Subtle Victories

He said that in the last six years
the only thing that hadn't changed
was her kindness.


In other news,
the gut churning after effect of love lost
is that odd sense of quiet.

I talk to you and I think about
how we've lost our rhythm. I once knew you
so well that we spoke in sync. I couldn't really tell
you if this is a loss or not. I think it once was. I think I once
longed for you, yearned for you. Your sense of introspection grows
as I speak to you each year.

With another face,

I look and beg you to rip my fucking guts out.
Toss me up against this car and make me bleed
and you comply and I respond
but only in my head.

I'm yearning for marks and blood.
I'm dying to rip flesh from bones
to watch the drama play out in front of me

written a few weeks ago, left alone then

It's getting colder outside and so here's what I'm thinking about.

I'm thinking about how every time I step out of the shower
I can feel my hair against my neck and my back
and it's chilling, I feel like I'll never be warm again.

I'm feeling the impending doom of approaching holidays
that I dread.
I despise the cold and the holidays
I adore the cold and the clarity
but I never said that I wanted to see.

I'm thinking about how every two days
my nails need to be repainted, These are things that I can control
I can see how nice they look or how bad they look
and I can fix it or ignore it as I please.

I can fix my makeup when I want to look nice
and I can let my hair dry so it is curly
and I can wear earrings (or not) and
I can choose whether to pick up the phone and
I can pick my own clothes.

I am thinking about how she feels sleeping next to me
Or how she leans against me when she feels lonely
or how she reads to me. Oh god, she reads to me and
I want to bathe in the way I feel when she does.
I think about how the first time we spent time
she saw me naked in every way
and never faltered never foundered
never treated me as less than, just kept on talking

Call Off Your Ghost

That sounds so pretentious. I like to pretend like I know anything at all about the nature of evil but the only thing I can even begin to understand are the stories I hear.

Growing up, I knew I had a grandfather that I'd never met who was described as evil. I didn't know what that meant but he died before I could ever know him so the only way I ever knew him was the way everyone told me he was, and I was told with no uncertain terms, that he was evil. As I grew older, I've come to maybe thing he was a sadist. From the stories I've been told, he seemed to like hurting people, I don't know if he found pleasure in other's pain, or if he was just acting out in the way he'd been taught that love looked like. I never met him. I only knew the stories.

This year, I spoke to a relative though who had other things to say about my grandfather, the one I'd never met. After years and decades of hearing horrible stories about a person, it can be hard to be quiet and listen to other perspectives, especially if they don't fit the narrative that you have been piecing together for your whole life. A thing that I've heavily toyed with all year is the idea that no one is totally a monster. There are so rarely people in life that occupy one role with 100 percent of them. They may occupy this role to you, but you can't see all the perspectives, so you are still only really seeing the side of the story you can see. This should go without saying, but this doesn't make the viewers bad, only limited.

In any case, this relative told me about his dad (who was my grandfather) and even though I wanted to argue, I listened. I tried to widen my perspective. He told me about how his dad rescued him at the last second when they went out fishing together and how he spent time with his dad learning to fish and how his dad valued and treasured him and loved him. He talked about how much he missed his dad and how hurt he was when he died. His dad was funny and snarky and always quick enough to save him. At the time, I thought I was doing him a kindness by listening, but now I think he was doing me a kindness by telling.

I often am guilty of only seeing one or two things about a person. Of course, I can only know what I'm told, but I should be more active in seeking the information. I have no doubt that my grandfather's monstrous behavior was the truth, but now I know other parts too. I know that he was smart and vast and vicious. He was many things.

I'll never know my grandfather or what he could have meant to me. I never got to see any slice of him that wasn't a story being told to a little girl.  I'm not sure if this is a blessing or not.

Sorry for the hiatus

But I'm back, and writing again.

Written in October, obviously

October has been brutal,
vicious, more than I am used to.

And yet, there is a crisp, cold
glow to the air.

Bared Teeth

Things that bother me tend to involve teeth.
I hate teeth. It sounds silly and it kind of is,
but there's the hard line.
If I had to choose a short version
it would be that she is scared of
gleaming teeth and vast spaces
in the case of some things,
both of them together.
The vastness of the sea and inherent horror
of things that swim with pointy teeth
make me want to hide in my house forever,
only taking showers occasionally.
In the long run, I think this means that I am afraid of that
inevitable loss of control.
One day you run into somebody or something
you can't win
you can't fight.
And I prefer not to put myself in situations where I can't have a plan.

I am often struck by the fear of cold violent darkness.

variations

My cat knows when I am upset.
I don't think this means she's psychic.
what I mean is
I think that all cats are a little bit off
if you know what I'm talking about
you know
and if you don't
well, sorry then.
But she has sat and guarded me while
I slept the mornings away
and she watches me when I'm in the bathtub
and she gets as close to my back when I work as possible
and occasionally groom whatever is closest to her
as the idea strikes.

She is afraid of thunderstorms.
I only noticed a few weeks ago because it was thundering
and I realized I couldn't find her anywhere.
I searched around, mildly disconcerted as I walked the floors of my home
without tripping over a large aggressively friendly animal
and found her hiding under the table, letting out some
terrifyingly angry growls.
Because I have no dignity or sense of self preservation
I crawled under there and sat with her for a while.
The first time I saw her, it was through a cage door
and it was only her front legs, which she had reached all
the way out of to sink her very sharp claws into my upper shin.
She drew blood.
It was love at first sight.
When you love someone (something?)
you should sit with them when they are in pain
or scared or angry.

In the last few weeks,
my cat Evangeline
(I'm pretty confident that she does not think this is her name.
It alternates between 'darling' and 'you fucking cat'
because I am an asshole)
has done her best to not leave my side, even when the shower is turned on
as hot as it can go and the music is up too loud
she sits and waits.
Once though, she looked at me and her whole body poofed out
her tail looked like it was twice the natural size and
her eyes were huge.
I felt my stomach drop out- I was just shampooing my hair
nothing she hasn't seen me do a million times
and she looked terrified and angry,
like she could see an angry and evil alien wrapped up in my hair
but she held her ground and stayed.
I turned off the music and watched her more closely that evening and
her tail stayed poofy that night.

I worry that she can see my ghosts.
That can't be good for anyone.
But she persists in living her life pressed up against the lines of
my arms and legs and forever trying to steal my iced tea
and carrying around little plastic balls in her mouth
so she jingles when she walks.
She has a stash of straws under my bed.
She doesn't believe in solitary bathroom trips
or that there isn't any space between my lap and laptop.
She insists on sleeping in ALL of the sinks
and in my bed with me if I am in it.
She lets me clip her claws so they don't sink into my flesh
and I feed her and occasionally share my tuna with her.
She's soft as a bunny



you had flowers in your mouth the day I met you
It turns out they were oleanders
not magnolias like I assumed
the poison was masked
by the incessant decadence and I am not omniscient
or really even that observant it turns out.
I promise I would have ripped them out of your mouth
if I had known.
If I had wondered
I would have dragged you to a hospital
watched you throw up and not looked away
for even a moment
told you that you are so beautiful
so fucking vital to the world
and then walked with you until you could take the oleanders out
and replace them with magnolias.

Oleander is common in Texas and California and I worry
about where you found it
but magnolias also grow here
and they are not poisonous.
They are big and hardy and prized for their sweet smell
and are apparently part of the coffee family
which I did not know and I'm sure a fact you would have appreciated
were you here to hear it.