1.The Rain Shattered Cathedral Walls.
The rain shattered cathedral walls,
Stained glass breaking into every hall,
And the rain, woke truths from the tomb---
purged white lies, from the fountain of youth.
The Choir sang, as the fire fled to the altar,
The riots screaming---
---Breaking down what were actions that had faltered.
And the old man was consumed in the flames,
as they burnt away the life’s they had refused to claim.
The rain kept adult eyes dry and dull---
---But the little one fell out the cradle that had rocked
And after the fire woke a girl in the remains
Lay in the meadow, staring across the wide green plane
She woke up,
rubbed indigo tears from her eyes,
then turned her back on all the Sunday morning lies.
2. A Day in the City.
The sun felt good,
So looked over the shoulder
She bathed in the fountain
Down by the parade {a celebration of our colors,}
The babies cried, and laughed
The madam, purple turban and ears
Told fortunes
Collecting believers
The students, kissed,
And read anthologies
Stood and screamed their thoughtless honesties.
The girl in the café wore her permanent smile, berry, and honey straw
And it felt good when she smiled
---back through the glass at her.
They sipped in silence, they both missed momma.
They came down the crosswalk, golden and brown
But walked in silence,
Straight through the crowd, {they held their silent vigil}
---But the girl in leathers stood and stared …
They weren’t hot coals like her.
They just walked, they walked hand in hand
And slowly into every bind mans heart.
But the girl in the leathers screamed out her frustration,
And through the window the poet cried for every possible reason.
And in the alley the junkie shot up,
Because [was he] he was nothing but a f--- up
And the family man, didn’t tell no one
When he got the gun
And then, just like that, made himself gone.
3. The convenient time.
She’s sleeping through the riot
Ambian induced narcissism makes for happy dreams
He changes the channel, to the station that makes him feel safe
And he is numb, tuned in so he can tune out
She’s fixing the window, because the rains getting in
And its making her wet
And she’s starting to remember
All the things she made herself forget
And ignore, now livings is a chore
And he’s closing the door
Cause the wind reminds him of all the faces,
[But it’s closed now so everyone is in their places…]
He turned around and closed his eyes
And it’s no surprise, that he can’t feel the fire anymore
[It burned him}
And he never got to cry
He just hid his tiered eyes.
And I’m crying now because I don’t want to see anymore.
I too, wanna shut my door
Close my eyes, my mind and my heart
But theirs a wind blowing, and I think I can see,
The possibility of finding
Another [out there] an insomniac-
Like me.
4. If I had a camera I could show you.
Blood In the street, street sweepers, just trying to sleep.
Little children, in hives they lie,
Swollen bellies, just trying to stay alive.
In the mountain ripe blue they eat,
flies coming by, rising and swelling, in a fit of goodbye
In the broken night she spoke,
Fleeting lives,
And there’s nowhere to hide,
And in the back of throat, the words we forgot to spoke.
We see through tainted glass
Cause people taking the pictures are just looking for a quick pass,
There on a nowhere mission, cause they don’t know what it’s like
[we’re all just fighting for our life.]
But still, those children are up every morning
[Rising to days, without promise of again],
And still somehow they see the sunrise
And find peace in the red earth, and the clear blue, never changing skies.
5. I took a train.
I took a train
To a place I saw in a dream
The one I thought you’d remember,
And isn’t it funny how everything stays the same
But you can’t tell because you don’t remember
[ forgetting is fun till you forgot what you once remembered.]
I waited a the train, to see if you would meet me,
But I forgot that I was just something that I couldn’t quite remember.
And so I stole away to the shore,
To the place I saw you face once before
But now I think I can remember…
It was 1962, when you left out of what seemed like the clear blue,
And died,
Fighting for what turned out to be a lie
But I still take the train to the place we met
So I can remind myself to never forget.
6. One Happy Sumer.
You taste of berries, and honeydew
The smell of sun and salt and air too
We bathed to together in the Mexico moonlight
Were we can lie together all night [?]
