Archive for July, 2013

Don’t Go

July 31, 2013

Don’t Go

 

Please, please don’t. Don’t leave me. I know how you must feel. I need you here. I want to keep you near me. You are my family. You are more than my family. Where could I find a living being like you—so unkind and uninterested? You have never charged me for all the good you’ve done me. Whatever you did, it was because you cared.

 

Push It!

July 23, 2013

Down the throat—push them down her throat. She doesn’t want to swallow them, but if she doesn’t she’ll die. Blood clots are serious business. I have to help her. She has to live as long as possible.

 

Her Scarf

July 18, 2013

Her Scarf

 

It was narrow and light blue or light grey. She used to wear it around her neck in the winter months. The scarf was her favorite; my uncle had given it to her. It acted as a frame for her wrinkled little face. Too many things to worry about made my aunt look sadder, more stressed out. Her scarf protected her a bit now that he was gone.

 

 

 

 

Don’t Know

July 17, 2013

You didn’t know me. I walked past you. To you, I was just another stranger. You had forgotten our life together. There was someone else, a new woman. Now you looked at her. She was the important one.

The Follower

July 13, 2013

The Follower

 

You followed me wherever it was that I had to go. You never asked questions as to why it was necessary to move. You came with me with a smile on your little face. Some of the new places were rough, others less so. A couple of rooms were in a decent neighborhood. It didn’t matter to you. You made no complaints. If we were together, all was perfect; anyplace was the perfect home.

 

 

You Sat

July 12, 2013

You Sat

There it is–Your chair, better known as your throne. You sat on it like a queen holding court. I see your pretty little face and your green eyes looking up at me as I entered the room. When you were hungry, you stretched out on the floor. If you thought I hadn’t given you enough food, you stared at me and meowed.

Pack

July 9, 2013

Pack your bags. Get a ticket, any ticket. Makes no difference where you go. Just park yourself somewhere. Do something. Do anything. Have the next town. Have the next whatever. Find a new place, a new life. No more being stifled and choked by boredom and fear. Not that ever again. It’s just too much.

 

The Plant

July 9, 2013

The Plant

 

I see my Aunt. She’s bending down to smell the geranium. My Aunt is a slight woman. She’s shrunk. She’s frail and thin after my uncle’s illness and death. Now she’s been evicted. At 68, she looks at least 10 years older. Her patio is full of plants, but the geranium is her favorite. Where are we going to go, my stuff and me? These plants are a big part of my life. They have to have a home. Where are we going to end up? My Aunt walks to the corner of the patio. She fills the water can. First the it’s geranium’s turn, then all the others, the little pieces of plants that she’s picked up here and there. The patio smells fresh and clean. My Aunt smiles. I’ll go somewhere. I am not dead yet.

 

 

The Other

July 8, 2013

 

The Other

 

I, the other woman, am jealous when she wants you, when she has to have you all to herself. I want to be the only one, the one you turn to and depend on. If you hold me dear, I am happy. I breathe a sigh of relief. If we have to stay away from one another, we are both sad. We don’t know what to do without each other.

There we will always be, standing together in the early morning hours. In my memory and in my soul, you will belong to me no matter what. You have done my heart good.

 

 

 

Our Moments

July 1, 2013

 

Our Moments

 

I can’t help to feel what I feel. I love you. The thought of not being with you anymore makes me cry. I have been warned—I have been forbidden—but it’s no use. I have broken my promise. Having you near me means more to me than anything has in a very long time. Our moments together can never end. My heart doesn’t want to allow them to end. We are happy. I pretend that our relationship cannot be taken away from us. Yet, with the snap of a finger it can be.