Closing eyes with water running, rinsing the skin of my hard worked hands. Collecting drops dripping from stream in my cup of palms, splashing, spilling wet-drenching face. I pull my cold cut grip heavy across my head, pressing jaw, pulling cheek, stretching bridge of nose through brow to temple. My fingers digging deep my aching mind, rubbing down my neck between bruised back and broken shoulder. Deep breath. Inhale. Body rising, waking, exhaling.
Good Morning.
I am spiraling circles from ceiling to floor. Living a little less while dying a lot more. Perpendicular my plan with pencil and paper, proof-perfect pending predictions of particular… tangent triangular.
I am inadequate equation with remainder… fold forbidding this formula of forgiveness from stranger.
I am disintegrating destructive, constructive reluctant. Build my body broken by bits and pieces, parts impractical-meaningless. Burden born, bored but belligerent… because I believe in beautiful I am different.
I have a mystery key on my chain. For the life of me I can’t remember what door this key opens. I wonder from where and how I got it and who this key once belonged to? Has this unknown room been locked ever since? I am curious what might be saved in this anonymous space… junk, memories?
I guess I’ll keep it in my pocket with the keys to my apartment, my car, the office and my storage garage – just in case I find a door that needs to be unlocked.
My first time spending the night at my friend Craig’s house in elementary school was quite an adventure.
We spent the entire summer day playing over the line at the park in front of his house. He was Mark McGwire as I pretended to be Jose Canseco. We would pitch lightly toward the plate hoping to smash the small tennis ball over the evergreen wall at the end of the field, his dog chasing after every hit.
As we grew tired of our competitive game of make believe, we hopped on our bicycles and rode around the block. We pedaled past Cindy’s house shouting her name at least eleven times before we would eventually catch her attention. She met us in her driveway. She had a friend from out of town staying with her for the weekend.
Back at his parent’s house, they had prepared dinner as we sat around the kitchen together. We cleared the table and shared popcorn while watching “Caddyshack” in the living room with his family.
That night I slept on the carpet in front of a large floor fan as Craig lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He had confessed his crush for Cindy as we devised a plan to sneak out of his second story window to meet up with the girls later that night.
We would fall asleep before ever escaping.
She sometimes smiles so strong her eyes can’t handle it.
I wouldn’t trade that morning for anything.
Maple syrup sticking between pancake pillows. Fingerprints on porcelain and plastic. Her truck. A fishing pole. I was bait she was tackle. “Be nice”, she said. Cigarette smoke. Subtle sips of tea. Vitamin C. Blossom Dearie.
My Riverside Manhattan.