Finding patterns in the way we fight, trace and travel
Finding rhythms of the morning, ---
as day and night unravel.
Its been told---
The story that will unfold---
The one where you leave after the summer---
But I think that maybe that’s okay----
Cause most people don’t even get that---
One happy summer.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Battle Piece # 3
Battle day
In the sticky summer heat
Swelter riots- refuse defeat,
Stomp-, and cry, in the florescent lights a lie,
But I don’t remember, last night I cried.
And tomorrow?
Will I once again meet my sorrow?
When I close my eyes, will I sea it’s all a lie
{And remember}, the day before last
When I cried for the time past
When I was hung out to dry
But for today, I stomp, I cry
Today the colors are one, and maybe well bleed, well bleed into one.
In the sticky summer heat
Swelter riots- refuse defeat,
Stomp-, and cry, in the florescent lights a lie,
But I don’t remember, last night I cried.
And tomorrow?
Will I once again meet my sorrow?
When I close my eyes, will I sea it’s all a lie
{And remember}, the day before last
When I cried for the time past
When I was hung out to dry
But for today, I stomp, I cry
Today the colors are one, and maybe well bleed, well bleed into one.
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Battle piece # 2
Wacky Day
It’s funny to see, on Wacky day-
all the kids in there “wacky” cloths, still trying to look cool.
It’s funny because there shunned if they don’t have the “right” kind on wacky gear.
They get dressed in the morning-
Like every morning
Full of superficial fears.
And there’s a girl who cries-{in the bathroom stall}
There’s always one-
Cause no one told her how to be “acceptably wacky.”
How to wear the right kid of wacky gear.
It’s funny to see, on Wacky day-
all the kids in there “wacky” cloths, still trying to look cool.
It’s funny because there shunned if they don’t have the “right” kind on wacky gear.
They get dressed in the morning-
Like every morning
Full of superficial fears.
And there’s a girl who cries-{in the bathroom stall}
There’s always one-
Cause no one told her how to be “acceptably wacky.”
How to wear the right kid of wacky gear.
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Battle Piece #1
Pajama Day
“Hey Anne”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“I like Elmo too”
“It’s not Elmo, its Clifford”
“Oh….”
“YEAH ILL SEE YA LATER, WELL TALKE MORE ABOUT CATS”
“Hey Brad”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Ummm….thanks”
“Yeah, I really like it when guys sleep in Wife Beaters, I think it looks rugged”
“…..”
“….”
“Oh…okay….ill, yeah ill see ya around.”
“YEAH OKAY, MAN, ILL DEFINATLY CATCH YOU LATER.”
“Hey Samantha”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks…they’re my cousins”
“Oh…huh...okay, yeah I’m cool with that you know, if that’s what you, like, into”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like its cool, I think, if you like love him or something.”
“What are you talking about, I bought these for his birthday … but he never got them cause he died….”
“Oh…uhhh…sorry”
“I hate you”
“YEAH ILL SEE YOU LATER, WELL TALK MORE ABOUT INCEST”
“Hey Dave”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Are they as fuzzy on the inside, as they look on the outside”
“ummm…I…yeah I guess”
“Oh, cause I once had a pair of fuzzy pajamas, and I think they gave like a rash or something.”
“Oh”
“You know like a rash below, the equator, if you know what I mean”
“Yeah okay, that’s…ewww, yeah I gotta go”
“YEAH MAN ILL, CATCH YOU LATER, WELL TALK ABOUT GUY THINGS…LIKE RASHES”
“Hey Brittney”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Do you really sleep in those?”
“Ummmm…yeah”
“Oh...yeah I always pictured you sleeping in something different.”
“Uhh… what did you picture me sleeping in”
“Oh, like, I don’t know, the ones I had in mind, were shorter, and like had more lace, and were like see through”
“EWWW get away perv”
“OH, OKAY YEAH ILL SEE YOU LATER, WELL TALK MORE ABOUT YOUR UNDERWEAR.”
