High on Spring Blues

I wrote this poem a few years ago, on the first spring after my little brother flew out of his flesh and bones. I remember thinking that loss alters the way most of us relate to everything… even the changes of the season.   

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There’s birdsong on my page…
words I planted in midnight soil
are blooming memories of you.

Louder than death and time,
your soul sings to me of life:

“Dance your sobs
into undying laughter,”

I hear you chant,

“let the joy lift your heart
(high on Spring Blues)
and stitch our eternal tale
on the ventricular walls
of my forever home.”

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Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

I’m an Angel

Experience taught my kind to avoid public bathrooms. But since experience can’t argue with a full bladder, I took an exit that welcomed drivers to The Idle.

I parked behind some empty chairs that faced traffic. For car watching? I thought, but biology overruled curiosity, and my need for release sent me rushing into a gift shop in search of a bathroom that was, of course, all the way in the back.

A framed sign, taped between doors labeled His and Hers, read: Ask store attendant for key. I read it again, as my bladder screamed that it would not make it back to the front of the shop without exploding.

Showing my bladder that flesh was weaker than thought, I approached the cashier, and said, “May I borrow your bathroom key?”

He looked beyond my face. I wanted to think that he was admiring my glorious hair, but knew he was staring at the hint of wing tattoo escaping the top of my sweater.

“Male or female?” he said.

“What?” The question surprised me. Angels weren’t common in cold cities, but myth and reality merged decades ago. Our physiology was no secret.

“Men’s or women’s bathroom?” he said, in a louder voice.

“I’m an angel,” I said, feeling flustered. “I’m not in love right now, so… I’m neither and both. I mean… any bathroom. I just need to pee. Any key will—”

“We’ve no restrooms for people who can’t tell.”

“Who can’t tell what?” A surge of mixed emotions set my skin aglow, then the man reached under the counter, and my wings and sword burst fully out of my thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he shouted, brandishing a crucifix between us.

Wings retracted and sword returned to non-being, I walked away from the trembling fool, too furious to apologize for the puddle my bladder rained on his filthy floor.

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the wee notes…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Mythical Prejudice (Poetry and Flash Fiction with Magaly): write a 3-stanza poem or a very short story (313 words or fewer) that explores prejudice from the point of view of a mythical creature who is part of our modern world.
– Many mythologies and theologies speak of angels as sexless and/or genderless. So, I’ve wondered how these beings might be treated if they were citizens of a world that is very much like ours, but where myth has become reality.
The Idle (still in the making) a tourist attraction in Indiana, which will involve rows of chairs “overlooking the downtown’s interstate”. The idea behind the “attraction” is that some people might enjoy watching traffic… as long as they are not stuck in it.

Glass Emptied of Clouds

My glass was half full, but
I was proud of its contents,
excited about possibilities…

“Oh, the life I can bring to fill
my empty half,” I used to say.

Then you came,
bringing your thoughts
into my days.

“Empty your glass,” you said,
“I have a fill of wonders.”

I allowed the emptying…

…and you filled my glass
with clouds
that looked like heavenly dreams
falling like cool expectations
against the flush of my cheeks.

I closed my eyes,
and waited for wonders…
that weren’t meant to be.

Now,
with eyes open
and opened again,
I see
huge nothings
filling the space that is you.
And I grin…
as I gather the pieces
of my glass emptied of clouds,

of clouds that seeped into dirt
and were boiled clean by the sun,
in promise of better rains…

Beaming
under a cloudless sky,
I am
fixing my glass,
prettying its cracks,
naming the breaks,
proud of my work,
excited about possibilities

I will build true…

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the wee notes…
– I wrote this poem a few years ago, after a break up. Some of my friends worried about me because I was “acting too calmed for comfort”. The poem was my way to appease their qualms. I wanted to let them know that getting out of the relationship I was in was a good thing, even a great thing. Breaking up is painful while it’s happening (endings hurt) but the future is always so good at the art of offering new possibilities to be taken.

I’m reposting it for a friend, whose relationship just ended. To her, I say, “Right now the world is all tears and screams and fury that whisper bloody fantasies that include smashing bones we used to love (or still love, even if they no longer deserve it), but this will pass. Time will help mend cracks… You will reclaim your Self.”

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.