take take take

Jackie Robinson

We survived!
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.

The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
Guess what?

It lives larger in my head.

When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.

Just maintain the essentials.
Food, exercise, love, sun, sleep
Wash, rinse, repeat.
And me?
Food, exercise, love, sun, sleep, Art, repeat.
One significant difference here.

Well, maybe not.
Maybe his antler is his Art.
Chipping away everyday.
From antler to peddle-size stump.
Consistency is key. 
Thanks for the tip, Mr. Jackie Robinson.

Find Magdalena

FADE IN: two surfers.

“I found this note on my phone that I never wrote.”

“What do you mean?”

“A notepad-note-thingie that said, ‘Things are getting interesting.’ Like, what the fuck?”

“Ok…”

“I feel like I’m getting my identity stolen.”

“You would know if that was happening. You also get shit-faced a lot, so there’s that.”

“Yeah. There’s this guy in the music business who sent me an email with a legal document attached that said, ‘You better get yourself a good lawyer, see you in court.’ Like, what the fuck did I do? It haunted me. I got off Facebook, Twitter, everything.”

“Don’t let ass-fucks like that get in your way. Fuckin’ idiots, the lot of ’em.”

“I don’t know. There’s like, some darkness inside, you know.”

He rubs his chest.

And then: “Do you believe in Jesus?”

“As a religion?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Jesus seems like he was a cool dude. Not sure about his father. Look man, you might need to speak to someone.”

“Yeah. You think that’s stupid though?”

“Not in the least. I’m sure Jesus had someone to talk to, wasn’t it that Magdalena chick? Hot redhead at the table? She looks like she could’ve listened to some heavy shit.

“Yeah. I try to deal with it myself but sometimes it feels like surfing and running don’t cut it.”

“That’s cuz you’re running away.”

“Yeah. And it’s catching up to me.”

“Then find a Magdalena, dude.”

FADE OUT.

Done (pt 3)

POPS the club

I am crying
over things that shouldn’t cause so many tears.
I am clutching
to things that everyone else can let go of so easily.
I am ripping
away at my own brain
because the darkness only hurts me more.
I am pushing
because my whole life that’s what I’ve been good at.
I am killing
myself over people
who wouldn’t do the same for me.
I am holding
back from the things that should help me succeed.
I am wandering
through broken pieces
that I shouldn’t have to put together in the first place.
I am over
everything.
I am so
done.

___
Done by Iona Scott, Before There Were BarsPOPS The Club

tomorrow

Waiting...

An ache.
A pain so sharp, it cuts.
Senses are lost in a fog, come back soon.
And there’s a void.
A real one.
Why did he have to go?

Heart beats heavy sighs and legs demand a slower pace.
It takes a million years for arms to move this way and that.
Three weeks is a very long time..
Huge.
Ginormous.
And yet, benign.

I think of those who’ve passed.
Like the pictures of Ron Heren, taped to the fatal pole, the one that ended his life.
A corner where Jackie and I must wait for the lights to change.
Death.
Leaving your loved one is like a death.
And yet, so benign.

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

Be tomorrow now.
Fast forward to the race’s end.
Change the lights quick.
Bring back comfort, my pillows and blankets.
Speed this time forward like a jet plane.

happy birthday [boom poem for lover]

happy birthday, my love

We celebrate my beautiful man’s birthday today.
I wrote this poem when we first met.
I haven’t changed my mind on any of it.

Happy birthday, my love.

He’s quite the badass.
He’s a rebel and he’s the too cool for school.
He’s behind the crowd, he’s the slow walker, he’s the leader of the pack without trying to be.
He’s the sage and the delinquent in one.
He’s the joker, the enigma, the shadow, and then also the ray that seeps in slowly, ever so slowly, before blasting up the room.

Oh, the ever present, Sun. The Son.

He walks into a space and, “All Hail Caesar!”
But he doesn’t like that.
Maybe he doesn’t hear it?
Could be that he tries to ignore it.
I mean, come on, it’s only natural.
Stupid me, should’ve known.

He doesn’t try. He allows all to just be.
He wants to be my Savior, the good spirit in my life, but then he also drags down the rose-colored curtains.
Shoves my face closer to the ever complicated, but neatly organized, brightly-colored (never grays or lights!) and intricate onion-skins, of life.

“Look deep,” he asks of me.
Demands of me.
Softly. Kindly. Delicately.
Skin.
Hot breath.
Touch me.

He’s quite the spirit, keeps me on my toes.
Keeps me thinking and reflecting, and then questioning, and then doubting, and then pondering, and then questioning, and then asking, and then thinking again.

His presence wafts in without your notice.
You inhale him long enough to gain shape of his recognition.
Exhale, everyone.
And then BOOM.
Like, that —

He’s gone.

Done (pt 2)

POPS the club

And of those who say they’ll stay,
who will go?
I am anxious
to be happy, genuinely.
I am hoping
things will only get better.
I am clinging
on to things that stay the same.
I am spiteful
for things that change.
I am giving up
on the things that slowly drift away.
I am grabbing
on to the stuff that hurts me most.
I am trying
to grasp on to stuff that I shouldn’t.
I am losing
my sanity oh-so slowly.
I a starting
to realize ow unfair life is even to those who wait.

__
Done by Iona Scott, Before There Were Bars, POPS The Club

Read Part 1

get milk

 

got milk?

FADE IN:

He: Well, it’s like a pyramid.

She: Don’t talk to me about pyramids. That guy? That fuckin’ Bernie Madoff? Have you seen the movie with Michelle Pfeifer and Robert DeNiro?

He: That’s not what I mean —

She: — Well, it’s fucked up. And everyone said the movie was shit but I liked it. Anyway.

He: This pyramid is different, Auntie.

She: Different, how?

He: You put your life’s goal at the top and then you backward map.

She: A map?

He: Backward Map!

She: Well —

He: — If you gotta go down the street to buy a carton of milk, what would you do to get there?

She: Is this a game? Like, do you want an answ —

He: — I’m trying to explain what it means. You would put your shoes on, get your jacket on, find your purse, look for your keys, get your wallet, make sure you have enough money to buy milk —

She’: Yeah I know, milk is getting very expensive —

He: — AND THEN. And then you have to cross the street, pass the school and head to the corner store. Backward mapping is the reverse. You start with the carton of milk in your hand and you map out how you got there.

She: Gotcha. So, what does milk have to do with your pyramids?

Sigh.

He: Nothing, forget the milk. I’m trying to tell you that I got the gist of how I’m going to get to university.

She: Oh that, how? Selling milk?

She giggles. He sighs.

FADE OUT.