“Hey Jim”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Hey are you cold”
“umm, yeah a little “
“Oh”
“uh, how did you knoew that?”
“oh I could see your nipples through your shirt”
“…..”
“….”
“Freak”
“YEAH, OKAY ILL SEE YOU LATER WELL TALK MORE ABOUT OUR NIPS.”
“Hey Principal Smith”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Yeah I think night gowns are a good idea”
“…why are night gowns a good idea”
“You know…easy access”
“Andy, I am shocked, that is completely inappropriate, if anyone heard that do you know what they’d think? I could get fired!”“YEAH, OKAY, ILL CATCHYOU LATER….WELL TALK MORE ABOUT STATITORY RAPE.”
“Hey Anne”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“I like Elmo too”
“It’s not Elmo, its Clifford”
“Oh….”
“YEAH ILL SEE YA LATER, WELL TALKE MORE ABOUT CATS”
“Hey Brad”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Ummm….thanks”
“Yeah, I really like it when guys sleep in Wife Beaters, I think it looks rugged”
“…..”
“….”
“Oh…okay….ill, yeah ill see ya around.”
“YEAH OKAY, MAN, ILL DEFINATLY CATCH YOU LATER.”
“Hey Samantha”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks…they’re my cousins”
“Oh…huh...okay, yeah I’m cool with that you know, if that’s what you, like, into”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like its cool, I think, if you like love him or something.”
“What are you talking about, I bought these for his birthday … but he never got them cause he died….”
“Oh…uhhh…sorry”
“I hate you”
“YEAH ILL SEE YOU LATER, WELL TALK MORE ABOUT INCEST”
“Hey Dave”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Are they as fuzzy on the inside, as they look on the outside”
“ummm…I…yeah I guess”
“Oh, cause I once had a pair of fuzzy pajamas, and I think they gave like a rash or something.”
“Oh”
“You know like a rash below, the equator, if you know what I mean”
“Yeah okay, that’s…ewww, yeah I gotta go”
“YEAH MAN ILL, CATCH YOU LATER, WELL TALK ABOUT GUY THINGS…LIKE RASHES”
“Hey Brittney”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Do you really sleep in those?”
“Ummmm…yeah”
“Oh...yeah I always pictured you sleeping in something different.”
“Uhh… what did you picture me sleeping in”
“Oh, like, I don’t know, the ones I had in mind, were shorter, and like had more lace, and were like see through”
“EWWW get away perv”
“OH, OKAY YEAH ILL SEE YOU LATER, WELL TALK MORE ABOUT YOUR UNDERWEAR.”
“Hey Jim”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Hey are you cold”
“umm, yeah a little “
“Oh”
“uh, how did you knoew that?”
“oh I could see your nipples through your shirt”
“…..”
“….”
“Freak”
“YEAH, OKAY ILL SEE YOU LATER WELL TALK MORE ABOUT OUR NIPS.”
“Hey Principal Smith”
“Hey”
“Nice pajamas”
“Thanks”
“Yeah I think night gowns are a good idea”
“…why are night gowns a good idea”
“You know…easy access”
“Andy, I am shocked, that is completely inappropriate, if anyone heard that do you know what they’d think? I could get fired!”“YEAH, OKAY, ILL CATCHYOU LATER….WELL TALK MORE ABOUT STATITORY RAPE.”
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Other Poem # 2
The truth about midnight. {12:00}
Harsh lines, rough tides, poetic slaps, fading into memories, of colors bleeding and still.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, with memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
The truth about daybreak. {12:01}
Rage is pure and love manufactured so sad was they day that came before the day after
Anger lies cause dreams are forbidden
this overlooked tide and with whom can we confide, the dreams we left behind, ten years since.
In the chaos lies out of corporate body out of my mind.
