Mystery Kitten

There is a kitten in my life. He looks like a little polar bear. He's a big white cat. If I have a bad day he sticks by me like he knows I'm sad. He'll look up at me or my significant other sometimes with this very serious little kitten face. Where did you come from, kitten?

That's the thing. He literally just appeared on our doorstep three years ago. He's a mystery kitten. A mood stabilizing, problem solving mystery kitten with a very serious little face. I realize a photo would be appropriate right now but my photos are still on my old lap top. Another time.

Cassette Tape

I remember seeing insane tumbles of tangled-up cassette tape flying down the expressway or trailing out of a random cars. Or, even stuck in the branches of trees. It was normal. It was a normal, everyday thing to see in the eighties and even the nineties. When was the last time I saw cassette tape unraveled in such a manner? Released from its case for reasons one could never really know, yet knew all too well. Or, merely flying overhead in the wind independent of logic or reason? When was the last time I witnessed cassette tape being  jettisoned out of someone's window? Cassette tape that was both crunchy and silky to the touch if that's even possible. It was true. Because a tape–any tape–found in this state just might be a double album or something great. And maybe I would be the one who would finally rewind what those yelling people up on the eighth floor clearly could not: a tape. A cassette tape. We played them on tape players; we tossed them over our shoulders into back seats, kicked them around living rooms and stored them on hot windshields. And they–the tapes–never asked for anything. They did not ask to be listened to forever, they didn't even ask for ten years. No, they asked to be listened to for a few years. On players that wouldn't last six months and would eventually reject the tape. Just spit it back out. Without warning. The music itself very often still playing as though nothing were wrong.         

In a Yard with Roses

Wayward poppy seeds 
on flimsy paper plates,

the empty 
macaroni salad bowl,

green peeling paint 
on metal chairs,
a chipped blue veil 
on the Virgin Mary's head,
in a yard with roses, 
looming rain clouds, 
a spider
and broken statues, 
in a yard with bees 
that hover too near me 
and this, my amazing 
bratwurst sandwich,
we eat, 
though it is raining on us, 
we eat, 
though we'd rather eat inside.

Rainbow

After the rain 
here in the parking lot 
that's paved with broken 
windshield shards 
sparkling back 
a million hard sunsets 
like crushed orange and lemon 
stained glass candy 
where deep dark puddles 
act as mirrors
to just washed liquid skies 
here, a real rainbow occurred 
a real rainbow
wordless as marquees go 
a silent disco shoot
a bright loopy slide 
stretching universe to universe 
a rainbow 
a real rainbow
spilling out of the sky
and I felt super lucky
and secretly happy 
as I collapsed my umbrella
and saw everyone around me
reaching for their phones. 

Re-Reading Childhood Books

I never found my original copy of Little House on the Prairie. I'll admit that this bothered me for years. I just assumed that all such missing items from childhood were 'somewhere at my Dad's house' and, it turns out, years later (perplexingly) that none of those things were at my Dad's house. So, my boyfriend, who picked up on my distress, came home with a used copy of Little House in the Big Woods the other day. This was so thoughtful and such a surprise that I broke down and cried! Seeing this book (the copy he found was even roughly from the same era as what was my old copy) led me to finally, bravely go searching for my copy of Up a Road Slowly. I had been afraid that this book wasn't where I thought it was and I just didn't want to know for sure that it wasn't. But there it was, on the top shelf of the hallway closet along with Jacob Have I Loved, Tex and The Outsiders. Oddly, Up a Road Slowly has been on my mind a lot lately. I read it the summer before my freshman year in high school–which is confusing as a memory because I also recall being a 'child' when I read it. Something about the way the story is organized, the way the main character respects herself and slowly achieves things meant a great deal to me at fourteen. I recall that I read Up a Road Slowly, which won the Newberry Award and is definitely YA fiction, concurrently with The World According to Garp. It made perfect sense at the time. In honor of this–or due to some sentimental forces beyond my control, I am now re-reading Little House in the Big Woods, Up a Road Slowly and Garp all at once. I highly recommend doing this.   

The Library is Ok

I get a lot done at the library. It's cool and quiet and clean and the floors are made of a special noise absorbing material that also doubles as a kind of pillow for your feet. In my experience, people adjust to the pillow-floor pretty quickly. It causes one to slow down a bit. And, though I don't think it was intended to be a 'feature', the pillow-floor does make everyone that much sneakier. No one ever really knows when someone else is approaching. It's always a surprise. And the sound of the air conditioning, which is just barely audible, is constant–which is key. It's a nice white noise where pure silence might be less effective. Needless to say, people fall asleep at the library all the time. I personally have yet to do so, but I'm not against falling asleep at the library, if and when it does happen. That would be ok.  

The Irony of the Whole Thing

It's the same every time: I'm gliding along calmly not worrying about anything when suddenly I'm swimming desperately to the surface struggling for air. Then I sit up in bed in a panic and can't explain the dream I just had. It's happening right now. Only I'm wide awake. And the distant voice is yelling 'wake up' but I can barely hear it. 


Sometimes I walk around thinking about how happy I am and I forget everything else. Actually, I don't forget anything so much as I don't become involved in the first place. I just focus on whatever I'm doing. I can actually feel my brain learning things. Sometimes I'll start to worry but then I just stop myself. I mean, why worry? There's no reason to worry. 


Other times I'll wake up and realize that there is nothing but sunshine. Not anything else. Not nausea, not panic. Just the sun coming though the curtains. As you can imagine, this leaves room for lots of other things. And that's the irony of the whole thing, right there, if you asked me.

Childhood Kitchen

There was nearly a year spent sorting out my Dad's affairs after he died. For the duration we kept his house more or less operational. We had heat, air, groceries, dishes, utilities, toilet paper, mice, mouse traps. Sometimes I'd get there an hour or more before my brother. I liked the peace and quiet. I liked the moving-vehicles-in-the-sun type reflections that would suddenly appear then sort of stretch out across the one wall. I liked never knowing exactly where these reflections were coming from–or even, for that matter, from which window. Just as when I was little. That had not changed. That would never change. 

Options

You know, I could live in this glass of soda water. I could. I'd live in one of the bubbles. I'd sit cross legged and float in the nothing-nowhere. It would be cool and quiet. It would be like rolling through the hills in a brand new car on a brand new road. And life would be good. Too good, maybe. Sometimes I'd watch the other bubbles. But mostly I wouldn't bother. I'd just sort of un-focus my eyes and space out. I'd be able to really think in there, too. Not right away. But after a couple days the clear thinking would start and I'd be off finally solving mathematical mysteries or writing novels in my head. And the world outside the glass would dissolve away and, ultimately, lose all context and meaning for me. Which would be fine. Like an insect, I would no longer care nor actually be able to fathom the human-scale world. I would be small. Very, very small. And living in a bubble. 

You Stand Up

You are a mote-spec 
in a sun ray
an unfathomable mind
ocean-deep
a handwritten note 
tied to the tail of a balloon
you are unbreakable
the king of the jungle gym
jumping higher than anyone 
running faster than anyone
throwing down if it comes to that
and every day 
when you get shoved to the ground 
you stand up.