We were called by other names, each of us separately; years appeared, shone, yellowed, peeled away before we called out that falsity and all the coiling lies tripping off tongues we left behind.
There were dry years, each of us alone in a crowd like single stalks of grass. Sunrises came, noons blank and hard with evening riding on the tail of eternity whispering through the book of our solitary dreams.
But I remember --and will always remember-- that moment of recognition when like met like. I have been often confused, mistaken, lost; but this time it was sure and simple as east to west. I knew, honey. Right away I knew. ______ for the Sunday Muse #39.
I been sittin here tryna write slang f'Bee-orn. It's hard, I do'think I USE any slang. In Michigan everybody just talks normal, yanno? I mean, I been thinkin and thinkin. I had a pop and a glassa melk and it dinnit help. A nour later, my dog came in. I said, "Jeet? D'I feedja?" he said no. So I goddup and feddim and now I'm backa tryna write. Wen I lived in Texas, they toleme i haddan accent-- that's crazy, THEY had the accent. Livinin Michigan is great cos if ya get lost ya just hold up yer hand and point and say "I live right here." Course there's Yoopers and stuff, but they can use their other hand. I can't b'lieve I cooden write something. I'm really gonna have t'take a long look in the meer at myself. Sorry, Bjorn! If y'ever come to Michigan, I'll make it up to ya. I can show ya Ford's and Greenfeel Village, and my ciddy, but I cooden write what yawannid. Ope, almosfergot...this's for Clockwork Ornge at Thamaginary Garden. ______
I searched a page about Michiganisms before writing this, and was howling with laughter at all the stuff i have said all my life and never realized was a Michiganism until today. For those who need it, here's some translations:
pop=carbonated soda melk=milk jeet=did you eat? D'I=did I tole=told Yoopers=people from the upper peninula meer=mirror Ford's=Ford Motor Company. Greenfeel Village=Greenfield Village & Henry Ford Museum ciddy=city yawannid=you wanted ope=Michigan for "oops" or 'excuse me"
We were too stoned to get home, so we checked into the local Budget-Tel, room 13. The guy was pissed we woke him up and he gave us a crappy room with a tv with a busted screen.
My old man said I made him mad like always, and swung the towel bar at me so I called my friend Dotty to come get high with us cos the stupid fuck might really kill me once he finds out I took 20 dollars from the glove box in his pickup truck.
Well, Dotty came and dumbass didn't want to give her any dope but I kicked his shin and told him not to be such a dickhead for once and he slugged me but not too hard while Dotty went in his pocket for the bag. How does a guy like me--says dumbass--end up in a Budget-tel with you two cunts?
I got right and was wondering crazy shit like would the bedspread burn and I held my lighter to it but it only smoked a little bit. Dotty said Jesus what an ugly picture but when dumbass threw the lamp at my head it smashed the frame and Dotty said it's an improvement. What ugly shit!
I fell asleep but dumbass kicked me off the bed and said where's my twenty? so I bit his leg and he yelled and lost his balance and fell through the fucking window so somebody called the cops and Dotty booked and there I was high as fuck and under arrest at the stupid Budget-Tel, now ain't that just my luck? ________ for Artistic Impressions With Margaret--Alcohol Inks
I was there, at your childhood Christmas, crouched behind the tree, my striped backside against the wall. You missed one gift because I had it in my mouth-- we have always shared everything.
I was there, the first time you made love, denting the corner of the bed with my weight, the breath from my nostrils sliding your hair across your eyes. I was there in the morning, and there a week later, pacing and turning circles as you cried.
I was there, with a chicken in my mouth in the sacristy as you said your vows. I was there at the end of the table with the cousins that night, yawning wide while you danced. I was curled silently in the back seat when you drove away.
I have been there, at your job, at reunions and funerals and vacations and hospitals. We have always shared everything. I am there because my chest breathes air, my heart moves blood-- I want my life just as much as you want yours.
When the man comes, with his gun or his scythe, I will be there. He will hang us up by our heels and say, "Well now. Lookit you," and we will be still forevermore. Until then, I am with you, with one eye cast down on the dirt trail in the night, and the other cast up on the impossible wheeling stars. ______ For Fireblossom Friday
This is for you, who never saw me at all. This is for you, ladling out poisonous "forgiveness" when I had done no crime. This is for you, distraught that "no in OUR family" had ever been like me. (Don't bet on it.) This is for you, with the fiction of me in your head, who never existed anyplace else. This is for you, who would rather I suffer for a life time so that you can feel "comfortable."
This is for you, the friends who reached out when I was scared, when I was sad, when I was not at my best, when I really needed it. This is for you, who shared your own stories so that I would know I was not alone. This is for you, who loved me before, and loved me after. This is for you, who have never known me any other way. This is for you, watching me, as I once watched others for their joy for their beauty for their fierce belief in their own lights. And this is for me, God's own girl, arriving back where I began, at peace in the passing illusion of my own skin. _________
Why is Brenda Lee so sad crouching inside the juke box in her bullet bra? Does time fit together like black and white checkered flooring, and is Brenda Lee blue over a past life she cannot alter?
I would kiss Brenda Lee if she were not imprisoned by the black edges of phonograph records.
I would kiss her, though I am not the boy she longs for, or a boy at all, and I would give her the Coca-Cola clock right off the wall as a cure for longing.
Why is Brenda Lee so sad? If I could, I would gather photographs of fine days gone by, arrange them in a photo mailer, and address them to Brenda Lee, inside the Wurlitzer, Future, USA. _______
