In Which Carmen Writes Lengthy, Rather Sketchy Poetry

[xaara]

Not sure I like the character whose voice speaks through these poems (or multi-part poem, rather), but she's starting to interest me. I might be back to edit these into some sort of readable shape, or I might just sort of "Huh" and leave it at that.

Spirals

i
I sit twisted here, wrapped around myself
because if I can find my center, that place beyond the ache
or maybe within it, then, then I could
catch myself, this next time
before I fall. Fall: from grace; in love; out.
If I can only find it, breathe deep like Mama told me,
if I can find it and touch it with one fingertip
I can let it spread under my fingernails, up
to my hands, the fragile bones absorbing
the peace, sending it to my elbows,
my shoulders, my neck, my face, and back
down across my breasts, my stomach,
toes curling at last with the joy of it.
And I would be here, and here
would be home.

ii
I am a selfish child, orphaned, left to suffer
for my sins, left here curled crying in the snow
until the padre comes to claim
me, comes to claim my life as important
because until then I am no one.

iii
I did not pretend to understand you
or the way you thought or acted; I had long since
lost the texture of your lips in the confusion
of what you wanted and how you planned
to get it—what you asked of me
and how I am here now, a woman
floating, alone, where the current will take me, leaving
control of my life to the winds.

iv
I'm lost, see? And my compass is broken—I dropped it
at the last crossroads and it shattered into a thousand
pieces, each one shimmering in the late afternoon sun, each one
glittering uselessly in the foot-packed dirt
until I ground my heel into the center
of the debris field.
Such a modern term—debris field—where they always find
the bodies, the black boxes
that are supposed to tell them
everything, supposed to survive anything, and somehow
never do. Debris. Splintered mailboxes, warped
wedding bands, twisted picture frames, glinting CDs
staring back at the sun like fish eyes, unblinking
even against its glare.

v
I walked into the store today, and I was sure
they could tell you were gone
from the way they looked at me, sideways
out of the corners of their eyes
like they used to look at lepers except I will not die
of this disease. I can't cure it away
with pills whose names outmeasure them; I can't
give up and leave myself to die,
because I've been raised differently, Mama says.
Because I'm human, I say, because
we laugh at death and court it and
cannot let ourselves go.

vi
They call this obsession at work, and my boss
inquires as to my health over and over, trying
her best to find me lacking, remiss,
but she can't, because I work
twice as hard as the next woman, my hands
blurring with speed, hitting the keys so hard
my finger joints begin to ache with the pounding
which is all right, because when I stop
the hurt goes away.

vii
Watched the sunset this evening, curled up
with a bottle of red wine
and a sleeping bag on the balcony. I sleep there
unless it rains, and then I find my spot
on the living room floor, in a corner
where we never kissed, never
made love, never laughed or wept, a corner without you,
a corner safe from your shadows. There I can smile
and the smile is real, and not a memory
formed of the muscle groups in my face,
the ones that must bunch
before my lips curve up at the keyholes
in a gesture that means: I am happy.

viii
These are the important things: keep on the sunny side,
smile under the rain, love is all you need, glass
half full, world's still spinning, there's always
tomorrow, and trees always fall
in the forest and of course they make a sound. No use
crying over you, because you weren't The One
of course—in the eyes of friends, who is?
No, you weren't good for me,
and I can do better, and I can get over this, and I
miss you oh God I miss you
so much it hurts. Was it me? Tell me, was it
when I bit my fingernails or
twisted my hair into little braids
or rolled my eyes or laughed called you sanctimonious
because I fell in love with the word
and it fit post-dessert you so well.

ix
I tore down the calendar this morning,
ripped it from the wall and shredded its pages
one by one until the shredder overheated
with its attempts to cut the glossy pages,
and then I used the scissors, sliced
carefully until nothing remained. Destroyed
your carefully printed appointment reminders, the anniversary
stars, the planned vacations. The mocking
boxes, counting off the days. The days since.

x
Hey, you want a coffee? she asked,
draped over the top of my cubicle, smiling
at me. I was just gonna run down to the deli
across the street—you hungry or anything?
No, I started to say, but then, Yes.
Grab me a muffin or something, I said. You know
what I like. Something light.
Sure, she said. No prob. Hey, you're looking
better. You know. Since. Yeah.
Thanks. And maybe I meant it.
Maybe, just a little.

xi
I had to fill my car this morning, so I parked at the station,
flipped open the tank cover, slid the pump into the opening,
stood there, foot tapping, as the numbers
click-flipped beside me. A man
pulled his car in behind mine, got out, smiled
at me as the drumming of my fingers
counterpointed my foot's beat. Without thinking, I
smiled back, raised an eyebrow. He laughed
and shouted across the street noise,
Good morning.