Secrets

Can't really write tonight. I have too much to say. That makes no sense. I have a lot on my mind, but this head's full of secrets and these keys can't pull them out. So I'll say goodnight and leave y'all in peace for now.

Life :)

Well its been just another day of this crazy, insane, silly, stupid life. :) This world is starting to sweep me off my feet, but I think I'm ok with flying. Every day is something new, and world I can't get enough of you. I'm so ready for sweet tea and front porch magic sunrise days and singing lovesongs with the sun in the sky, for summer mornings and stars at midnight, poetry and bike rides and the smell of bar-b-q, and tan lines and water fights.
I'm almost there.
I'm almost there.
I'm almost there. Flying, rushing, so much feeling I can't catch my breath. Just another day in this crazy, insane, silly stupid, beautiful life.

She of noble character who can find?

Still too tired and crazy and insane to work on my story. Here's some poetic stuff instead. Enjoy.


For Annii

I watch as you squint your eyes
Cold and blue, water in a wishing well
They catch the light and crinkle as you smile
In every way you're beautiful
And I'm thanking God for you

~*~

For Malia

Diamond heart
Your voice is stretched with the sorrows of this world
Little years and great tribulation
Your word is a token given out to any pair of ears
But your heart is a diamond
Given only to him who truly hears

~*~

For Mariah

Freckles and dimples and that sweet sunny smile
You're all innocence and resonance
And every word reflects that heart of gold
The silver shimmer in your eyes its gleaming
Starry and bright
You're a daughter of the Light

~*~

For Rachel

Humility and graceful light
You're the essence of love, of joy pure and kind
Your heart hides deep, out of sight
But your words echo always
The haven in the sky
Where your treasure lies

~*~

For Her Who Waits Above

I remember your joyful laugh
And the way you said my name
In that February Nightmare
I saw the truth of fleeting life
The time is short
So I'll play my violin and fall with a fearless heart
I will see you again
This is not where it ends
I'll remember your words and your spirit and all the times you must have laughed on that day
That February Nightmare

Bittersweet Mama's Song

Taking a break from my story tonight. I feel like writing something a little different. So here goes.





Mara leaned her chin on her hand, staring out the window. She murmured to herself, the words of a sweet, sad summer song. Pulling her fingers across the soft waves of Valentine's head, Mara breathed deeply the fresh June air drifting through the window. Valentine rumpled up a purr, her back arching with every stroke. Mara smiled sadly. Valentine's whiskers tickled her arm. And the sun grew bright in the morning sky.

  "Mama?" It was Sophia, murmuring from the doorway. Mara glanced at her, then back to the reflection of glass. Sophia came and knelt beside the rocker. "Mama?" She said again. There were tears in her voice, and now in her eyes too. "Mama!" She said again, louder this time. "Say something!" Her voice rose shrilly, and Valentine's back arched. The sun grew brighter in the sky.

~*~

"Merry Christmas Mama!"

"Merry Christmas!" Mara pulled her daughter into her arms, feeling the silky blonde curls like angel hair against her cheek. Sophia was breathless when she pulled away, her face flushed and her eyes starry. Mara smiled. But she didn't smile long.

"It will be different for me! You'll see!" Sophia had shouted later that night, her blue eyes dilated and gleaming with indignation, her hands protectively covering her abdomen. Mara had blinked back tears, fighting herself, fighting her daughter. "He loves me!" Sophia almost screamed.

  "And what do you know about love?" Mara bit her tongue, tasting blood. The smell of the turkey was nauseating. Anna watched in silent calm, her dark eyes warm and gentle.

  "More than you obviously!" Sophia flung her coat on, and opened the door. "You'll see. We're going to be a real family. Not like this one."

Mara screamed, her head thick with a fireless fury, cold and dark. She stumbled blindly up the stairs. And as she sat in the dark of a Christmas Even night, she heard a pair of dark eyes as they sang O Holy Night.

~* ~

Sophia was crying. "Stop trying to make me perfect!" She screamed, slamming the door to her room. Mara sank down onto the couch in despair. Weary with fighting, work and paying the bills, she covered her eyes with her hands, watching as dull dark hair fell about her face. She remembered its shimmery shine, and lamented a lost beauty as all women do at some time in their lives. Anna came in from school, her dusky brown eyes warm and gentle. She saw Mara's face and frowned slightly. Wordlessly, the girl knelt and took Mara's hands as she wept.

