Aspirations

When I was little, I wanted to be Harriett the Spy. In fact, I used to hide in my hall closet behind all the coats and just listen to the commotion going on in the kitchen. Or I would hide behind the couch and watch my brother and sisters doing their homework through the mirror above the piano. I would even spell words for my brother when my mom was quizzing him. I can remember getting on the upstairs line as quietly as possible to listen to my sister's phone conversations, even though I had no idea what they were talking about. I listened to each and every one of the serious talks my parents had with whoever the troubled teen at the time was, by laying down next to the banister at the top of the steps. I observed, listened, and sponged all possible going ons in the Williams zone growing up. Nowadays, I feel like I keep pretty close tabs on "what's going on" with everybody...and everybody knows that if they are getting a call from me, I will have at least a little tidbit of gossip to dish. I don't know how this will effect my future, but I'm pretty sure being a sneaky little bitch is ingrained in my DNA by now. I wonder if I can find a job in the DETECTIVE field?!

To follow...

Last poem was kind of depressing. But unfortunately, I have more bad news. The school year started with the death of a dear friend and classmate. Also, I have renewed my status as single for now...but not loving it. Things are busy, crazy, and stressful, but I'll continue to write. I know I don't have any readers yet........but maybe someday!

My brother...

Luke’s Passage

Papa and Baba died
within five years of each other
abandonment to you
who never quite felt at home among six sisters
Grandparent’s house was your getaway
You knew that Papa would always listen
when parents misunderstood
and teachers overlooked
Luke, age 9 “I’m nice”
you carved into the warped wood by the house
But nobody heard
And loneliness found you in the alley
willing to try-
snuck into your backpack
masquerading
as just something
to take the pain away
Paper route highs
were hidden for years
High school came and
you were a pioneer
to followers with need to experiment
Popularity meant all night parties
Mornings meant homeroom
with tequila hangover and
nicotine under fingernails
But that was only fifty percent of the time
Other mornings you were couch spread
cupboards ransacked
Wads of rolled up cash
earned at my donut selling job
cleverly stuffed in hollowed copy of Harry Potter
had been found by you
and taken
because your dealers would take your life
But your need for the drug just grew greater
that you screamed at your mother
and wished death on your father
You were toxic
like everything you put in your body
that made your eyes too wide
and your skin ghostly and I was afraid
I needed to know you loved me
more than your deceit showed
So I did your homework
when you couldn’t keep up
And drove you around
when you lost your license
But enabling was not the answer
Because your graduation came
with no lesson learned
Back home
You balance on the edge of a bucket
in the garage- you get high
Not remembering that there greater
salvation than what burns in your hand
You gaze out the smeared window
family below on a high of hamburger and love
picnicking because life will go on without you
You can’t find your way out of the abyss
The only clear road you see
is the path of addiction
so you take it

We Met On A Monday

We Met on a Monday by Liz (my sister)

We met on a Monday
I should have said no
You asked me to golf with you
And I agreed to go

I tore up the grass
But you didn’t seem to care
I could tell that you liked me
That special feeling was there

As we were out on the green
It became quite clear
When you showed me how to swing
It was just so we could be near

At the end of the date
You took me to my door
And when you kissed me once
My heart begged for more

That night as I lay
I thought back on my day
And decided
There was something
I just had to say

It couldn’t wait
Our meeting had been fate
I had to tell you
I feel in love with you on our first date

You were silent at first
My stomach felt sick
“Are you there, my love?”
But all I heard was
Click.

We met on a Monday
I should have said no
Because now I’m here
Loving you
Not able to let go

Rewrites

Beautiful Day on Lake Erie

Sunrise finds us camping on the beach.
Seagull alarm clock awakens
heavy eyelids, burning from last night’s campfire.
For breakfast, a mountain pie
toasted and steaming,
marinara and mozzarella.
Feet thrusted into the sand,
watching slow wake ups
and dutiful trips to the water spicket.
New friends at neighboring campsites stop by to
make plans for Rummy 500 after dusk.
The subtle waves beckon to us and our rafts.
But, first we will go to the camp store-
everything that you forgot you needed,
until you did.
The sun kissed seven,
plus our parents.
We’ll sucker our Dad into buying us a kite,
and Mom will pick up some pop tarts.
But we need to see if they sell water shoes.
You see, yesterday my flip flops
were buried in the sand,
and I didn’t notice
for six hours.





The Hammock Swing

Wooden shoulders
attached to the ceiling with a hook
and a net hanging down,
a sailboat- with nothing underneath
but the breeze.
This is where my sister sits in the summer,
tanned legs swinging.
The corner of the porch
seems like the corner of the world.
A place to observe
or read
or talk
on the phone
for hours.
The crisscrossed ropes are a dream catcher,
all bad things blocked
and only the good let through.
For me to look at her
I tilt my head upwards.
We sit,
laugh,
and dream.
Later we’ll argue about when to turn out the light-
She’ll bother me for gas money,
I’ll criticize her friends.
But for now,
"Everything's going to be all right" she teaches me.
She leans back with night sky behind.
"It's us against the world."
She's a quiet piece of furniture-
my guru.