Hester Prynne

Unorthodox heroine
With her white pearl to rose red -
Some would say
A love like that came from Walt Disney...

But these are only words -
Letters
To A

Missed opportunity to chance
Passion under a pulpit.
Was the pit even worth it?

Is the story, as written, even true?
Some say history; some say fiction,
Or was it friction...

That caused the unsightly, collared mess?
So many questions to a silent lip.
So many burdens,
Under a pulpit.

Worn sharply at the breast.
Seems only the woman could pass
A white pearl through rose red.
Funny, the irony, of wickedness

Born solemnly against the letter,
Under the pulpit,
And aimed sharply,
For the rest.

Ignored

Red balloon,
Your taut face aimed high.
I try not to cry too much
Watching you fly.

Deflated, you were pocket-sized
And in need of a just enough breath,
Like that kiss we never finished.
(I would still finish it, if you'd turn this way.)

Red balloon, I can still see you,
Arms up, tail down,
Face bright with anticipation,
Flushed for something, something...

I can't quite put my finger
Around. The lost elastic paper
Rock, scizzors...
These games are so hard for me to play
This year.

Are you 98 I wonder? 100?
Red balloon, I still see you,
The face of a sun, cloudless,
Needing only enough wind
To bear through -

You're whole.

I could cross my legs to this
And say a quiet prayer for your journey
Though I must admit,
I don't know what balloons would pray to...

Maybe a sun or moon or a book
Of pages once written, not responded to,
Speaking, listening...I don't really know.

But when you drift, I still keep watch,
Holding one thread of the knot,
Broken.

On Practice...

For days, she attempted to plan what she was going to say to him. As summer emerged and the initial shock rippled outward, she made inward, emotional notes.

And she cut her hair.
Twice.

But when the day came, it was more about just getting there. No matter the countless, unsent emails or the lengthy written drafts.

The experts say face-to-face is always better.

And she got there first.
Ordered black coffee. No cream. No sugar.

When it was finally her turn, her mind peeled back for the pages.
Retrieved nothing.
The blue void sighed back at her and she was left with only one phrase.

"I thought you'd love me for a long time."



And upon this, she prepared for everything else.

On Transition

Reflection on the first weeks

It was a time when coffee fixed the bloodshot eyeball
And waffled face.
It was a time when a cigarette
Meant no harm at all.
It was a time when lovers
Could do it behind the sofa.
It was a time when notebooks
Weren't required.
It was a time when music meant the whole
Space of an hour or a T-shirt.
It was a time when 3 AM was no different
Than 6 AM.
It was a time when things were pink
And covered in kisses.
It was a time when words were spoken
Between eye, hand, and toe.
It was a time when sun stayed awake
A little longer.
It was a time when roses were nothing
And daisies meant everything.
It was the time of wine
And whiskey lip-smacking.

It was the time when the human gained on
the season for but a moment.

Tangent 11: Training Wheels

When she learned to ride a bicycle, she was only four or five years-old. The bike was red, silver, and had been a boy's bike before being converted into a gleaming, mean machine, just for her.

When her father brought the bike home, a surprise, she giggled with delight each time the bike tipped from side to side, the training wheels bolstering her up, keeping her aligned and moving forward. Training wheels taught her to ride.
She didn't keep them on the shiny red bike for long.

Soon, she rode her bicycle everywhere, without the third and fourth wheel.

She never forgot the help though, the feeling of security, balance, and soft push back up each time things threatened to fall. She tried to apply this sense of reassurance in all facets of her life.

Who wouldn't appreciate training wheels? she thought.
Who doesn't want that uncensored, cushioned balance that comes from loving reassurance?

Only those who ride bikes at age four or five love training wheels.
They are meant to be outgrown, out-loved, outlived.
She learned.



When the fourth man left and fell in love with another, the training abruptly -

Stopped.

Tangent #10 - Never mind #9

The cold air makes us feel funny things sometimes. Like how she remembers the summer of 1992 in just one clip:

A setting sun over a middle class subdivision, its orange light bouncing playfully against the warped garage door and the consistent thud of a tennis ball, lopped lazily there and back again.

Back then, we didn't need to worry about permission. If we got into trouble, someone in charge issued punishment, typically lasting no more than one week. What was a week then?

A week was the summer, a tennis ball, and the familiar sunset.

Take Two

All she wanted to do was tell him "I love you."

Instead, she woke up, rolled over and just breathed, the exhale falling into rhythm with his. She couldn't bring herself to wake him.

But it seemed a very important thing to say so early in the morning, with the sun waking and the air in the room filtered by blankets and curtains. The real day seemed so very far away from this place. Hard to believe she hadn't been here forever.

She threaded her arm through his and rested her head in between his shoulder and neck. He never moved.
She lightly tapped the skin of his arm three times.

It was all she could do.

And she meant it.