than cute. Built. I’d like
to say intelligent, but that
hasn’t always proved the case
with some of my selections.
Still, if I could build the perfect
guy, he’d be smart. Just not
as smart as me. Funny.
And, oh yeah, a stoner.
Killer combination. Lawler,
with connections. Sounds
pretty good to me. Yet even
all that can’t add up to “happy
ever after.” Does anyone
really believe in such a thing?
Happy Ever After
Is a concept I’ll never believe
in. I would be content to sample
some little taste of happiness
today, tonight, right now, though
I know
without a doubt that tomorrow
will arrive, saturated with pain.
Life is like that. At least
my life. And honestly,
I can’t
think of anyone whose life
is any different. The price
tag for joy is misery. I don’t
want to go inside, but I can’t
stay
out here on the grass all night.
It’s crunchy cold. I watch
Lawler drive away, wish with all
my heart I could keep him
here
beside me, wrapped around
me, blanketing me with security,
fragile as that might also be.
Oh yes, I would like that
very much.
But he’s gone already, out of
sight, a shadow blurred into night,
and I will weave dreams no
longer.
Kaeleigh
Sunday Morning
Post-Halloween. The house
is silent, fast asleep, but
despite the seeming calm,
I know
in my bones that I’m straddling
more than one powder keg,
lit torch in hand. Everything
wants to blow, although
I can’t
say exactly why I think so,
but it definitely has to do with
Mom getting home late last night.
I guess she plans to
stay
through Election Day. Depending
on the outcome of that, she’ll
leave for DC right away to find
a place, or she’ll settle back
here
indefinitely. Meaning until she
finds a new crusade to embark on.
Why can’t her crusade be me?
The polls say the race is still
very
close. Either way, I feel her slip
away. Either way, our lives
won’t be the same
much longer.
Either Way
Mom is sleeping in the guest room.
Maybe that’s truly what she is—a guest
in her own home. God, how sad.
For me.
I just want my mommy back,
just want to be the little girl she tells
stories to, whose hair she brushes
every night
until it shines like polished brass.
Why does life have to be so messed up?
Why can’t it just keep marching in
perfect order?
I Was Supposed
To be asleep last night when Mom blew
in through the door, an unsubtle wind.
I wanted to run to her, throw my arms
around her, snow kisses all over her face.
But something told me to crack open
my door, sit beside it in the dark, silent.
To listen, no more than a hint of the child
she loved once upon a time, so long ago.
Then, she would never leave me or Raeanne.
My sister and I would sit in the dark, like
this, only together. We’d sit very close,
listening in to our parents’ discussions.
Then, Daddy would often ask to go away
with Mom, who refused to leave us
with an au pair. Then, the only person who
ever watched us was…was…a face
surfaces in memory. She looked like Daddy,
and her breath always smelled like Dewar’s.
Oh Yeah, Blast from the Past
I sat there last night, shaking, no Raeanne
to make the jolt of remembrance better.
And it was about to get worse.
Mom greeted Daddy about as expected,
with a clipped Good to see you. Next came
several minutes of usual campaign banter.
Daddy went on to talk about plans
for Tuesday, skipping the Hannah
part. I just about fell asleep.
Around the time I decided to go
ahead to bed, Mom began,
Oh, I spoke with your father….
My father? Daddy’s voice
was startled. Why in bloody
hell would you do that?
Mom’s turn for surprise:
You don’t know?
Daddy: I couldn’t hazard a guess.
So you haven’t heard from
your mother? No demands?
Her words sank in slowly.
I could imagine the expression
on his face. What in the fuck
are you talking about, Kay?
She spoke slowly, as if to a dull-
witted child. Your father called
to let you know you might expect
to hear from your mother. His take
was she wanted money to keep quiet.
Quiet about what, Raymond?
I have no idea, answered Daddy,
a little too quickly. Frankly, I’d be
shocked to hear from her….
So long, with no word. What, exactly,
happened between them? Surely
something more than just the scene
after the funeral. I shifted my weight
and the floorboards groaned.
Conversation skidded to an abrupt halt.
Finally, Mom said, We’ll finish this
later. I’m exhausted anyway. We’ll
both be clearer tomorrow. Finis.
I Lay Awake
Most of the night, pondering
mysteries. Where did my father
come from? Who made him,
and who made him the way he is?
Who is my grandmother? Where
has she been all these years, and what
does she know that Daddy wouldn’t
want us to know? What happened
between her and Grandpa Gardella?
What happened between Daddy
and him? Does Mom know
the answers to these questions?
If she does, why hasn’t she ever
talked about them? If she doesn’t,
why doesn’t she? Why don’t I?
Why are there so many mysteries
shrouding our lives? Will I ever
know the answers? If so, when?
If not, why?
Not a Good Time
For those questions. Of course,
I doubt there will ever be a good
time for those questions.
Our family puts the “dys”
in dysfunctional. And every time
I start to think I’m the sanest
in the bunch, I turn around
and do something completely
insane, like letting myself
fall hard for Ian. He called
yesterday, caught me on my
cell. Hey, you. What’s up?
Just hearing his voice warmed
me, from the inside out. “Same
ol’. What’s up with you?�
�
Not much. In fact, I’m bored
as hell, so I thought I’d call and
tell you how much I miss you.
I’ll be home Sunday morning.
Think you could steal a few
minutes with me?
“Maybe after work. We can
always try, although my mom
is supposed to be home.”
Oh, that’s right. The election
is Tuesday, huh? How’s it
looking for your mom?
“Okay, I guess. Barring some
major revelation, she’s got
a pretty good shot.”
Major revelation, huh?
He laughed. And what
are the odds of that?
At the time, I thought
they were pretty long.
But now I have to wonder.
I Want to Talk to Ian
About Mom and Daddy and Raeanne
and Grandma Gardella, whose face keeps
trying to materialize behind my eyes, and whose
motives for appearing now can’t be guessed.
But I don’t dare talk to him about any
of that, because then he’ll realize how truly
screwed up my family is, and that includes
me, and if he knows all that, he’ll dump me.
I want to talk to Mom about Daddy and his
parents and most of all about Ian, who I
think I might really be in love with. I want
to talk to her about love and what that means.
But I’m not sure she knows what it means
or that she cares in the least that I might
have found it. I’m not sure she cares about
me at all, and that’s what I’m really afraid of.
Afraid, afraid, afraid. I’m always afraid
and I’m sick of it and I don’t know any
other way of dealing with it than to go
find food and stuff myself with it. So I do.
And Still No One’s Awake
So I bundle up against the drear
November fog and pedal off to
work. I pass a church, starting
to fill with early risers, almost
think about going inside.
Like what for, Kaeleigh?
Forgiveness?
You’ll burn.
Belonging?
No one wants you.
Enlightenment?
Huh? What?
Confession?
Oh yeah, break down.
Daddy would kill me.
If Mom didn’t kill you first.
And if I don’t stop talking
to myself, I’ll only prove
that I really am crazy.
Schizophrenic, maybe.
Yeah, Kaeleigh, shut the hell up.
Schizophrenic Me
Can barely pay attention
to what I’m doing at work,
with all the conversation
going back and forth in my
head. Mental tug-of-war.
Finally I get the breakfast
table set. The residents start
to trickle in, many dressed
up for their own worship
to come. Among those women
in cheerful flowered dresses
is Greta, no gentleman beside
her. She sits and I go over.
“No Lars today? And you
look so pretty, too!”
Greta sighs. Lars will not
come to church with me.
He says there is no God.
He used to think differently,
once long ago. The war…
She’s known him that long?
“I didn’t realize you’ve known
each other since before the war.
Is that how you lost each other?”
What wedged them apart?
Greta’s Tale
Comes from a place deep,
deep inside. It takes a few
minutes to surface.
Finally it shudders free.
Lars and I met as small children.
We played together in the streets,
and by the time the war started,
we were in love. Really, we
were still only children. I must
have been twelve or thirteen,
and Lars was a year older.
Our love was pure, and born
of friendship. But when my father
found out, he forbade me to see
Lars. We met in secret, shared
kisses and laughter. Nothing more.
One day my father discovered
us together. He nearly beat me
to death. I feared he would kill
Lars, and so it was almost a relief
when Lars put on a uniform
and went to fight the Nazis.
Almost. Her voice softens, slows.
I mean, he was only a boy inside,
although on the outside he looked
every bit the handsome soldier.
My father tried to stop me
from going to say good-bye.
But for once, my mother
intervened. “Let her go,”
she said. “She may never
Not until a few weeks ago,
when he showed up here.
More than sixty years have
gone by. Sixty years we can
never get back, six decades
filled with things we will
never speak of. But we accept
that, and have promised
to share the few years we have
left, create new memories,
joyous and loving, that we
can take with us when we go.
Love, Resurrected
After more than sixty years.
Must be that love never died.
And that means it had to have
been alive in the first place.
I want to know living love.
And I don’t want to wait for it.
I go through the motions of this
mindless work, mind totally
locked on Ian and possibility.
As soon as I finish, I call him.
He’s home. Hey. I was hoping
I’d hear from you. So…
He doesn’t have to ask. “Pick
me up. Mom can wait.”
It’s an impossibly long fifteen
minutes. Finally I hear his bike,
and the sound of its approach
fills me with happiness. And
something else. Something
very much like desire.
And Now I See His Face
And the warmth of his smile
intensifies the heat wave
flowing inside me. But I have
to play cool because that’s what
good girls do and I want to be
good for Ian. “Hey. Missed you.”
Not as much as I missed you.
Come here. And he pulls me
into him and now we’re kissing
and I want to make this amazing
sense of belonging last forever.
Have I told you lately I love you?
I fold myself up into his arms,
close as one body can get to another,
except for…I go stiff at the thought.
No Kaeleigh, no. That’s not what
this is. It’s okay to be here, plastered
right up against this incredible guy.
But the magic has dissipated,
the warmth frozen over. Ian can’t
help but notice. What’s wrong?
I shake my head, cling tighter.
In the past, Ian would have turned
away. Today he holds fast. Stay.
Like a Puppy
I stay, and for once I stay
long enough f
or the ice dam
to melt, warm into an easy
flow, burgeoning into
a river
of need. My pulse picks up
speed and I lift my eyes to his,
have to look away or I might
go blind at the blaze
raging
there. “Oh God, Ian, I can’t
believe how much I love you.”
And he kisses me again, and now
I understand how love can come
alive
inside you, beneath your skin,
beneath your flesh and bone,
a separate entity, breathing
in and out its own special air,
expanding
to fill all those hollow places
that you can’t fill by yourself.
I want to be good. Don’t want
to go stiff. But if I don’t, this
sudden rush of want will become
unstoppable.
So maybe I’d better stop it now.
Raeanne
Home Bitter Home
Mom’s home, oh yeah, oh
boy. Waiting for her to light
into Daddy is like standing beside
a river
knowing you’re going to fall
in, no matter what you do.
The only real question is when.
I didn’t used to mind their
raging
at each other. When I was little,
I thought it was better than
a deep freeze of silence.