Inspiration vs. Inception

You know why I'm sad?

I'm sad because I haven't forgotten

how to take the elevator down to level 18,

to  face my fear every chance I get,

to talk to her while she sharpens knives.

Meanwhile I have a close friend close by,

to help my shoot

my fear and guilt and shame and anger and regret before

she stabs me in the heart.

My friend, before she leaves,

is there to tell me to go back,

to wake up,

to move on.

Wishing well and not so well

Once I wished you were gone,

So I could write.

And now you are gone

And the floors echo

where your feet once fell,

Slow and groaning

"You got your wish.

You got your wish."

A Marriage to the Rope Maker's Daughter

Her father held her hand very delicately, as if he feared her fingers shattering into a million pieces. She worried that her little hands would press his gnarled fingers too hard and they would dissolve. Even then his hands rattled.

" 'm not 'fraid, sweetie. Neither sh'd ye be." He looked down at her with warm, if not worried eyes.

" 'm not afraid, Daddy. But where 're you goin'?"

Her father sighed, rubbing his leathered face tiredly as he searched the wall behind her for an answer. Finally, he smiled as his eyes found hers. "At dawn 'm gonna marry the rope maker's daughter"

She beamed, nearly jumping from the floor. "I've always want'd a mum." "What she like?"

He chewed his lip a little. "She's quite frightening, just like her father."

"Can I meet her?" She sat up a little, touching his face.

Her father shook his head sadly. "Not yet. I really wish I c'd bring ye to the weddin', but it's too scary fer little girls."

"But Daddy, 'm brave."

"Promise me ye won' go. Promise." His eyes searched hers this time, as if he were looking for an anchor.

_____________________________

Like many promises a little girl makes, she broke this one. She hardly slept that night, pacing around her room, eyeing the fort impatiently. Knowing her father, he would try to have an extravagant wedding. Usually that would mean renting the Governor's courtyard, but some reason her father and the governor didn't get along so well. He would have to have it at the fort, where the whole town could see.

She raced outside as the sun reluctantly rose over the eastern coast. Before that yellow coin finished rising over the water, the girl was hiding in the skirts of some woman in the crowd around the platform. She had a hard time spotting him, but she eventually found her father on top of the platform with a rope around his neck. The girl couldn't find a daughter anywhere on the platform, only the scary man in the black hood, and some sort of judge. Even the words of the man on the far end of the platform were hard to hear over the crowd's murmuring.

Yet the sound of trapdoor falling down cut right through.

To Mrs. McGinnis

You look like a sponge squeezed.
That breath you carry around every
other moment probably weighs
a lifetime more than before.
I know if you could,
You would shoot light straight into your father's heart,
or create a sunbeam that would take your children straight to their grandfather.

You might feel like you're fighting a battle
Against a enemy you're not sure of.
Heaven is the highest victory,
a tower higher than the clouds.
I wish I could say you could climb up
such a tall ladder with your armor on,
your shield and sword in hand,
but they'll only weigh you down.

A Drive Down Kuebler Boulevard

I see flowers and a cross on the side of the road.
Why isn't there a flower and a cross my mom's hospital room?
Why aren't there flowers streaming
down the halls,
down the walls,
for the people the doctors couldn't save,
who they wouldn't save?

Burden of Truth

He carried his burden on his back.
She carried it over her body.
Every bruise begged for candy,
every word called for geese.
Each misplaced fold told a story,
the day her man lost his job.
Each wrinkle of hers whispered
of the times he'd been rejected.
"Sorry, hon' I've been havin' a hard time"
She ate his apologies for dessert.

Post Card

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

I hope you are doing well. I've been really busy with my new friends. They took me to Silver Falls last week, and yesterday they took me up to the Governor's office while he was away. My friends said that Mr. Governor would be honored if I sat in his office chair. And so I did! My friends took pictures, and they helped me paper clip it to the back of this letter.

I miss you a lot, and I promise to come home someday, but I wanna see more of the world before I stand in your front lawn and watch cars go by.

Love,

Your Garden Gnome Ithamar

Teddy goes to the doctor

The operating room was nestled in a corner of a bedroom. Teddy was brought in by the only operating staff, the surgeon. This surgeon doubled as a chauffeur, a coach, a nurse, a chef, a chaperon, and of course, a surgeon. She laid Teddy on the tiny operating table, next to a sewing machine. Pulling out her implements, a pair of sewing scissors, a  needle, and a spool of green thread, the surgeon got to work.

