Friday, March 2, 2012

Poetic meanderings from another place and time

Let's turn it to beauty and make it poetry..lest I die....

Some days go by in a haze of panic, tears, and memories I can’t erase…

Sometimes you can see the tears even when they’re not pouring in the traces…

                Of the deep lines of red tracks under my eyes…skin so dark…

I scrub and scrub and can’t get rid of the black, shadowed furrows I see…

All you have to do is to see me and you see the grooves, my sadness marks.

                                And to put off the past further, to put my mind on anything else, all I see is the hurt on the sad, ugly, fat, old woman I have become.   I can’t really see me anymore…only the ugly parts.

Once upon a day, I suppose I was a little girl, and the world was new and I was forging ahead…

                And once I thought I escaped.

Now, most days, I think of all the people in my life who are dead…

And I can’t think too much or too well anymore…cause I have to fight against the pull…of pain from times behind me…

And no one wants to know…everyone else has their problems.

One day I told someone and they assured me this was the case.

And I understood.

Did it begin as a toddler…with marks for others to see?

Did it begin when I first saw her put a plastic bag over her face?

Did it begin when she put her head in the oven…and called police when she realized I was watching?

When she told them she would kill her children?  When I held my baby brother on the bed and couldn’t stop him from screaming?

When he beat him so bad I felt every strike and the welts ripped upon spaces in my heart and I wanted to die?

When he would climb into my bed at night and she’s ask some days later, “Did he touch you?”

When he’d call me to him and tell me to look at the creatures on the wall and he was afraid and sobbing?

When he’d sit me down and spit on my forehead and spend minutes…seemed like hours…fixing my bangs into an S shape on my forehead…cementing with more spit.

                And when I went outside she knew and she’d laugh…so I did too.

Did the pit began when he chased us down the block with an ax; when he took his sledge hammer and tried to break down the door.

Or when he got so sick, he couldn’t breathe and the old sorrows and sympathies of a child meant to care came roaring back with a vengeance and I could barely breathe myself…because I knew he was and had always been in such pain.

Or did the path to hell open when I realized that someone else had hurt the baby…someone else invited into our lives…and no one did anything…said anything…and everyone knew that he was in love with the child.  And the child grew quiet and fat and eventually died of pain.

Did my heart crack so that it would never mend when she cried and cried and cried till I thought she would die from her tears?  The years I spent where I couldn’t be happy…because all I thought of was her, and I so pitied her and thought her life was unfair.

                Did it end for me the day the baby died?  The one sweet hope…the one I should have been able to save, but I didn’t.  And no one will talk about him…they don’t want to remember.

                Or was it just a years ago, when one of my walking terrors said, “she said you were afraid of me…so I had to leave, that was my home.  My life was horrible, your mother was damaged…I was punished.   Your baby brother should have been institutionalized, he was sick from the time he was little, and that other man went down on him in the bathroom and she knew.”

Will it ever end?  The march of memories, the words I can’t erase, shoot down or forget?

Will I be free one day?

Will I always come back there…to the memories…to the the nightmares…to history…

When I was young I thought I’d bypassed it and I did do my best to survive it…

Did far more than lots of people who had anchors….

Now, it doesn’t take a whole lot it seems…I keep falling…someone attacks me, vandalizes my property…rejects me...hurts me…ignores me, knows me, but doesn’t feel me…doesn’t care…

And back I go…to the time, to the films in my head that run on and on… My nights are full of dreams where I’m being chased and killed.

I have so much and yet….my mind goes back there…is it fair?  No, but that’s the way of life…some get their’s – without even trying -  some have presents of peace, some have hope, some have others that can show the way…but not all of us.

Will it ever end...for me?  I've tried...believe me...I've gone so far... and it just follows me.

 I know I didn’t die back than…but I think it may kill me now.

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