cold slumber. The fruit is rotting. The vines have slackened their hold on the world; I settle into winter like a warm bath enjoying the dark cold. I always was a strange girl.

I stare out the window and think of you. I wonder if it was love or some semblance there of that led me to opening my door on the little world I fight to keep people out of. I write the world falling and you write it in action. I recall confession; your arms around me searching for... something. Some sort of truth I could never offer. "Sometimes you look so sad..." I know. I have sadness written into my cells; a DNA-copy of my father's insanity and my mother's strength and everything she gave up to have that strength. I like to think that my body is somewhere you can find comfort; in the softness of skin and understanding voice. I am, however, beginning to realize that no one offers me that comfort in return. I have spent a lifetime filling the empty spaces in the souls of others; I have been offering pieces of myself to stop the tears from falling from your eyes but when it comes to be my turn to seek comfort you are already up and on your way to the door. "Have a good night! It was nice to see you!" A kiss goodbye, and the door shuts and I fumble with what is left.

I am left here with my dieing tomato plants and the crows calling their names down to my cat; both of them knowing the universe before time began. They turn their eyes on me, tell me their animal love; I go to my secret drawer and drop one more memento into a world burning with a heart that refuses to learn.