Ball Of Yarn

She rocks back and forth monotonously, untangling the web in her hands.  She glances out from the porch and sees a small girl skitter across, blond braids gliding behind her.  The girl rushes towards a tire swing and slides through in one graceful motion.  A man and woman stand at either side of her, smiling at each other as they push the swing.  He tips his fedora and kisses her on the cheek only to then pick up the girl and spin her around, their ring of laughter echoes in the wind.

On the porch steps, not ten feet away, a woman brushes her daughter’s hair.  Her face is serene and kisses the girl softly before she runs off to play, leaving a small lipstick stain on her temple.  The woman smoothed her golden hair down, attempting to hide her sadness that is evident in her eyes.  A car pulls up to the gate and she glances up curiously.  He is dressed in a crisp uniform, stepping out of the car, his brown suit pressed and his cap perfectly positioned.  She rushes to him at once, embracing him so forcefully that he stumbles backward.  He strokes her hair as she cries on his shoulder and he kisses her on the nose.

            As she sits on her porch swing, her aged hands move skillfully with the needles to weave a child’s sweater.  She sighs heavily, a lifetime of worries imbedded in her face.  Her hair has turned grey, silver strands shimmering when the sun hits it.  When a creaky car pulls into the driveway, she stands slowly, holding herself steady on the rail.  A young woman in a nurse’s uniform wraps around to the passenger side to help someone out of the car.  The process is slow, painstakingly slow but soon he emerges.  He no longer wears a hospital gown that outlined his frail bones.  He has a glow in his cheeks and extra pounds under his suspenders.  His cane causes him to shuffle gently but that doesn’t matter.  She descends the aged steps and hugs him longingly, weeping with happiness. 

Mr. Sandman

As children, we are told to pursue our dreams.  We receive encouragement to let them wander, far and vast to uncover wonders.  Then as the years go on, we find that there was a fine print to those statements.  Wander only as far as we see fit.  Do not dare tread into the dark woods.  Many have not come back who have gone in.  It is safer with boundaries.  Be practical.

But the woods call to us.  The lush foliage and canopies seem to create a mystical world one must journey through to fully appreciate.  There is something unspoken about it that children know it is an escape.  It is freedom for expression. 

            Despite all this, the doubts creep in as the limitations roll through.  The freedom of the woods becomes blockaded.  Fallen trees and wild animals tread your desired path.  Insecurities are injected like poison by those who do not believe; those without hearts.  The whole concept of ‘following your dreams’ appears to be a joke.  You cannot follow what is clouded from your vision. 

There are those that are stronger than the lethal poison.  They push through and overpower the drug.  They do not need to see to believe.  These are the ones who will enter the woods.  The reason they do not return is because there is no need to.  Why return to the dark tunnel after a lifetime of sun?  The strong individuals have the drive, the vision.  They will not be stopped from reaching the woods.  After every parting cloud there is light.  They are not following their dreams.  They will lead them. 

Retrospect

Light me Lou, just one hit. I love the feel of a velvet kick. With the talking walls and rebellious streaks, the liquor is smooth as Dorothy speaks. A mischievous grin as her laugh rings true. I shout obscenities as cake eaters do. Marilyn’s crying in the bathroom, I see the mascara running. Red are the hands of the cheating bridegroom but the silent wife is considered cunning. Tell me Fred, do you like my shoes? Or are you telling me lies laced with sweets? What a shame I found out this way since Ginger spice gets me off my feet. I pray to thee, Madonna blue to raise me from the ashes. And if the snow were to freeze me dead, radical lights will glow with passion. The devil gleans red aglow where his temptations draw me close. A fool too bright blinded I stumble past midnight with sticks and Stones stuck in my shoe. I’m stuck in the trenches, Amelia save me. The world has gone mad with the greed of babies. So give me the wings, whatever the cost. Take me away to a paradise lost. So I shall burn and stew against these crimes, choke the air you may breath. Keep an eye on your back, Dr. Death comes for thee. Try dear please to find your bliss, to stumble upon Nirvana love. For your pains and worries run amiss when you cross paths with the dove. We can’t go back but only fight on through the winding halls of the rabbit’s clock. It’s glorified in retrospect of the gruesome toils we endured. It won’t hurt, just another cigarette to light my fire and let it burn. And as the night rolls in, with the drum beats proud, our revolution bleeds us thin to sleep with the lost and found. And we rub our hands, with warm contempt. As fires rage licking lands, I’ll ease your pains – it was just a tryst. The world still stands, so I’ll give you a kiss my millennium man.

New Light

The cheap Styrofoam rattles with the hum of the train engine.  The smell of cracked plastic permeates the car.  Warm air emanating from the vents above compels me to loosen my scarf.  The man who sits beside me attempts to shake the creases from his slacks, fruitless in his struggle for perfection.  His brow is furrowed and I feel as if this is a permanent feature in his expression.  I see the mundane business career taking another victim right before me, this man’s unhappiness hidden deep within his frown lines. His worn leather briefcase rests underneath the seat, tossed aside when he initially sat down in an exhausted huff. 

I sip the lukewarm coffee; the bitterness residing on my taste buds.  The glass window is frosted from the coolness of the outside.  All the trees are barren and whiteness envelopes the earth, blinding and beautiful.  Hidden beyond the foliage are glimpses of homes.  Through the bleak trunks and powdered underbrush an abandoned tire swing flashes in and out of view.  Immediately I think back to that fall afternoon, leaves falling around us in a picturesque way.

