Gaps, patches and in-betweens

You cannot breathe. The quiet unnerves you. The birds' chirping seem much louder than usual. You are immobile. You cannot do the laundry or vacuum and even those that do not need power,  like watering the plants, fixing your space,  being kind. There’s no electricity. You try to be productive.  You look at the forebodingly regular mop.  You think about the dishes — anyway, you still have water.  All the things you are supposed to do feel like a big effort.  You wait. Forever sets. You think about loves, lives and a little about work and how will you make do tonight  as the hot air sweeps in. Perhaps with the doors and windows open, on the cold floor praying for a cooler temperature when the sun sets. You start thinking about what you can lie down on. But you don’t get up to get the carpet.  Maybe you’ll wait for the power to come back. There is conflict at the border.  Aeroplanes are flying overhead. You think about the connection betwee...

I started watching the news. I couldn't stop. I had to open a bottle. I started drinking. I couldn't stop. And here we are.  "I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo

how I sing my song how I play the piano how I recite the poem how I tell the story of you How I recognize you How I know it’s you I am afraid. I can only hope that my love for you will survive the pain and hurt I have caused that may make you want to forget. Please remember for me as long as you can  because pretty soon, I won’t, you see but you can. "I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo

When fueled by anger, envy or jealousy  that blink could snap you like a twig, or hit you like a bullet a feeling, a word, a snapshot An orgasm An abortion A betrayal A heartache A stealing An excuse When healing, you need more than split seconds sometimes an eternity to bury a memory, a photo, a message In between a second to eternity you flick off the feeling of wanting to slap ruin and kill  or keep you alive. "I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo

As I wait for my grey hair to show, I acknowledge that I have not yet found my medium.  It's been a while since a paper or screen was full, words in my head crisp, fresh and nonstop, pouring as I put them down and give them life — long form, short form, shortest forms like haikus, song, Word I also like sound, hearing or reading poetry in my head  Of voices that can caress or whip and slash at least other people’s when they carry a tune, a pitch, a rhythm, a note  because I cannot. I can only make sounds or noise on the keyboard or guitar. Ah.  Maybe it is my voice on, what? a joke in a barren tone giving no cues for laughter or pauses for applause. Or when my voice laughs, unhinged and seemingly forced Or when it speaks nasty of others Especially when it yells at my loves  before I have time to close my mouth and the sound leaves my body. It deafens me so much so that it erases all meaning of the good words — the kindness, the patience that I let go despite my ...

It was invigorating in the midst of half-naked bodies. The atmosphere exuded power. The good kind, stemming from years of being restricted and forbidden.  It reminded me of my 20s, backstage, in a dressing room of a bar with pole dancing. The room was busy — so many colors. Women bustled about with make-up and shiny clothes, or lack of it, preparing for the performance.  The difference with today’s was the sense of empowerment.  At the bar, they had to do it for work, lack of opportunity, what they thought was best for them at that time. Sometimes they would have to sit with customers and order a drink. Hopefully, they enjoyed it.  Today, they wanted to show skin. They expressed themselves on the pole for themselves. Paying for the chance to do so. It was their choice. It was the usual aerial pole dance studio.  I was just the mom waiting for the daughter with a moment of a spectacular feeling. "I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon...

It landed on my lips with the thickness of lard then I tasted the unpleasant surprise sweetness that  should never be for noodle soup. I bit through a-few-minutes-to-al-dente noodles. Even chili and vinegar could not fix the strange taste. But it was not just the taste.  It was also the feeling.  There was no joy  of eating, of tasting, of flavors. Gulping down the last of the pieces of spring onion leaves and shred of a chicken,  I stare at the chicken foot that was left in my bowl.  The almost cold soup felt like it was served by a widower at a funeral,  lost, now that the reason for his being has gone. Or being alone, in solitude in a crowd.  Or someone solving the mysterious murder of someone no one cares about.  Per Alanis Morisette, “it’s meeting the man of your dreams then meeting his beautiful wife.”  What is the point?  I wanted to complain to my daughter who was obediently finishing hers.  It took all I had to keep si...