dancing with the elephants

i could stand to be a fixture
in a faded family picture
but i can't see into the sunset
all i know is that you're perfect right now

Sunday started.
She held the newspaper clipping above her head and waved it like a Chinese fan.
"Are you saving this to prove what a wonderful man your Father is?"
Sarcastic and accusatory. 
I could tell she was in a manic mood.  Again. 
It must be the final Sunday of the month.
The article had been clipped from a local paper by her sister.  My aunt had placed it on the front seat of my car while I was sunbathing in her backyard.  Her backyard is the Atlantic Ocean.  She is a multimillionaire.
We can't pay the mortgage.
I stared at her.  The way she trembled with tears and anger and confusion.  The way her lips quivered blue as she expressed guilt.  Narcissistic guilt. Self absorbed sympathies.
Angry, shallow, selfish tears fell from her child-like eyes.
And I stared, silently.
Watching my mother unravel in her one hundred, millionth breakdown.
I watched her, feeling guilty.
Guilty I couldn't pay the mortgage.  Guilty I couldn't save their marriage.  Guilty I failed them as a parent.
I failed them. 
I have never been the mother my parents needed.

i love this song
i love this band

i think i want to go dancing
and take pictures
in the dresses my grandmother wore
while she was being courted
innocently.
there are corners in Asbury Park that make my knees shake
the way the street winds softly from the rainbow wealthy
to the Section 8
where the Merlot and Brie
start tasting like lead and speed
and the ghosts surround me

they are warm and comforting

I remember the 1982 gray Dodge Ram Van, splattered with rust spots and fingerprints.  I remember my butterball legs climbing the mountain step and reigning over the backseat in my special throne.  I could barely see the outside.  I could barely see through the dashboard, but I could see him; in the driver's seat, window down, Black Irish forearm tapping rhythm into the front door.  His thick chocolate hair dancing in the hot summer air.  The August exhale that curled and teased through the only window that went down.  Of course his window was the one that worked.  So it goes, Vonnegut. 
There was Off the Wall, New York, and Excitable Boy.  There were tape cassettes and maybe a few eight-tracks left.   He still smoked then.  Marlboro Reds.  Chain smoked, actually.  One lit butt after the next.  Inhale, exhale, flick, light again. 
Once in awhile, I would catch his ice blue eyes in the rear view mirror.  When they were angry, I looked away. I hid.  I was quiet. 
When they were laughter and love, he would ask me, "What's next?".
My sisters would sigh.
My mother would laugh.
And he always let me choose, though they all knew what I would say.
"River song, Daddy. Play me the River song."
And he did.
No matter how many times we had already heard it.  No matter how much my family wished I would find a new favorite.
And I would scream delight in every word.  Every lyric.  Every sound.
He loved me then.

So it goes, Dad.  So it goes.

i'm over it

one million shattered sounds
tile a mosaic
on my neck.
while whispered memories
travail a thin, androgenous death.
one million interpretations,
ways to read your lips
Cheshire, Judas,
Mary Magdalene.
one million scars i carry
beneath this floral dress
one million burns and stitches
my Love,
one million men.

Dear Girl, you fall in Love too quickly. Fuck. You're always breaking. And yet, you never seem to be searching. You just stumble on their Converse toes, spill lager on their vintage band tee, and start laughing. Dancing.  They fall in love with you, immediately.  But you don't give your heart away. No. First, you daydream.  The worse death for your dieing breed.  Imagine sentimental scenes.  See future romance in smoky bars.  Crawling into back seats and kissing, groping, touching. Bodies wet from thunderstorms of excitement.  After weeks of casual flirtations, Love slips into your veins.  You wish those dreams turn reality. 
That's when they pull away.
Exit stage left.
And leave you standing, naked and bruised, before a captivated audience.
In front of the velvet curtain.
All alone,
again.

The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive