More Poetry- Another Storm, Brother

Another Storm, Brother

Torrential down pour
Rain splattering against the window
But that isn’t what wakes me

Engine groaning, spinning but not catching as it should
Over and over it starts and stops until I stand
Feet on soft carpet

Slipping one finger through the tight metal blinds
Pushing one slat from another
From my bedroom
Your stalled 65’ Falcon
Navy blue with silver so polished it reflects like a full length mirror

So many times
You have peeled out of our driveway on its deep tires
And I always envied how you rolled away with your windows down
Arm extended as you straighten the rearview

You stop trying to start
And you leave your sanctity
the rain is coming down so hard
that your image blurs almost immediately
I push the blinds further apart to see where you are going

Standing at the rear you push forward
Nothing accomplished
Nothing gained
and I know
I should be out there

If nothing else maybe to see if you’re okay
because that’s what we all would have done
if this were an episode
of The Brady Bunch
but our family was never that together
and I am not strong enough to hear you yell
or watch you cry

I remove my finger
The metal catches and grabs and the slats are now crooked
And I can still see you continue to push
your prize
that is slowly starting to slide into the middle of the street
knowing that I am not
close enough
to help

Sometimes- A Break for Some Poetry

Sometimes I realize how close I am to the ground.

So close that I can see very small stones and pieces of dirt that I know taller people can’t see.

Sometimes I become very dissatisfied with myself and the fact that I often wear jeans twice in a row without washing them.

Sometimes I see people talk.

Their lips are moving in a fish-like motion.

They even look like fish…

large Angel fish, the kind that always rip the other fish to shreds and pluck out their eyes.

Then in the tank, you have these eyeless fish floating through the water.

They lack any real direction until they bump into glass walls.

Sometimes when people talk to me

I watch their teeth and their tongue moving back and forth, up and down.

Their words are soundless. Their eyes are bright.

There are no Angel fish to pluck them out.

Losing It

the_color_of_nature_by_taitai03

A strand of thin brown hair falls into the crease of my elbow

I brush it away

Another lands softly on the table and sticks

 

Sign of stress

Sign of aging

 

My hair is everywhere, my friend says. But her locks are thick and long

and mine are sparse

 

Just relax, I tell myself as I seek to do everything…perfectly…to prove

No jello streaks on the kitchen floor

Blanket straight on the back of the chair

Vacuum in the single closet

prove, move, fix

 

Little boys happy

Toys stashed in proper places

 

A long strand ends up in my mouth

The average person loses 125 strands of hair a day

 

46 47 48

 

Trichotillomania- the obsessive habit of pulling out your own hair

 

Another strand falls and I have to believe that is is number 126

So beyond the legal limit

 

I fall to the floor with it

My fingers searching to clean it up before anyone sees

my imperfection in brown

on a white tiled floor

curled slightly at the end

twisting up towards the ceiling

 

I pinch it between my two fingers

carry it over to the sink

and wash it down the drain