It was a routine surgery, but it still required utmost patience in preparation.  The surgeon wired the thread through the needle in the sewing machine, and inserted the spool at the top. She checked to make sure the machine was plugged in, and switched on the built-in light. Pressing her foot on the peddle, she moved Teddy's broken arm underneath the needle.

The machine growled to life, and the needle went up and down and up and down until Teddy had sixteen stitches. Fortunately, Teddy wouldn't need any physical therapy, but his best friend Kyle would have to be careful with his right arm. It wouldn't take much to ruin the sixteen stitches in green fur.

Keepsake

I let your body go months ago,

and I let your soul fly to heaven like a dove,

but do you mind if I

carry a piece of your spirit around with me?

I'll keep it in my left pocket,

and take it out when I need your backbone,

I need your smile,

need your laughter.

A Green Flash

No one in my family has ever met Dad's father. Jade only has one picture of him, weathered, worn, and in black and white. It's a picture of when she first met him, in Burbank, California. They both worked at an aircraft factory in WWII. She was a Rosie the Riveter of sorts, and he was an aircraft engineer. Some sort of chronic illness, Grandma Jade would say, the government wouldn't dare put him in combat. He flew into her life like a storm at sea, and left just as quick. But he knew her long enough to father my dad.

Jade took his last name, as a sort of token, and took to wearing a ring he gave her on her left hand. She would never say if he married her, and we never found any wedding photos. Grandma didn't seem to mind, as she never sought out anyone else.

Grandma Jade never strayed too far from the coast. Sure, we could coax her away, closer to family, for a few years, but within a decade she'd be back by the ocean. She could get by in any coastal town, but she preferred ports, no matter what size. Jade even moved from Santa Monica, saying it was too expensive, but she just moved up the coast  town by town, until she found Coos Bay. Less crowded, she said.

She'd spend nearly day at the beach, or on the docks. We knew not to check her house when we came to visit. Instead we combed the coastline until we found her.Every so often we'd see her gaze at the waves longingly, as if she was looking for someone. Our visits usually ended up being sandy picnics, crabbing, fishing, but Jade never took us shopping at the tourist traps. "I'd never find anything worth paying for." She would say when asked.

Over the years the family visited less and less, until Grandma got sick in the spring. At first, we took turns, dropping by each weekend to check up on her, or if we could, we'd take days off work and school. Then summer hit, and Grandma Jade still hadn't healed. Even then she refused to go to the hospital. So I packed a suitcase and moved to her place for however long it took.

We spent nearly all our time at the beach, only going home at night. No matter how late it was, we could always find our way home. Long after everyone had turned off their lights and went to bed, her house always had one light on. I knew she had a window facing the water in her bedroom. The candle that sat on her window sill never went out. Fishermen would always joke that they could see the light from the ocean.

Then she got too sick to go outside. I did everything I could, from opening the windows to let the draft in, to bringing her seashells I found every morning at the shore. Grandma Jade would smile at me tiredly, then toy with the seashell as if she wanted something else.

It took three days of her favorite meal (salmon on mash potatoes) to get the truth out of her.

"I don't think I'm going to make it, hon' " Jade glanced up at me, as young as ever.

I helped her bring another bite to her lips."Oh, don't say that Grandma. You'll be fine. You're a toughie."

"I'm sorry hon.'" She chewed it thoughtfully, then glanced up at me, her eyes sparkling like streams in the sunlight. "You want to know a secret?"

"Sure." Wondering what on earth Grandma Jade had left to tell.

"Set that fork down and open that drawer next to you. Yeah, that one. The picture should be underneath all those scarves."

I pulled it and held up for both our eyes. It was the picture of Grandpa Jones, the only picture she had.

"Did you know Grandpa knew more than just planes?"

I set her plate aside. She never never had an appetite when she had a story to tell.

"He also liked ships. Big ones. Historic ones."

"You mean, sailing?"

Jade smiled, seeming younger already. "Yeah. He loved to go and rescue men lost at sea." She sighed wistfully.

"Like the coast guard?"

She frowned slightly, as if I was missing something important. "Sort of, except none of them ever wanted to come back. So they would join his crew."

"Wait, he was a captain?"

Jade smiled again, proud. "One of the best. No one could ever catch him."

"But he left you years ago, right? Soon after the war?"

She spoke softer, squeezing my hand weakly. "He came back once every ten years."