Dial tones blinking red enemies
And the little one finds it hard to say goodbye
To her dreams, and everything’s obscene and why are our life’s so---clean
Tears with color staining the truth, but its all lies anyway.
And trees-two-by-two with deep twisting roots, have split up the seems of ---
What is going on today {families are splitting up but its okay}
And what is reminded from yesterday and why is the earth invisible and why are we so convincible. Is it okay, if I say, that I’m afraid
And in tomorrow, if we could see through our own sorrow we could find hope in the tears that shed themselves onto the oncoming breeze.
And will be reminded.
Harsh lines, rough tides, poetic slaps, fading into memories, of colors bleeding and still.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, with memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
The truth about daybreak. {12:01}
Rage is pure and love manufactured so sad was they day that came before the day after
Anger lies cause dreams are forbidden
this overlooked tide and with whom can we confide, the dreams we left behind, ten years since.
In the chaos lies out of corporate body out of my mind.
Dial tones blinking red enemies
And the little one finds it hard to say goodbye
To her dreams, and everything’s obscene and why are our life’s so---clean
Tears with color staining the truth, but its all lies anyway.
And trees-two-by-two with deep twisting roots, have split up the seems of ---
What is going on today {families are splitting up but its okay}
And what is reminded from yesterday and why is the earth invisible and why are we so convincible. Is it okay, if I say, that I’m afraid
And in tomorrow, if we could see through our own sorrow we could find hope in the tears that shed themselves onto the oncoming breeze.
And will be reminded.
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Other Poem # 1
I: Days that fall like wandering Stars.
your ashes are falling from the sky They’re periwinkle stardust, feathers
your face is growing and grime.
a big red balloon,
a duck in a pond, {sleep restless angel}
my tears are the pond
who is the duck?
my dress is moving
it’s too tight,
it’s not tight enough.
Your calling
I’m deaf I’m listening I can’t hear you I don’t want to listen.
The rain is staining my dress
your fears, because I’m too afraid to call them mine.
they’re ruining my life
they’re ruining this, our, mine and yours Paradise
---You don’t believe me
Well I don’t care
That’s a lie.
Your not reaching But It’s me right?
Why Why Why
your so tiny,
i’m smaller.
Your too big
I’m Taller,
II: Amber bath
And I’m alone again
Floating-
But this time still it’s all so new
Murky,
I float and swim in molasses,
the color of oysters, and of your eyes
I taste
it tastes of tears but they’re not mine
It smells. Amber and bonfire,
I am spinning, too fast but I like the numbness in my head It’s liberating
So why am I so terrified…
III: Where am I?
Still in the pond I float lazy legged and spinning out of control
I am muting.
The colors are turning pastels, lilies in the famous pond he painted for me
And I am vanished, somewhere,
I lost the colors and now, I am gone
I’m so scared, because I’m looking at the painting on the wall, and I can’t find my face,
Where did you go?
And I look down, and whose clothes are these? and how do they all of a sudden match,
My shoes are on the wrong feet and I can’t walk very far without falling,
I can’t breath
Who is holding me?
Trying for my safety, but my head is humming
I want to cry out but can no longer scream,
And it hurts, so bad,
This silent riot
This silent protest in my head
And now that I am with all The You’s…. don’t worry, be happy they sung
Oh G-d, I’m so alone, this wasteland where I can’t be herd.
Where know ones listening
I am cut throat, clawing, a dying in this gallery everyone looks but no one sees
and then the sounds,---they go too,
And all I see is you.
The endless parade
The endless charade of you’s
And I can no longer hear the things not said…
IV: No name
And then comes a boy, red freked, and twisted into himself
he doesn’t talk either, he is forgotten, he is no name
and I don’t think he hears,
but I think maybe, he can see…
Me?
Does he know? His eyes tortured water, drip of pain and warning,
Don’t resist Role over, play dead.
