sexy poetry thursday...

i don't talk about sex.
i cringe when others do.
i am bad at that kind of thing...
it has to be forced from my psyche,
wrenched out of my fist,
pried from my catholic upbringing...

so.

this was written
the night we met...
please,
don't judge me.

july 17/94

furious with wanting you
to possess you
encompass you
grinding my teeth
nails clenched in my hand
your sweat stinging my eyes
salt on salt
i beg to understand
the anger
the bitterness
i taste smoke on your fingers
smell the scent of it
on my own hand
tidal wave anger
breaks me down
again

(the anger has nothing to do with the person
in the poem other than to say he was
indirectly in the path of it, but never the
cause of it)

more poetry thursday here

sunday scribblings: with baggage.

My district manager sent me an email that said,
"Bring only a carry on bag. There is a strike at
one of the airports and we don't want anyone
to have to pick up their luggage."

Of course, I was late for my flight.

Once there, I realized the little plane was
already full of passengers and I was the last one.
Having never flown before, I was uncertain
of the procedures, the routines, the rules
and regulations. I was scared and sad and
not wanting to leave my husband and kids
for a week.

They said I could not take my "carry on".
It was too big. I argued with them. They
insisted it was too big. I tried to tell them
that damn it, my district manager sent me
an email and said I had to take my bag on
the plane...I had to!

They brought out the machine that
was supposed to show me that my bag
was, in fact, too big. I cried and snapped,
"Take the damn bag, take it, take it...
if I can't get it at the airport, I will just
attend all the manager meetings in the
clothes I have on!"

The girl in the security room asked me
to put my bag on the conveyer.

I broke down. "Bag? What bag?
I don't have a bag! Your people took
my bag because they said it was too
big! Even though my district manager
sent me an e-..." "Your purse."
"oh."

I could see my husband through
the glass, through my tears of fear
and frustration. He looked sad and
helpless. They ushered me through the
gate and onto the plane.

PART TWO

I had made it.

I flew on the first plane unscathed.

I easily and quickly retreived
my "carry on" even though the airport
was on strike. I tearfully explained
to my district manager the predicament
I had put myself in and she laughed.
During the rest of the manager meetings,
she was known to ask if anyone had seen me,
was I in some state of flux, crying in the corner
somewhere? I took it as a sign that she
liked me.

PART THREE
(in which, we fly home)

I get on the plane, confident and unconcerned.
I am a seasoned flier now. I am early and
prepared. I stop at my row. I check my
ticket.

There is a man sitting in my seat.

There is a man sitting in my seat
who is pointedly ignoring me.

I continue to stand, looking up at row numbers,
looking down at my ticket, up at row numbers,
down at my ticket.

A woman in the next row tries to help me out.
The man sitting in my seat finally looks over
and asks if I would mind switching my seat for his
because his legs are longer than mine
and my seat was next to the door.

Fine.

The stewardess comes along and goes
through all of the rules and expectations
that come along with the responsibility
of sitting by the door.

The man reads a magazine during this.

When the stewardess walks away, I turn
to the man and say, "Do you make a habit
of that?"

"Of what?" He is obviously confused.

"When someone is giving you pertinent
information that involves everyone on this
airplane, you choose to ignore it, and read
a magazine!"

He looks a little surprised. And sheepish.

He assures me that he knows how to open
the door, that he has flown before. He
thinks that I do not believe him so he
repeats all of what the stewardess has
just told me and I know that he is right,
because I had taken notes, as she was talking.

I calm down.

And realize that I have swallowed
the gum that was supposed to stop my
ears from hurting.

I want to go home.

where-i-am-wednesday.

here's where i am this week.
the kids have been gone to my mother in laws
since monday.

i have spent alot of time
reconnecting
one on one
with my husband.


we are always together and we almost always get along
but it is something completely different to be together
without the kids around...
we were able to take the kids to the parade on monday
which they enjoyed...
i LOVE parades...they just make me so happy and excited...
the anticipation, the loudness of the fire trucks, the bagpipes...

i am struggling my way through this book....

so many names...
all the same or so similar,
it's hard not to get bogged down in it...
but then there is so much of it
that i am enjoying
that i know i won't stop reading it,
but i do know it's going to take me a bit to
finish.

watched this movie
and was completely enthralled by it.

planning to watch this movie
tonight and am pretty excited...
love neil gaiman!
love jim henson...even if it is now
jim henson company but hope it
hasn't changed...

working in the garden...

can you spot the tiny tomato above?

spent the day at the beach yesterday with a best friend
and her children and the little boy i look after,

been practicing driving in anticipation of getting my driver's licence
at some point this year...heh heh.

eating strawberry/blueberry shortcakes at 9 at night,

and this is where i have been this week...
how about you?
:)

one down, how many to go?

i finished this little sweater
for a best friend's baby boy
and gave it to her yesterday
with the warning
that it was the first sweater
i have ever knitted
and may possibly...
at some point...
fall apart.

i used the pattern
found here...

also, i would like to thank
everyone that left such sweet comments
about my poem...
i can't tell you how much it
means to me
to hear that people
actually
liked it...
:)

personal poetry thursday...

no explanation.

and there she is
sitting across from me
feeling sexy, certain, silent
burgandy and bronze
wanting to be noticed
without wanting to be seen.

her skirt is full
and shadows are light
she listens to what you are saying
but doesn't hear,
not quite.

smiles are cordial
and vaguely polite.

answers are given
more ambiguous
than right.

and in her head
she is comparing herself
to songs.