it was all
constellated squabble
the marks on his hand-
i still remember.
the staring game
i never lost.
the unblinking eyes
are claimed winner:
the crowds
murmur and whisper
as she walks
to the stand
to be judged.
all hail
the damned infernal lover.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
exhuming ophelia.
in the penalty box.
the christmas songs are playing and the decorations are slowly finding their way to the front porch and the family room. there's a bucket of triple crown cookie dough in the freezer waiting to be baked and a tin of holiday cookie cutters just waiting for me and A to be broken in. in a week and a half my exams will be done and i will finally be a free woman. i have a semi to attend and to dress up for and a bunch of christmas gatherings and dinners lined up.
but somehow it seems more lonesome this year. i think that i may have gone backwards instead of forwards...and whatever i've learned this summer may have all gone to waste. it's easier for some people to say that it's just the idea that makes it different. the emotional detritus is finding its way back...the catch basin must be dextrosed to my arm. there's just no vulnerary remedy. and here i am making it worse by writing/typing away and masochistically renting loveydovey movies. i might just raid the fruit bowl.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
deafeningly stupid.
the things you say just reach their ears and dissipate before they get to the brain for further processing.
i would like to propose a toast to the stupid men of the world. congratulations. you have successfully made our lives a living hell.
i, melissa.
i am misjudged quite often
but have just started to realize
the whole futility
of defending and vindicating myself.
this month is a month of reversion-
a regression to my old self:
my hand paralyzed in fear, unable to raise itself in class,
being my uncontrollable temperamental bitchy self
procrastinator and jack of all trades-
i leave things i have to do at the last minute
and do everything else i'm not supposed to perfectly.
there never seems to be anymore money left in my card,
where does it all go? you wonder.
but we know exactly where it goes.
in the closet and in the stomach.
staring out the window again or into space
waiting and expecting and dreaming.
a month of new discoveries-
my newfound appreciation for english drama
and for the playwrights who embraced their grief
and turned it into art
discovering the inner beauty of people
and the dull sheen of the gold in others
mr noodles as the veritable meal
for the struggling hungry university student
viva as the most comfortable bus and busride ever
capers are salty but really good
with smoked salmon omelette.
that my cat, no matter how much he wants to stay outside
will always come running back.
and that however much j'essaie d'oublier,
c'est impossible.
Monday, November 21, 2005
table manners.
the glass slides towards the edge of the kitchen table
it was headed that way anyway.
ill-used and chipped in some places,
its porcelain sheen gone a long time ago
looks more jaded now than that shade of green.
a receptacle of dirty watered down dreams and stale juicy secrets
sold as its own set
tragically and sadly unique
yet as common as the common whore.
but the glass moves on its own.
not just one hand, but millions of taunting hands guide it.
as a lighthouse calls the boats to safety,
they usher it to its final escape.
just a bit further. a bit more. there.
the tiles look inviting from here.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
the eternal plane ride.
i could see you from outside
my heart pounding as i watched you
ring the bell
i opened the door and you stepped inside
and you drew me close to you
i don't know if it was in your eyes
in your touch
or in your manner of speaking
because i saw through the affectation
and realized that
when you left
you never came back.
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