And I cry, because, that’s all I can do
Wail, Why?
I was so perfectly breakable
Why did you bring me here, to this wasteland of thought control?
Were there’s no pond
Or duck
And nothing tastes of tears…
And he wants me to stop, but I can’t help This time their mine.
And now I’m done for, because I see them coming
White coats, and stolen Halos, they come
She
She can’t be trusted,
Little girl, why can’t you just be satisfied?
And a NO finally breaks free---
from a place behind, that I did not know existed.
People staring and pointing
Some people, asleep on the floor in happy dreams stir,
And the no name has induced paralysis just looked but not of mind
I told you, restless one, you should have played dead,
now you’re gone,
they’ll take it all away now, and when you wake you won’t be the same, girl.
Then they came for me.
V: A darkness called bliss
The last thing I saw was you.
Your ashes were falling from the sky
And they were periwinkle.
Ashley Siflinger
your ashes are falling from the sky They’re periwinkle stardust, feathers
your face is growing and grime.
a big red balloon,
a duck in a pond, {sleep restless angel}
my tears are the pond
who is the duck?
my dress is moving
it’s too tight,
it’s not tight enough.
Your calling
I’m deaf I’m listening I can’t hear you I don’t want to listen.
The rain is staining my dress
your fears, because I’m too afraid to call them mine.
they’re ruining my life
they’re ruining this, our, mine and yours Paradise
---You don’t believe me
Well I don’t care
That’s a lie.
Your not reaching But It’s me right?
Why Why Why
your so tiny,
i’m smaller.
Your too big
I’m Taller,
II: Amber bath
And I’m alone again
Floating-
But this time still it’s all so new
Murky,
I float and swim in molasses,
the color of oysters, and of your eyes
I taste
it tastes of tears but they’re not mine
It smells. Amber and bonfire,
I am spinning, too fast but I like the numbness in my head It’s liberating
So why am I so terrified…
III: Where am I?
Still in the pond I float lazy legged and spinning out of control
I am muting.
The colors are turning pastels, lilies in the famous pond he painted for me
And I am vanished, somewhere,
I lost the colors and now, I am gone
I’m so scared, because I’m looking at the painting on the wall, and I can’t find my face,
Where did you go?
And I look down, and whose clothes are these? and how do they all of a sudden match,
My shoes are on the wrong feet and I can’t walk very far without falling,
I can’t breath
Who is holding me?
Trying for my safety, but my head is humming
I want to cry out but can no longer scream,
And it hurts, so bad,
This silent riot
This silent protest in my head
And now that I am with all The You’s…. don’t worry, be happy they sung
Oh G-d, I’m so alone, this wasteland where I can’t be herd.
Where know ones listening
I am cut throat, clawing, a dying in this gallery everyone looks but no one sees
and then the sounds,---they go too,
And all I see is you.
The endless parade
The endless charade of you’s
And I can no longer hear the things not said…
IV: No name
And then comes a boy, red freked, and twisted into himself
he doesn’t talk either, he is forgotten, he is no name
and I don’t think he hears,
but I think maybe, he can see…
Me?
Does he know? His eyes tortured water, drip of pain and warning,
Don’t resist Role over, play dead.
And I cry, because, that’s all I can do
Wail, Why?
I was so perfectly breakable
Why did you bring me here, to this wasteland of thought control?
Were there’s no pond
Or duck
And nothing tastes of tears…
And he wants me to stop, but I can’t help This time their mine.
And now I’m done for, because I see them coming
White coats, and stolen Halos, they come
She
She can’t be trusted,
Little girl, why can’t you just be satisfied?
And a NO finally breaks free---
from a place behind, that I did not know existed.
People staring and pointing
Some people, asleep on the floor in happy dreams stir,
And the no name has induced paralysis just looked but not of mind
I told you, restless one, you should have played dead,
now you’re gone,
they’ll take it all away now, and when you wake you won’t be the same, girl.