My eyes widened farther than the portholes in her kitchen. "Wait...Grandpa Jones is--"

Jade whispered fiercely, grinning. "Davy Jones." She thumbed my hand. "Just between us though, alright?"

I nodded. "So...you're going to meet him."

"Oh, I suppose I'll go and join his crew." She uttered softly.

"And you're not coming back." I swallowed.

"Just promise you'll bury me at sea."

"Of course, Grandma, of course."

Cassandra

There is an entire world between

knowing how to save her life,

and saving her life.

In that world there stands

white-washed doctors,

and mud-slung legislators,

and a computer god,

who judges without mercy.

Here, common sense is worth less

than two pennies,

but her minutes are worth more than gold.

I could buy diamonds with her lucid thoughts,

and rubies with her smiles.

Remember Me: By Lenore A. Pittock

When you look at me
all you see is a
slow, suffering, gray, stooped-shouldered
woman who can barely walk,
is short of breath,
and moves every step slowly one at a time.
_________
Remember who I was before,
laughing, running,
butterfly-chasing child who
danced in the sunshine for the pure joy of it,
through the daises,
measured each step for strength,
and found each day unable to contain
the energy that splashed.
_________
Now you see me no more
but remember me. I am once again
picking flowers,
laughing, running, chasing
butterflies, unable to contain
the pure joy and energy splashing
through me as I dance
in eternity's life with my
creator and savior of my life.

Ghosts

The hospital had one,

except it was the sort of ghost

that only followed my shadow

everywhere my feet fled.

to hotel at the beach, warmly lit--

and an Italian nursing home.

_______________

My mother's room had a different ghost,

one that clung to the chambers of my heart,

after creeping in through my nose and eyes.

It plagued my sight after I left the room,

filling it with mist, making my chest throb.

__________________

Twenty ghosts haunted the signatures

in her yearbook,

each curve connecting each letter

was a ley line into her world,

a world I wondered if I knew.

Eye witness report

Susan Wheeler died on the 21st of June. The warm breeze gave her away to the first passerby, a seventeen year-old man (or a boy, if one talked to his mother) named Brad Pinkerton. He passed her body, not yet cooled (as if anything could cool on the sidewalks of Pasadena), and he was reported saying "She smelled like last weeks garbage."

The autopsy report confirmed that the body was only a few hours old.  Both parents confirmed that the nineteen year old had gone missing earlier that day, just after lunch, when the sun cooked eggs on the concrete. Later they identified Wheeler's dark tresses and the mole on her left cheek. Her parents couldn't recognize much else.

Police investigated the case, calling the case a homicide. Five years later and no murderer had been found. Every third Friday a twenty-four year old woman visits the lawn, though the police have long since removed the yellow tape. She runs her hand along the blazing concrete and smirks, before she walks off, the sun catching the wave in her dark curls.

Lifting Weights

What doesn't kill us now, will eventually.

Birthday cards and Mother's Day cards

feel ten pounds heavier when she's sick,

twenty when she's no longer around to keep them.

Her signature stamped on each one,

blares like neon gas

when her hands no longer sign them.

Prying open each door will leave us

with dead arms and blind eyes.

Pandora's Box

Every memory of the hospital

I locked inside,

with the lost cds,

the forgotten Christmas,

and the Easter she slept through.

_______________

Each 21 days Death pulls out a key

and unchains the chest.

He allows three tears

to escape. The key slips

into his hollow cape.

______________

In the cavity of his chest

he holds our ache,

But he also holds our cure.

Grave Diggers

Each of the four buttons beeped as he punched in his code. The machine spit out a receipt with a squeak. It read Employee #5, clocked in 5:00 p.m. He stuffed the receipt in his apron, and adjusted his blue baseball cap as he headed to the sink. Squeezing some soap onto his hands he scrubbed for ten seconds, and then washed for them for ten.  Within another half a minute he stood behind the fountain machines, clipboard in hand.

“Susie! You’re doing outside trashes.” “Carl! You have drains.” “Mike! You have windows.” “Louise, you have menu houses.” In a more mumbled voice, Bill glanced down and read. “And I have everything else.”

As the proud team-leader he was, Bill headed over to the drive-thru window, drawing the envy of all his fellow employees. He put on his headset with a flourish. Bill snapped to attention when he heard a faint beep, followed by the rumble of a customer’s engine. “Welcome to Burger Princess!”

