In The Garden

When I saw her striding down the street all thought left me with a whoosh like a vacuum out of my head. Her red hair flowed down her back so far that it brushed her tail bone. The nosy neighbors poked their heads over their fences and whispered in conspiratorial voices. "Who is that now? That tall, swaggering, crazy looking chick? Who is that? What is she doing there? I don't think she's wearing a bra! And red stilettos? Who the hell does she think she is?"

When she opened the gate to the yard a flock of starlings, hopping about the lawn searching for insects, suddenly set to air. They flew up into a wall of black announcing her presence with a unified startled call echoing through the neighborhood.

As she reached the bottom of my garden steps, I started to wonder what I had done to bring her here. Was I silently praying for her in my dreams? Was my subconscious wishing for her? Or was this a curse?

She bat her eyelashes at me and pursed her lips nervously.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"
"It's been along time. And the last time..." I trailed off.
"The last time..." she smoothed her fingers over her heart, "We both suffered last time."

She tugged at the buttons on her shirt and suddenly I was in the past, racing through a field running after her down a dusty path. The police were close behind, shouting words I couldn't make out but was pretty sure were profanities. She ran like a deer; gracefully, quickly, head long through the tall grass. I was close behind, my lungs burning, my legs aching.

"Stop! You crazy bitches! Stop!" yelled a red faced cop, his partner huffing behind him.

"Fuck that pig!" she screamed back over her shoulder. She still had one of the rocks she had thrown through their windshield in her hand. She was laughing wildly like a good-time girl on a crazy caper; I was afraid we were going to die at the hands of two big, angry, sure-to-be-rape-happy cops. I waited for a bullet to tear through my back. She turned her beautiful crazy eyes on me, "Come on!" she laughed reaching for my hand and pulling me down a steep embankment. I looked back long enough to see one of the cops falling head over heels down the hill as we cleared the train tracks and dove into the tunnel beyond.

She pulled me into a decaying building on the other side of the train yard.
"We can hide in here. They won't find us. They're too stupid."
"You're fucking nuts! You know that, right?" I said between gasps trying to catch my breath; my lungs still burning like they had hot coals dropped down them. My legs were shaking; I thought about how nice it would be to collapse right there. I didn't though, for fear of looking like a pussy in front of her. I wanted to be tough for her. To be crazy like her; an Amazon in a leather jacket with fiery red hair fearlessly screaming "Pig!" into a 200 pound cop's face. I wanted to let go, just let go of my stupid little safe life and embrace some recklessness. Embrace her.

"Serves them right. Calling us dykes like that. I shoulda done worse." She turned that fearless stare on me and I couldn't help but admire her unthoughtful bravery; and I couldn't help notice her unbound breasts heaving under her thin white t-shirt. Each breathe causing them to rise and fall; quivering to be touched. I clenched my fists at my side and looked down. Suddenly her hand was on my chin raising my eyes to meet hers. Every inch of me filled with longing; my body ached with it, the core of me burned with it. She must have seen it in my eyes.

She met my lips with a soft kiss wrapping her arms around me, playing her fingers along my back. Suddenly my hands were under her shirt, sliding over her nipples soon replaced with my mouth. I gasped out loud when her fingers slipped below the belt of my jeans. Time hiccuped and we were on the floor tearing at each others clothing. Slipping hands along skin, lapping at each other like hungry dogs, fighting for breath. Her skin shone in the dusty sunlight through the dirty window as she held my glistening face in her hands and gently mouthed, "I love you."

I snapped back to the present.  There she was at the base of my garden steps. Her long hair shifting in the breeze, her breasts pressing against her shirt (still not wearing a bra after all these years), her eyes still full of that crazy glinting energy. I stood in the doorway of the safe little life I had built for myself since she left. The hole in my heart carefully covered over now.  If I were step away from the door my safety would be gone. My life fractured. I clenched my fists at my side. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and for the first time since I met her I could see a nervousness under her smile.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" she said looking down at her feet.

Suddenly I was down the stairs in a blind rush, taking her all in my arms. I pressed my mouth against hers. We both gasped for breath; all the memories of her skin rushed back to me at once. Her body slid up against mine, neither of us wanted to break the connection. I pulled back and took her face in my hands.

"I've never been happier to see anyone in my entire life."

Truth Lies

I knew when I saw God in the eyes of the Devil that we were all fucked and should probably just give up now.

Kingdoms in the Rain

You know, it's strange to get to the age where you have nostalgia. Where you sit down and start thinking about the past. Before this point, I didn't have enough life to have a past. There was only the happening now. But here, in this now, the kids are out racing me. They don't know my cultural references and look at me strange when I tell them stories of 'how it used to be'. They look at me like I'm old. Like I know something they don't. When the fuck did that happen?

So yes, I have been thinking of the past...

Did we break her? You and I? Did we break her? We both were in love with her. Strange little bird that she was. Did we break her? Or was she already broken when we got there? She never let me forget what we did. Made me suffer for it for years. Jabbed me with little pointed phrases when I was least expecting them just to see me wince. Wept in my arms because of you as I smoothed down her hair and cooed in her ear. I lost her years ago and I don't think I can go back.

You know, I followed that black dog into the wood, my boots digging into the softened dirt up the steep hill. I followed his tail. Pointing his snout back at me to make sure I was following. His tongue hanging out and a smile on his black lips. A happy yip and he would dive back into the brush. All four paws in the creek, trying to catch silver trout with his long teeth. Once we reached the pond, a gleeful barking and splashing would send the startled ducks to air. In deep golden fields we ran, an hour hike from home all by ourselves. Me, 12 years old and off in the forest on my own. Me and that black dog chasing cattle down the road, running through the birch groves, eating lunch by that glittering stream... we always knew the way home.They never told me how he died. His tail still disappearing before me.