Then they came for me.
V: A darkness called bliss
The last thing I saw was you.
Your ashes were falling from the sky
And they were periwinkle.
Ashley Siflinger
Final Quarter Work (not Including Project): Sonnet
Look upon this mirror and tell what you see
Look into the stars and ask, still believe?
Look around and see, and who should I be
Turn on T.V, wonder who to believe
Turn off, cause its all lies anyway, and
Tears fall, come from places that have dissolved
Because we fade into the nights that brand-
-command us, sustain us, over and solved
We cannot see through the thick and the haze
It clouds in before it’s too much too late.
She turns the corner, and is lost in maze
Us humans, is this it? Is this our fate?
Maybe it’s ordinary, but ill wait…
I think ill wait one more time at the gate
Look into the stars and ask, still believe?
Look around and see, and who should I be
Turn on T.V, wonder who to believe
Turn off, cause its all lies anyway, and
Tears fall, come from places that have dissolved
Because we fade into the nights that brand-
-command us, sustain us, over and solved
We cannot see through the thick and the haze
It clouds in before it’s too much too late.
She turns the corner, and is lost in maze
Us humans, is this it? Is this our fate?
Maybe it’s ordinary, but ill wait…
I think ill wait one more time at the gate
Final Quarter Work (Not Including Project): Villanelle
Villanelle (for real)
I didn’t wait for the convenient time
To tell you why
I’m sorry; I didn’t wait for the convenient time.
I woke you from your sleep. Robbed you then shook you till trust in your eyes retreat
I faltered before leaving and said goodbye
I didn’t wait for the convenient time.
Walked into the fire and rang the chime, ashes too ashes, and its still sublime
Left before promises kept before last and lie
I just couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
And now, I stand on the edge of the shore
Watching waiting for you to come by
And all cause I couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
I waited till dawn when the new day broke, looked to the shore and the last of the smoke.
Walked into the sea, so I could cry.
I just couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
I left this world and where is the next?
I see the shimmering of lives before this
And it’s me; I take the blame, for all the crimes
So here I lie, I couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
I didn’t wait for the convenient time
To tell you why
I’m sorry; I didn’t wait for the convenient time.
I woke you from your sleep. Robbed you then shook you till trust in your eyes retreat
I faltered before leaving and said goodbye
I didn’t wait for the convenient time.
Walked into the fire and rang the chime, ashes too ashes, and its still sublime
Left before promises kept before last and lie
I just couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
And now, I stand on the edge of the shore
Watching waiting for you to come by
And all cause I couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
I waited till dawn when the new day broke, looked to the shore and the last of the smoke.
Walked into the sea, so I could cry.
I just couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
I left this world and where is the next?
I see the shimmering of lives before this
And it’s me; I take the blame, for all the crimes
So here I lie, I couldn’t wait for the convenient time.
Monday, May 24, 2010
revised def poetry
The truth about midnight. {12:00}
Harsh lines, rough tides, poetic slaps, fading into memories, of colors bleeding and still.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, with memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
The truth about daybreak. {12:01}
Rage is pure and love manufactured so sad was they day that came before the day after
Anger lies cause dreams are forbidden
this overlooked tide and with whom can we confide, the dreams we left behind, ten years since.
In the chaos lies out of corporate body out of my mind.
Dial tones blinking red enemies
And the little one finds it hard to say goodbye
To her dreams, and everything’s obscene and why are our life’s so---clean
Tears with color staining the truth, but its all lies anyway.
And trees-two-by-two with deep twisting roots, have split up the seems of ---
What is going on today {families are splitting up but its okay}
And what is reminded from yesterday and why is the earth invisible and why are we so convincible. Is it okay, if I say, that I’m afraid
And in tomorrow, if we could see through our own sorrow we could find hope in the tears that shed themselves onto the oncoming breeze.
And will be reminded.
