
how did i get there, to that seemingly bottomless chasm
(i mean, i know how i got there. but how did i get there?)
of the deepest depths of the one who waited and
wanted
me
they all wanted
me
i was unexpected, to some degree
at least my lashes, and my swollen lips
and of course the lacking
between my little legs
when i came out i'd never looked more like my
great great greats
quiet little (big) ball of brown
soon faded when the yellow hair sprouted
(two years later)
(two years later)
and my skin turned pink
and never looked back
i've always felt i could reach out and touch my childhood
i wonder if anyone else feels that way
its never really left me, how much of it i'd want to
(not much)
(not much)
from the crawling into the kitchen
across the ceramic blue tiles
to the green carpet in that old grey house
to the laying in the crib in the room with the american flag ceiling
she swears that never happened (we were never in that room)
but i'll never forget his face
peering over me as i cried
too young to speak
too young to stand
he had long hair
and i always feared those wearing it
the orange berries on the tree outside
she said the more there were the harsher
the cold would be
that year
that stayed with me too but i think what it really meant
was the summer was lavish
rich with warmth and water
the push of that stroller and
the red snowsuit with the cone hood
the sled and the calling of my brother
child talks sticking nick names
forever tattooed in our minds
the skunk in the backpack
and the strawberries at the fair
the lifeguards and the rings at the playground
that i fell off of
(I've still yet to try those again)
the lake with the dock
stories of her saving one
long legs slender with tanned skin and her hair
she tried so hard to make straight
those shorts, red and orange pinstripe
with the white blouse i begged my mother to find for me
though i never had a body like hers
living without consciousness
my being was what they saw
touched
held
bathed
burped
changed
wiped
fed
cried with
little being attached
at the breast
everyone is an accessory
for the first little bit
of time
me though, i remember
you can't tell me a story i couldn't recollect
sitting in the grey leather, skin out of shorts sticking in the heat
heart shaped imprint from the moist seeping from my pores
school trip to the dump
(yes, the dump)
woman walks alone along the sidewalk. she looks at me, i look at her
i thought about when i'd be there, looking at the child on the yellow bus
remembering
while i looked at her, the woman on the sidewalk,
waiting
for choice
i remember that thought,
conscious thought
knowing it would stay with me
and it has
for the most part
she remembers me with long hair
long hair big eyes
cartoon rabbit's
(he says, meant to take lovingly)
most of my life most locks were chopped
little boy looks with the
little boy
name
i cared so little
and it was all for the sport
natural stunner
natural sinner
natural hatred of oneself
days come and they go and i am capable
of feeling the beauty i've longed for
but mostly i am that bald round brown
taken out with a scalpel
below the button
i see it sometimes
picture my arm and my cry
rolled legs and skin supple with
the red liquid and slime
those lashes and swollen lips
and of course
the lacking between my little legs
and
i wonder if i'd turn out any different
had i passed through her thighs
like i was supposed to
jesus christ this just about killed me
ReplyDeletei know
ah, i dont want you to die. but that comment made me feel nice. (coming from you because your words leave me breathless everytime i decide to dive in)
ReplyDelete