In the winter, I walked my grandmother's long country driveway to wait for the big yellow school bus that came lumbering down the road. Wrapped in layers, hopping from foot to foot trying to stay warm. My breath would hang in the air, ice crystals forming on my eyelashes. The world had gone white, buried in clean snow. Like a blanket had been pulled over the world. Everything quiet, gentle. Little tracks of field mice in the snow. Deer trails up through the trees. My foot prints following me down the path. Everything still, frozen until the roaring engine of the bus broke the distance promising warmth, a hard seat and shrill taunting laughs all the way to school.

I remember my first winter spent in the rain. No white snow but everything glistened with a dark wetness as the street lights bounced off the pavement. The wetness seeping in around the edges of my shoes leaving me with soggy socks. A rainy winter was foreign to me. No snow to shovel. No fire wood to chop. I obviously needed better shoes and a crash course in umbrella etiquette. The rain came down in sheets and beat against my window all night long. The world held it's breath and splashed me standing at the curb. We all shook the droplets from our hair as we boarded the bus. Everything stayed so green and the leaves never fell.

...
Tell me your story.
I want to know your past.
I might write it down as you should never trust a poet but know I treasure every syllable as we build a kingdom in the rain with words lost in the night.

Fifteen Years in the City

Fifteen years in the city and goddamn do I hate it here. Everything is wet. I feel like I'm growing mold. Fifteen years of mildew between my toes. I used to stand barefoot in clean, clear streams with the sun filtering in through thick green leaves dancing little reflections on the softest moss. That black dog's tail disappearing into the underbrush only to reappear with a great lulling tongue. A ruff of fur under my hand.

Fifteen years and still nobody wants me here. Every man who put his mouth to my lips lied. Every word was a distraction to get their hands down my pants. This water is so filthy I'm not sure it's safe to swim in. So murky, you can't see the sandy bottom and you dare not open your eyes to those depths. Still I strip my clothes off in front of a growing crowd and dive in. Each wave slams into me and my worries set to sea.

There was a lake so still it looked like glass. As green as the green eyes I was born with. Little fish darted past you and dragonflies painted the sky with humming wings skimming the water's edge. Just watch out for those fucking horse flies, they bite like a bitch. He told me he loved my green eyes, but it was a lie. Just like every sticky sweet thing that clung to his lips.

That big old Ford barreled by kicking up dust to the blue, blue sky. His laugh as loud as the engine. A chainsaw rattling around in the back. Sawdust in his hair. "Dad," I said, "where does this road go?"

My mother brushed her impossibly long hair out every morning by the wood cookstove that my great grandmother had bartered for two generations earlier. Her hair fell all the way to her waist like a chestnut waterfall. The whole cabin dense with the smell of fresh coffee warming on the fire's edge. That clay mug still in her hands.

Fifteen years and still I dream of grass lands stretching up the pine tree hills. So golden that it looked like flaxen waves in the wind. Purple alfalfa flowers dancing with fat bees, crickets leaping before my torn jeans in the heat. Saskatoon berries ripening under the sun. The willow tree in the edge of the yard swaying to the breeze. Alkali lakes all dried up in the summer time and birch trees rustling their leaves in the canopy.

Fifteen years and this city hates me. Flesh presses against mine everywhere I go and I recoil from it. The dim grey pushes against me. Against my mind. Every voice struggling over the other trying to be heard until there is nothing but a dull roar poisoning the air. I can't be alone. They won't let me. They seek me out. Make me talk to them. Tug at my hems. Smile all lewd teeth down my shirt. I just want to be left alone. Take your fucking hands off me.

Five minutes of silence and clear water will flow over me, my hair floating like ribbons from my head. Grass lands will stretch before me. Sun will play on my cheeks. Great ravens will fill the air and blue jays will steal bits of food from the porch.  That big black dog will forever disappear before me as I follow him into that thickening wood never once looking back as the sun slips from my shoulders.

Who Writes This Shit?

The drugs are fast and faster and faster still. I feel everything in this resin heart. So clear. So full of nothing. I should be drinking. I should be smoking. I should be dancing. I should be meeting beautiful men and breaking their hearts.

What do I have left to write about? A dead life? A tree that refuses to grow? A man who avoids me at every costs but can't seem to stay completely away? Where did you go, apache? Where did you go?

The drugs are talking now. It's not me. It's just my fingers moving over the keyboard trying to make words come out.  I probably shouldn't let them do all the talking. They tend to not make any sense and I regret them in the morning.

Stars fill the sky. Stars fill my mind. I hate the people I meet so much sometimes I want to reach up and pluck their eyes out of their big stupid heads. Sometimes I want to see flames where people used to be standing. What are you idiots staring at? If you knew what was really in here... if you really understood... you would not be so eager.

My kitten is mewing at the door way. She says 'Let us go to bed. Dawn will be here soon.' She's right. What are we waiting for anyway? The sunlight hates us and only the moon wants us here. Who writes this shit anyways?

Big Man

She took a long drag off her cigarette and tapped it against the ashtray. She exhaled blue smoke as she spoke:

"He was a drunk so he had sleep apnea. You know, where you stop breathing for a minute or two in your sleep and then start again. I'd lay there every night listening to him breath. When he'd stop, I'd wish with all my heart that he wouldn't start again. I felt like crying every time he'd cough and start snoring again."

She stared out the window. The smoke hung around her head like a halo in the filtered sunlight.

"You know, I can't say I'm sorry he's dead. I just can't."

Crowbar

I don't know if I should fuck you hard or just fuck you up.