Things I Won’t Say
The sun in this part of the country makes me miss you. Even when the air is crisp, the sky is all incessant heat. You’ve always been sunflower locks and honey skin. You were dripping rose-gold and champagne, while I was busy coming in too-hot. And I still love you most days. I love you most days. I love you through the drowning. I love you through the abandoning. I love you through the paranoia, and then I wonder who did the abandoning. And does it matter when I’m abandoned? And does it matter when I still love you most days? You were midnight-caffeine and matching tattoos. And I let you fade into cooler, black and white memories. But I spent my teenage years in darkrooms. Orange-glow, red filter, pouring over underexposed film. And even washed out frames will still print if you hold the right light up to them. And the sunlight here always makes me think of you. Just let me think of you.
he gave me
didn't last long.
I wish he got me a
scar rather than just
So that on days
when he isn't around,
I can look and cherish
his presence in his absence.
he wanted to tell
are not always on the skin
but could be living
In the soul's realm,
Like him dancing
On my mind
making me realise
bears the burden of tears with it.
A gift like no other
Thumbelina was not my first and only doll, but she was the only one that ever garnered my attention. I cannot say I was a Tomboy, but I also would not categorize myself as a prissy girlie-girl that cared more about dressing up Barbies and spending hours on plastic dish tea parties with my pinky raised high in my mother's high heels.
Thumbelina was delivered to me on Christmas,1962, not by Santa, by stork, I assumed, because I believed she was a real live baby. She was so lifelike, so soft, and she even sucked her thumb. Forget the fact that she had to be wound to move. Incidental. When I turned her back over after winding her, her head moved, like a real baby, slow and circularly and I'd swear she was whispering "momma" to me, but it was just the sound of friction coming from her inner mechanical device.
And then horror of all horrors she broke! Her movement stopped and the world around me crashed. I was devastated. Thumbelina was dead.
"No no no, dear. She is not dead. She is just sick. And what do we do when we are sick? We go to the doctor or the hospital." Said my wonderful father when he got home from work. And off he went without supper in our family Chrysler, returning an hour later with Thumbelina as good as new…..because she actually was. If I knew, I didn't care and played along. My sister said I was a baby if I believed there was a doll hospital. I didn't care. She was just my very own Thumbelina returned as good as new, or new, and I was a little girl with a father that cared more about me than watching the evening news and his own hunger.
When I got older, the thrill of motherhood temporarily wore off and Thumbelina wound up on a shelf in the closet and I had almost forgotten about her. I started babysitting around 12 years old and this cute little girl I watched named Kelly Gogetz had captured my heart. Kelly told me she had always wanted a Thumbelina doll, so the next time I went to babysit, without a second thought, I grabbed my old Tumbelina off the shelf, dusted her off and gave her away.
Damn. Do you know what Thumbelina would be worth right now on eBay?
Any monetary value cannot compare to the memory of spending time cuddled up with her, watching her move and listening to her whisper my name. "Momma."
I miss my days and nights with Thumbelina, but even more so, I miss the memory of watching my hero father from the living room window, driving off to the doll hospital, and returning with her unpackaged, cradled in his arms, smiling right at me as he walked up the front steps of our home, offering a gift like no other.
I miss you when I think of you.
But when you aren't there,
it's easy to forget you ever were.
Don't think I don't care-
I swear that I do.
It's just, my mind is full of
a thousand thoughs.
Sometimes you swim through
that river ideas,
or you climb the mountains
of yesses and nots.
You passing by,
may I clarify,
does make me feel this "miss".
But, even when your away,
I can still try to feel bliss.
your fingertips had a way of sending soft
chills slowly down to my toes,
the ones you were carefully painting alabaster;
your body the most still i had ever seen.
you softly wrapped your rough fingers over mine
and pulled me into your chest,
our hearts mixing together, sloshing around the soup
of our love, seasoned with kisses and late-night back rubs.
the effervescence of your soul
danced golden sunlight into
the emptiness of mine.
bathing in the honey, i emerged new,
my heart’s gaps mended with your viscous syrup.
out of habit i reach for you every morning,
only to feel the cold sheets shoot harsh shivers down my back.
our fingertips will never touch again,
but darling, our love spans lifetimes,
and i can’t wait to find you in the next one.