somtimes i lay on my bed and stretch as if i am trying to reach for something but there is nothing there except the wall of my imagination. Have i reached it i wonder. sometimes i find myself humming at tune, reliving a moment and feeling a pinch in my heart but when i think about it, it does not come from something i experienced but something i imagined.

to bright to be quiet

i am here by a window everything is quiet except for the sun. It has pushed the curtain open and has made my eyes water. I love the natural light i do, but today it is loud, too loud and it is inviting me to come out, when i can not. even sophie's bark can not drown it out, but together they are creating havoc in my head. I want to find a dark quiet space, quiet like grace, dark like grace.

aging

we are sitting at the cafe, his nose in and out of the paper.i
fingers play over the keyboard of my laptop half parousing the internet.

he: what are you thinking about?

me: nothing and you

he: nothing

me;(thinking to myself) i was thinking how the sunlight hits his eyebrow and his blue eyes shine, how the last fifteen years i have watched him grow into this handsome man. how is grey is camouflaged with his blond and it's beautiful and how the lines of his face has traced his kindness, is story how i love him now more than ever..

he: (interrupts my thoughts) well i was thinking about that girl over there how she reminds me of you when we met

and now i feel a string from my heart break as if it was a violin .

seeing

i have fallen in love with looking out this window. i tell it many things without speaking a word.at times it disagrees with me. but today it gave into me.

dick chenney

dick chenney "frankly" i think you should shut up

how dare you speak about the economy and the government trying to control private companies- you erased the word private, you privatized a war..you were good at it. tell me does blood pour out of your shower head or do you bathe in mothers milk. do you have little plastic soldiers all over your house and knock them down when your steak is over cooked and not bloody like you like it.

the museum

waiting in line at the cafe, i place my order the man behind me does the same his voice so familiar i can't help but turn around. I i have seen him before but i do not know him, i turn back around and feel him lean towards me as he whispers "meet me at museum, risd museum" I don't acknowledge thinking that he must not be talking to me. I get my drink when i look about he is gone. I walk to my car and notice a note ..please meet me. I think how crazy this is and how i absolutely will not. I start driving towards town and there is a detour that brings right in front of the museum. i shake my head in disbelief and whisper no, no. but somehow i am parking.

as i walk into the lobby he is there, if he is surprised he doesn't show it. I don't say anything, somehow i feel like i am in my teens. we go up the elevator the door open's and we walk into the exhibition. he tries to speak but somehow my thin voice says " please can we just look around in silence" i am awkwardly confident but not really sure. I get lost in photographs, artifacts, so lost i forget he is there-no that is not true i am aware, he is standing a foot away yet i can feel his weight on me. we go into my favorite room full of impressionist paintings. i stare at the colors and the people on the canvases i almost hear them. I notice he is not looking at them in fact he had not really looked at anything, he stares at me " why aren't you looking at the art" he replies " i am" i want to laugh-no i want to tell him that those are wasted words that i had fallen for such words before, used by bald hairy italian men- common words, common men. instead i say every museum has bad art. I excuse myself to the ladies room, i wash my hands and face the water is cold. drying now i look in the mirror i recognize her. her wrinkles start to fade her skin becomes pale and lips the color of early raspberries. i look straight at her, i tell her no never again as i walk through the doors till i find myself outside walking to fast to call it a walk i find my car and my salvation.

his kindness

i sit here in the car as he drives through the mountains. his kindness makes me want to cry. he good to me. i want to stretch my arms towards him but some how my body has sunk deep into my chair, my eyes are heavy and my voice to thin to hear.

we are at the theater now, i am sitting in my chair. his kindness makes me want to cry, he is very good to me. i want to tell him
but i remain quiet.

i am tired, to tired to tell myself that he is to good for me, instead i want to believe i deserve this type of love. his kindness a blanket of my youth i never had, he shelters me from a storm within.

three

i am three people, the person i once was, the person i am and the person i am working hard to be. sometimes they meet, they revisit their story with each other. they cry, they laugh and at times they run and hide. the person i once was often runs back closing her eyes tightly. the person i am finds herself standing still requiring more patience then she is capable of giving. the person i am trying hard to be well i hardly see her clearly..she comes and goes and often has light around her so bright i look away.

i am three people they share common threads all so desperately trying to be heard one so wanting to be forgotten.