~*~

Mara laughed. She loved her garden. Bettina's kittens frolicked in the grass and Anna and Sophia giggled as they played in the water hose. Mara lifted her face to the sky, soaking up the warmth of the sun.  Again, laughter bubbled up inside her, like a baby's soft and giddy. She stood, feeling a rush of delight at everything around her. Running to her children, Mara lifted first one, than the other and kissed them like a butterfly.

~*~

Mara felt her abdomen rumble as the forms within it roiled and rolled. She pushed into the room nervously. The party hall was barely lit with candles and soft lamps and the card players laughed and joked as they cast bets and furtive glances. Elegantly dressed women smoked long black cigarettes and wet their lips with champagne provocatively. Mara gulped air, stiffening her nerve. She stepped into the dim light and watched as the room fell silent. He stood up, in shock and horror. Mara didn't care. He deserved humiliation.

"How long will you do this?" She accused softly.

He laughed, denying her. "Who is this woman?" A tuxedoed man demanded.

  "I have no more idea than you, sir. No, wait, I think I saw her in a hospital last week, she must have wandered off. I'll take care of it." He pushed her out the door and back out into the snow.

"When will you take responsibility?"

 "The child isn't mine."

 "Children. Twins, my love, does that not please you?" He grimaced, genuinely pained. But not for her. Not for his children. For himself.

"They are not mine." And he shut the door, knowing his words were a lie.

~*~

Mara stared out the window, numb to Sophia's tears.

Her child stared out the window with her, and Mara saw that look drift into her eyes, the look she had worn for years. "Mama, forgive me..."

Valentine jumped to the floor, and Mara cringed feeling her loneliness overtake her. "Why must it be like this?" Sophia was saying. "We're all we have Mama, please. You were right, and I wrong. Forgive me. I'll try to be brave and cry no more, like she always was. She never cried did she Mama?"

Mara felt her cold heart quiver like the feathers of a mourning dove shaking off the dew.

"No, she never cried. She was stronger than you and I."

"And beloved."

"And beloved."

And Mara took her child's hand as they stared out the window to the place where Heaven's road began.

~*~

“Good morning Mr. Hunter.” Mr. Thorpe called cheerfully as I slunk my way into class on Monday morning. I’d hoped to ease in unseen, but there was no getting away with that in English. Mr. T was too loud. But as I glanced around I saw that Denny wasn’t there yet anyway. I fell into my seat, nervously awaiting the awkwardness that was undoubtedly coming.

My best friend had spent the whole remainder of the weekend avoiding me. He’d refused to text me back or answer my calls. For the first time in months he’d stayed away from Hester’s for an entire two days, and I had no doubts that that had just about killed him to miss out on two days worth of Mr. Bell’s Cheesy Hawaiian. Things were bad for him to do that. I’d hope nbhrweI cracked my knuckles and played with the strings on my hoodie, feeling the time creep by on little snail feet.

 “Good morning Mr. Risor.” As always, a few heads turned to the back of the room as Mr. Thorpe called out, but I stared at the floor. I heard Denny shuffle across the room.

Denny replied a good morning to Mr. Thorpe and then plopped down in his usual chair next to me.

Well that’s something at least. I thought. The other students trickled in one by one and then class began. Denny didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at him. Frustrated and preoccupied, I stared at the brown wood of the desk, digging deeper into thought until I was lost to this world, too buried beneath worry and doubt.

  “Aaaand, how ‘bout you Nathan? How’d the homework go for you?” The sound of my name jarred me awake again. I sat up, trying to recount the minutes that I’d been spacing out. What had he asked me? The homework. I opened my mouth, filled with the sudden spark of a good thing remembered, only to catch myself. I was a jock after all, and jocks have a reputation. We’re not poets or poetry enthusiasts. What could I say?

  

   “It was fine I guess.” I fumbled lamely, unsure how to tell the truth without sounding ridiculous. At my apathetic words I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in Mr. Thorpe’s eyes. I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of that disappointment pressing down on my shoulders as vividly as if it were a real pillar of stone. I hadn’t meant to disappoint him.

