Anesthetics and Everything After

You could never forget the comfort
and confusion caused by anesthesia
once introduced in your young veins:
Your blood was already thinning
from severe insomnia and coffee
usually served bitter black
as it easily found its way
through unlit places in your body
until it reached a chamber
situated in your heart. I
spoke so faintly it could only
be another temporal kind of
treatment for the ill tempered
possessed by a demented spirit.
They've the strongest of wills
and we have deemed it best
to restrain their hunger
while there is much time
to kill, figure out what else

is there that keeps us frozen 

inside, while all you ever
hoped for was a moment
congealed to last.

A Smoke with the Old Man After the Funeral

Little Miss Wistful:           I hope I’m not disappointing you too much.

Sir Dragonfly:                  Don’t worry. You never did. Mind if I take your wish stick?

Little Miss Wistful:          Go ahead. Sir, how come we never shared a smoke when you were 
                                      around?

Sir Dragonfly:                  Look kid, you know cigarettes kill. You should quit.

Little Miss Wistful:           I know, sir. But then, we all go anyway. What’s the point?

Sir Dragonfly:                  I used to say the same thing. Don’t steal my words.

Little Miss Wistful:           Oh. I’m sorry, sir.

Sir Dragonfly:                  It’s alright. You’re getting old, try to take care of yourself.

              

               (beat)

Sir Dragonfly:                  I see you took my night spot.

Little Miss Wistful:          I’ve been coming here to smoke since you left.

Sir Dragonfly:                 Stay as long as you want. Just remember to clean up.

Little Miss Wistful:          Sir, I took your camera too. Do you mind?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Take it. The place is yours now, kid.        

Little Miss Wistful:          So, I won’t be seeing you soon?

Sir Dragonfly:                 No.

Little Miss Wistful:          For how long?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Until the last day you write.

Little Miss Wistful:          But I’ve so much to write.

                (beat)

Sir Dragonfly:                 Hey, kid.

Little Miss Wistful:          Yes, sir?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Don’t forget to take my dog to the vet.

Little Miss Wistful:          Don’t worry, I will. 

Aimless

walk toward

the bend

a fleet

       of cars       

    caught             

     static 

         point to

                                       h

                                         i

                   the                 g

                                           h

                                            e

                                             s

                                               t

                         shiny

blue

building

                                     go

                down

                    stairs

                          and

           pass

    under

     to           to

         cross

           the

                          street     street

                stop  

and                             where

stand                              a

                                    tree

                                   once

                                  stood

                 

        and

is now

         m_ss_ng.

The Ritual

You tore a page from the notebook
which held last year's reminders:
places and dates you attended,
canceled, and purposefully
missed. Scribbled numbers useful,
others meaningless. Some names
you thought worth remembering.

Your steadfast hands pressed it
against a wall as you began
to fold it down into a triangle,
again and again, reducing it to
thick paper with three sides,
until you could fold it no more.

Before that, the flimsy fawn sheet
had you recognize words you didn't
write with your own hand. The clear
strokes revealed good intentions,
unsaid reservations, and an overture
to unexplored territories you knew
you'd never tread while each letter
maintained its depth and sharpness.

The folded points were too blunt
to cause cuts. You pressed it on
the table and saw it try to open
itself, the last fold, until it gave up.

Torn paper— spent, folded, somewhat
open. Still, useless. You just throw it.

Expecting 2nd Place

I’m half-way through the race

when I realized I’m wearing

mismatched socks again.

The left sock is much softer,

thicker than the one worn

by my blistering right foot.

I ran rubbing on the rawness

of these sores while my feet

burnt across the winding track.

It stung more apparently as I

came much closer to the finish

line, expecting second place.

This is one way of tolerating pain.

Keep rushing. Don’t think, until

you get there. I kept it numb.

Not without stumbling, I crossed it,

my face slapping the pavement.

Mismatched socks did it again.

(first verse from Jov)

That I Would Be Good

All over the place:

1.
It's strange to find that after all this time, I still can't understand why we hurt when the one's we care for are hurting. Maybe I've been denying this truth for a long time. Whether I came to accept it early on or not doesn't make me feel any better or wiser as a person. I simply cannot write over the fact that what happens in their life affects me as much as it affects them. I'm talking about how I feel when it comes to important people in my life. For a long time, I tried to project this solid shell. I just convinced myself I'm fine. With it came masks which were easy to wear. It has become part of my life. It's not about pretensions, it's just a way of coping. These are the kind of things I don't apologize for.

2.

I haven't really dealt with my emotions in a long time, and I guess it's just catching up with me. Bottling everything up helped me on the surface, but it's just not enough anymore. I guess it explains why I'm so guarded, why I limit potential relationships, and fail to have more fruitful friendships. I am selfish. I'd rather not give of myself. This has been the case for years. 

For someone who's passive and thin of blood, this is nerve racking. However, it is liberating. I know I should at least try to free my mind. I try not to put parameters on myself (there's enough of that in the world outside).


3.
I'd like to think I haven't lost my mind. I'm just possessed by years of pent-up emotions. I need to remind myself not to take that route the next time around because it has obviously greatly failed. 


4.
How do you trust something that changes all the time? Is the heart ever satisfied? Does it know enough to guide you? (Don't be all romantic Cor, don't trust emotional whims, you never won that way, you know you never will.) 


5.
Love is not enough. I will say it now and it will be true for years to come. It is never enough.

6.
It's difficult to be honest with others when you can't even be honest with yourself. I denied lots of truths and I only began to deal with them after having ghosts linger in my room. 

7.

I used to feel guilty for being selfish. These days, I think it's just a driving force that fuels me to live.


8.
It's difficult to negotiate within human relationships. It would be a lot harder if the mind and the heart never found a way to compromise. I tried to rid myself of this problem by eliminating the heart, only to search for it again. We were designed to work with both. We're so human that way. 

Substitutes

Surely something must have gone

Wrong,

things don't break without a cause.
Not that it's such a big deal this time.
Mother said I could always get a new
one, definitely better than the last.
On a weekend, get all dolled-up
to the shiny mall and stroll free until
one of them strikes your eyes.
There will be many arranged in
a row, giving you plenty of options.

Choose

among different styles which come in
every color, shape, and not to mention,
size. Try them all on and be sure to get
one that perfectly fits. As if it were
that simple to replace. I tried to mend
it with thicker thread, sewing the torn
lining but each stitch just made it

Worse.

My sister said some things never get
better, and so it's best to leave them
that way. In between the choosing and
longing, there was no resolve but to

Stop.



For Kristina

(revised from 2007)