Tuesday, June 30, 2015

The End of June

Reminder: all of these words were predetermined before we started the month. Always are. 



Pining

By definition
This is not a happy word.

But still, one can hope.




Data

Diana loved numbers. They called her Data Diana in school (she went to a school for smart kids) and she didn’t mind. Spreadsheets were her happy place, formulas and fractions her sweet spot, bullet points and procedures her bliss. Life made much more sense for her this way, all compiled into an excel document and cross referenced and clearly true and right and mathematically sound. In elementary school, the teacher tried to teach her about the ‘magic E: that makes the vowel say its name.’ Diana was not impressed. ‘That E is not magic,’ she told her teacher.

Diana knew herself better than anyone else at age at 16 because she spent the same hours that others spent at the movies, smoking beneath the bleachers and sitting in the backseat of cars instead at her desk, planning out her life to the month, strategically planning her life toward a happy ending. Her parents watched on in amazement, neither side wanting to take credit for the genes that produced such a maniacally organized teenager. She had no friends but she didn’t mind. They did not factor into her plan. She perfected and fixated and loved her plan until it became a part of her- it was her plan, her life, her trajectory. Her parents worried, but even they could not get close enough to her to spark any sort of casual conversation. Human interaction was not part of her plan.

Then the apocalypse happened. Electricity ceased, and without any electronic devices no one knew why or from where the problem originated. Sooner than anyone expected everything died, back-up generators blew and all that was left were people.

Lots of people.

Suddenly, Diana needed a new plan. 


Ta Da!

Jokes on you, big guy,
it’s all a trick: they won’t sell.
Soul on a salt pack.


 Siesta

It’s not the act
The closing of eyes
Lying on your back

It’s not the sleep
Not deep but gentle
Softness all around

It’s not the time
The middle of the day
After a large meal

It’s knowing you are free
Free to sleep
Alarm free

Obligation free
Appointment free
No bra Tuesday

Till your body actually
wants to wake
Till you’re ready

Tattoos

A little heart with a house inside.
It’s all I’ll ever want
emblazoned on my body,
forever a symbol of life
and the people that made me.

The little heart with a house inside
is full of grassy fields, church signs,
hay bales ready for climbing, fireworks,
handmade soap from a parsonage
and always, always needing a ride.

The little heart with a house inside
has been baked into Christmas cookies.
Designed by one of us,
the one with the best ideas, forever.
A little home on your wrist, foot or shoulder.

The little heart with a house inside
is our house, a place for us all
to remember and never lose,
where we can come back to
whenever city life gets too loud.

The little heart with a house inside:
the only tattoo I’ll ever want and won’t get.
Who needs ink when the little house
inside a heart
is already on my sleeve?


Application

I’d like to apply,
please, to have my choices made
for me. I’ll pay fees. 


Wasted

His confidence was wasted by his indifference.
His style was wasted by his harsh words.
His intentions were wasted by his actions.
He is wasted in more ways than one.

Pond Life

The dog ran right through-
it was amazing, he flew,
running on water. 







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