 “Ok. Sam, how about you?” Mr. T went on to the next kid and I writhed in my seat, resolving to explain more as soon as class was over. At the end of the period he asked for our summaries and I waited to go up until last.

 “Thank you very much, thank you Trevor, thank you Austin, thank you Amanda,” Mr. Thorpe enunciated each of their names clearly as my classmates handed in the assignment. They turned and filed out into the crowded halls.

 “Thank you Nathan.” Mr. Thorpe said as I handed him the limp piece of notebook paper with my eyes on the floor.

 “Mr. Thorpe---” I started, when Jesse suddenly appeared at the doorway.

 “Uh, Mr. T, could I steal the Capt’n for a sec?” He leaned in to the classroom with that halfway shrug that told me his mind was down the hall at least four rooms. I heard shouting outside and my heartbeat quickened. Turning hastily back to Mr. T, I explained thickly, “I really did do the assignment, I mean, like you said to,” before running out the door.

~*~

“Hey boo, wake up. It’s almost one.” My mom’s smile was brighter than the sun that greased my eyes with fire. She twisted the window wand sending a flood of light into my room. I groaned thickly, blinking.

 “What year is it?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Now, come on. Up and at ‘em.” I sat up in my bed and studied her. How’d she always manage to do that? Her face looked cheerful, pleasant, and rosey. No dark circles or bags under her eyes. Only a slight puffiness. I thought back to the last time I’d cried, when I was fourteen and broke my arm. I’d held it together only long enough to get out of sight of my friends. Then I bawled like a baby and the next morning my eyes were sealed shut and my whole face was swollen. So how did my mom always manage to hide her tears so well? She was laying a stack of my underwear on the chair when she caught me studying her.

 “What?” Her eyebrow crept higher on her forehead in that mother’s-looking-at-your-thoughts kind of way that’s terrified kids of all shapes, sizes and nationalities for thousands of years. I quickly looked away and shrugged. “You were looking at me funny.” That eyebrow was still floating. I shook my head, innocently.

 “I’m just trying to wake up. Wait, did you say it was almost one?” My clock was buried beneath a pile of old Algebra 2 assignments. Mom nodded. “Crap, I’m s’posed to be at Hester’s in five!” I tumbled out of bed and yanked a “cleanish” t-shirt out of my drawer, tearing out the door and down the hall.

~*~

I sat by my open door for a while that night, listening to my mom’s tears and my sisters’ steady breathing from across the hall. It was nights like these when I felt dark thoughts knocking at my head, trying to get in, to tear me apart. I pushed them away and got up, closing my door and walking back across the room to my desk where Bob Chamsky was still trying to tell me about Cars, Trucks and Automobiles. The search bar seemed to call me. But to what?

….find a blog that interests you....

I wasn’t really interested in cars or trucks. I wasn’t interested in baseball, or in school or college or Ally Anderson. All I was interested in was stopping the sound of those soft, choking sobs that still echoed through my ears long after my mom had gone to bed.

What could I find that would do that?

I tried to think of things that my mom liked. Coffee. No, I needed deeper than that. Shakespeare maybe? Or just poetry in general?

I switched over to Google. It was easier to navigate than Blogger, and I was in a hurry.

Poetry blogs. I typed, my fingers flying like spider legs across the keyboard.

The first few looked either mundane, cliche or too creepy. Figures. I thought. Most Americans only write stuff that’s boring, dark or dangerous. My mom didn’t need anything like that. She needed to be happy.

I scrolled to number four on the list: The Whimsical Musings of a Modern Day Poet.

I clicked. It was a pretty standard blog, but a quote at the top was what caught my eye. It read,

“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”

~William Shakespeare

I’d found the one I was interested in.

~*~

I read for hours, the burning desire to please my mom spurring me on until I found myself genuinely wrapped up in the words. Some of the blog was composed of original poems; other posts were made up of Shakespeare, some Dickinson, and a few others I’d never heard of. The original pieces were beautiful. It was a kind of poetry I’d never read before: earthy, realistic, but simple and beautiful all at once. It made me want to write my own. I sat down to write my summary, surprised at how easily words came into my mind. Reading for so long had sort of warmed me up for writing. The words seemed to write themselves, spilling onto the page with a chaotic speed but a decided rhythm. By the time I finished it was past five o’clock and the sun was just peeking over the horizon.