My legs soared through the air, a laugh forever in my smile.  You grabbed the rope and caused the tire to spin to a stop.  Your eyes sparked with eternal youth and a look that was all mine.  Time had stood still in those moments, mine and yours.  I had felt alive, felt free; I paid no attention to the flaws in the world. 

“Emma?”

Wrenched back to reality, a girl looms over the seat in front of me.  Her prim blonde hair is straight and shined.  For a moment I am mesmerized with the endless pattern of checkerboard on her pressed blouse.  This girl reeks of naïve college student and immediately I wish to be anywhere else. 

“Julie.”  My voice sounds harsh compared to her cheery demeanor.

She smiles almost too brightly.  I fight every urge to flinch and shrink away.  “It is you!  How have you been?”

“Fine, just fine.”  My throat holds a choke from her overpowering fruity perfume. 

Julie seems to take this as an initiative to launch into “I was just catching the train on my way home for the weekend.  We haven’t seen you around lately.  After sophomore year you kind of just disappeared.  Laurie will be delighted to hear I saw you.”    She probably would have continued if her stop did not arrive.  I watch her bounce off the train onto the platform and shrink smaller and smaller into the distance.

Freshman year of college, I was an eighteen year old little nobody sitting in the dorm with three other girls.  We were gabbing about this and that, little infirmities that are forgotten now.  An opened bag of Doritos lie in the center of our circle while we painted our nails.  The major dilemma at the time was Laurie and her trouble with men.  Then it had seemed so important and I had honestly given it my fullest attention.  Thinking back, it all appears so trivial.   Why had I even wasted my time being shallow, obsessing over the perfect manicure or the looks of a certain guy? 

The squeal of children grows in confidence as three and their mother sit a few rows away, the train jostling slightly.  One is silent, keeping to himself but the other two are almost out of control.  A young boy about the age of six is tugging the hair of his older sister.  She is under ten and pudgy with a look of distain.  The mother desperately tries to quiet them but that seems only to amplify their cries.  Her weary expression and slumped posture reveals her defeat though she desperately attempts to conceal it.  I want to get up from my seat and walk over to her.  I want to offer my coffee for a bit of energy she obviously lacked and a hug that seems long overdue.  But I don’t.  I stay where I am, watching another clip of this reel of a foreign film; a small view of someone else’s struggles and hardships. 

The last encounter with my parents before I left for college, I had just gotten into another argument with my father.  We would continually butt heads since he had my whole life planned out for me.  I wanted to find myself and his path was not the road I wished to take.  It had been the last of summer, sweltering heat during the day and the greenest of leaves prominent on all the New England trees.   

“When you live under my roof, you will live under my rules.”  The vein in his forehead began to throb. 

“Your rules?  Dad, when are you even home to make those rules?  You are full of hypocrisy.  I am leaving.  I am eighteen−a legal adult and I am fully capable of making my own decisions.  I will go to the school of my choice and major in whatever I come to love.  I will not become your puppet and have no mind of my own.”  My body was shaking in defiance and tears welled in my eyes.

My father, the very advertisement of corporate, sat silently in his over-stuffed armchair with his legs crossed in a position of complete and utter poise.  His hands folded in his lap; he let out a patronizing sigh.  “Then you may not be part of this family.”  I physically felt my face drop with defeat as he issued his cold decision.  Without another word I walked out of that house and closed the door, never looking back. 

The train jolted on the tracks making my coffee spill onto my lap.  Luckily it is cooled quite a bit so I am not burned, just stained with imperfection.  Wiping myself quickly I know that my stop is approaching fast and I gather my bags.  The man next to me appears annoyed that I jostled his serene train ride, tripping over him to get to the aisle. 

Adjusting the gloves on my chilled fingers, a cool air hits my face as I step off the train and onto the wooden platform.  Winter is in its full form, covering everything in sight.  I close my eyes and take a deep, long overdue breath, taking in the crisp air that travels down my throat and resides in my heart.  When I open again, there they are, standing not twenty feet away smiling small but proud; my parents.  A sob catches in my throat as I carefully make my way to them, a little smile playing upon my lips. 

And then they part.  Their figures move aside to reveal something that instantly brings tears to my eyes.  You are standing there, quiet as a mouse and as handsome as ever.  In your uniform and short hair I see the man you have become; you stand with complete confidence, life in this dead winter. 

I let all the things in my grasp drop instantly, rushing to your open arms.  Once there, I feel at home and all my senses come together.  Life is not about having specific moments but how you make the most of them.  It should not be wasted with petty worries or even a battle fought without words or arms.  This life that I have the privilege of living consists of people who are trying to make the most of the world too.  And it is in this moment, as I hug you ferociously, that I see over your shoulder a tiny patch of grass peeking through the snow and a single violet flower rising early against all the odds of winter to look upon the sun.

Straight Knots

Eat your wine and sip your cheese

Fulfill the wants and wish for needs

Stomp your hands and clap your feet

Feel the sky and see the breeze

The crystal snow

sparks the fire

as the eunuch shows

his burning desire

The immortal sings sweet

from his cold deathbed

of thoughts to entreat

a bodiless head.

And the bluebird sings

with saddened passion

as the jailbird cries

in a happy fashion.

The frontman is hanging in the back room

Smoking from a pipe

When the water bursts, it's a tomb

Bringing him back to life.

The wood is smooth

and splinters my mind

so I create my groove

to walk the line.

The coffee has cooled 

it burns my tongue

Age breeds the fool

with wisdom of the young.

Birds swim past

as the fish will fly

carry through the fingers

to mark hands of time.

We only live once

so in my next life

I will see your face

through another's eyes.