“Uh yes. I’d like the Happy Cow Shake with a Fat-Cow Burger.

“Would you like some mad potato fries with that sir?”

“Uh…sure.”

 Bill grinned. Only one more suggested sale and he would break his personal record. He already left his fellow employees in the dust weeks ago. Soon enough that manager would notice him. Soon enough he’d have his promotion to manager-in-training. No one would laugh at him then. Deftly he punched in each piece of the order, then read it off. “One Happy Cow Shake, one Fat-Cow Burger, and one Mad Potato fry. Would you like to super-size that order?"

“Sure….” The customer paused.

Sweat trickled down Bill’s jaw. “Sir?”

The customer replied, “I think I forgot my wallet. Sorry. I’ll be back later.” He drove off.

Unfortunately, the customer also forgot to come back.

When Bill went on his break, he went to the lockers with his head hanging. He towed each foot to one of the empty folding chairs, and collapsed in it. Bill ignored the looks of the other employee on break. Pulling off his baseball cap, he stared at the logo. Could Bill possibly move on? Would he have to quit this lousy job and get one that actually paid his rent? What would his father think? The very father who owned the franchise wouldn’t necessarily get angry over this…but he would be severely disappointed.

Family Consciousness

“Any idea why we’re having this dinner?” Tom complained as he sat down. The plastic red-checkered table cloth beamed up at him. He glanced back at it with disgust.

“No. Not even sure why we had to have it here of all places.” Susan sighed tiredly fiddling with her menu. Smokin’ Hogs Diner filled the top half of the menu cover in gaudy patriotic colors. None of the menu items had low fat or reduced cholesterol. She couldn’t even tell if they were organic.

"They’re even fifteen minutes late.” Tom glanced at his watch, holding the menu at arm’s length. His cuff-linked sleeves peeked out from the satin suit coat. He took a moment to adjust the folds of his collar.

“You look over-dressed.” She said with a snicker.

“What about you? The bus boy seems interested in that necklace of yours.”

“He’s probably just staring at my chest.” Susan rolled her eyes. Her eyebrows shot toward the ceiling when she heard a conversation drawing closer behind her.

“Oh look honey! There they are!” A sweet, melancholy voice chimed. Flowery sleeves of a blouse materialized into the candle light a moment later.

Both Tom and Susan fought the urge to sag in disappointment. “Hello mom.”

“What about me?” A lower voice came from the shadows.

“Hello dad.”

Their parents sat down and opened their menus, humming tunes discordant with one another. Each gave their orders to the waitress.

“I’ll have the shrimp—“ Their father began.

“You sure honey? The shrimp will give you—“ Their mother interrupted.

“Ahem! I’ll have the shrimp gumbo, with or without gas.”

Both Tom and Susan gave their orders without event. The waiter evaporated into the shadows, carrying the menus with him.

Their mother was the first to speak. “So…you’re probably wondering why we’re eating together again."

Her grown children nodded. She glanced at the man she married with somewhat sad eyes.

He spoke up next. “We’re getting a divorce.”

“Finally.”

But my visions are in verse

I opened my eyes to my dining room.

My laptop, painted in cherry, sat on a crisp tablecloth.

No trash had found the table yet.

_________

She stood at the crossroads of

the sunny kitchen,

the cloudy family room,

and the crimson dining room.

_____________

I backed away from my dead mother

who stared at me,

breathing with her eyes wide open.

_____________

"Oh honey."

Her arms drooped slightly

while halos found her chocolate curls,

clinging to her head.

____________

Slowly, as all people do in dreams,

I walked.

____________

Then I ran.

____________

I wrapped my arms around her,

and clung to her silk and pearl nightgown.

______________

Her arms  wrapped around me,

warm and dry for the first time

in five months.

___________

We wept,

and our smiles shook.

My life is lived in prose

I tossed and turned that night. Even jet lag failed to introduce me to my pillow. My bones, tissues, and skin shook under my quilt. Cold tears slipped down my cheeks and passed my chin where they dipped down my neck and pooled on my chest.

Never again haunted me. As I lay there I buried my head underneath the fabric, refusing to face the Mother's Day ahead.

I couldn't meet the way her skin sagged after her soul and spirit left her tattered bones, her infected tissues, her swollen fat, and her leaking skin. I couldn't forget the color of it: washed out green, tallow, ashen, and limp. I couldn't forget my father back home, alone with a cat who hated him.

My eyes closed to forget.