It’s dark here, so dark, and getting darker by degrees.
Darker than a well, ‘round with heavy metal walls.
Darker than our pasture when coyotes bawl.
Darker than sleet, quickly falling down.
Darker than the future for this love-forsaken town.
Darker than the traveling cookers, making meth.
Darker than the search for still-born breath.
Darker by far than ever I’ve seen.
Darkness that cuts like a guillotine.
An original piece by Lori H. Copyright Feb 9, 2018
A stallion I’m not, but neither a nag.
No more harness.
No more whip.
No more bit in the mouth for this filly.
Now, I’m free to kick up my heels if I want to.
Free to race through the pasture, splitting the wind as I go.
Free to say what I want, whinny if I will, and blaze a new trail that leads where I want to go.
When have you gotten free of an entanglement you regretted? How long has it been since you ran against the wind?
As a small child atop a large knee,
I learned a thing or two ‘bout me.
“Blue eyes can be captivating.
Love is great and worth the waiting!
Smart and savvy aren’t the same,
and yes, you’ll have your share of shame.
Hard work doesn’t always pay,
and cherished folks don’t always stay,
and fortunes rise, but they also fall.
Through it all, yes through it all:
The tough, the rough, the messy bits,
your lot of fools and senseless nits,
You’ll pull through,
and do you know why?
‘Cuz I’ll be watching out for you!”
Piles of it.
Skirts, way too short.
The evidence of life, well-lived.
Soiled briefs boot-skooted through agitating foam.
Stanky microbian fumes pirouette,
dance the pole down poly pipes on their way to the sewer.
Corruption washed away by the Tide.
Detergent gifting redemption.
–excerpt form Captain Corelli’s Mandolin
Do you see love as a thing that stays, or a thing that flits away? How much does habit have to do with sustaining love and our determinations to get well?
One day this week I got caught up in the spider web that is Wikipedia. There, I found a story about a mafia don that held a secret meeting of the membership at his homestead in Apalachin in the ’50’s.
Apalachin, NY, people. A quiet lil burb of Binghamton!
Don’t ask how I got so entangled in this crazy topic.
My initial search led to other wiki pages and more information about the mob and more astonishment by me that people live such violent and vicious lives while walking on the same streets that we walk.
Truly amazing and shocking stuff!
I remember experiencing a similar sense of surrealism in the past, when I realized through my work at a drug and alcohol/mental health facility that some of the folks on the streets in my hometown were vicious rapists, violent offenders, and victims of diverse addictions. I had rubbed elbows with them on my way into the diner or movie theatre and never knew. Scary!
The following is my attempt to process the inner workings of a mind twisted by sin, while living on the outside. Note: I am tremendously grateful to be living on the outside of this type of dysfunction! The following is poetry born of reason and Wikipedia facts. Scary!
The Hit Man
Tall, dark, and deadly,
“A brick,” some say.
He paints houses.
Three weeks without sleep.
Clearheaded, I’m now ready!
“You do what you feel you must. I’ll do the same.”