Harsh lines, rough tides, poetic slaps, fading into memories, of colors bleeding and still.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, with memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
The truth about daybreak. {12:01}
Rage is pure and love manufactured so sad was they day that came before the day after
Anger lies cause dreams are forbidden
this overlooked tide and with whom can we confide, the dreams we left behind, ten years since.
In the chaos lies out of corporate body out of my mind.
Dial tones blinking red enemies
And the little one finds it hard to say goodbye
To her dreams, and everything’s obscene and why are our life’s so---clean
Tears with color staining the truth, but its all lies anyway.
And trees-two-by-two with deep twisting roots, have split up the seems of ---
What is going on today {families are splitting up but its okay}
And what is reminded from yesterday and why is the earth invisible and why are we so convincible. Is it okay, if I say, that I’m afraid
And in tomorrow, if we could see through our own sorrow we could find hope in the tears that shed themselves onto the oncoming breeze.
And will be reminded.
Project Proposal
i will bew writing a few free-verse poems, possibly on polllitical/ social issues but filterd through a more personal emotion lense...
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Def Poetry Jam
Harsh lines, rough tides, poetic slaps, fading into memories, of colors bleeding and still.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, the memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman. Looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
In the night, and within the absence of life, sleeping alone, in the life pre-owned.
In the lone, and on our own, she calls the line to find it dead, ten years since
Cigarette butts, and a pill too many, washes salt from the oceans, and tears cannot find tracks.
Judgments fulfilled, the memories obligated, calls to the grave, and telling lost lullabies
No more than she said, was goodbye.
And at the end of the river, were stories not told
lives gone before yet to unfold
and somewhere in the tide and the papers scattered with harsh lines and woman. Looked
To see stars falling from across her balcony,
and was reminded.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
poem inspired by aftermath picture
The mess left me wondering who would have to clean it up.
The dreams, the promises were left broken
Along with the white picket fence
And the picture of the girl in a white dress
And the train set.
Was it his infidelity?
Or her lack of trust,
Either way papers were signed.
Little boy watched the show on Christmas Eve
Stayed up all night through the second and third acts
Shatterings and broken glass
And then on Christmas day
The finale.
When everything exploded.
And little boy, lay in the rubble, tarnished and ashen
Looking desperately
For his pristine little toy train set.
He could have grew up to make messes but no, messes were made on him
And he never did fid that train set….
He was always fixing
But couldn’t stand silence
He knew about the calm before the storm
He spent his life holding things up
Until the day she came
And tore all his plans down
She grew up on stage,
Upper class, Connecticut, thick doors to keep in the things, never said.
Too bad, Daddy thought
She was trash.
Momma never talked
But photos don’t lie
He wants his; she had Mexican in her eyes.
They polished every surface for the world to see
But hid all the things
The broken pieces underneath
She grew up to tear the world down
Scream to anyone who would listen
She was a riot, never the clown
Til the day he showed
And turned her world upside down
The dreams, the promises were left broken
Along with the white picket fence
And the picture of the girl in a white dress
And the train set.
Was it his infidelity?
Or her lack of trust,
Either way papers were signed.
Little boy watched the show on Christmas Eve
Stayed up all night through the second and third acts
Shatterings and broken glass
And then on Christmas day
The finale.
When everything exploded.
And little boy, lay in the rubble, tarnished and ashen
Looking desperately
For his pristine little toy train set.
He could have grew up to make messes but no, messes were made on him
And he never did fid that train set….
He was always fixing
But couldn’t stand silence
He knew about the calm before the storm
He spent his life holding things up
Until the day she came
And tore all his plans down
She grew up on stage,
Upper class, Connecticut, thick doors to keep in the things, never said.
Too bad, Daddy thought
She was trash.
Momma never talked
But photos don’t lie
He wants his; she had Mexican in her eyes.
They polished every surface for the world to see
But hid all the things
The broken pieces underneath
She grew up to tear the world down
Scream to anyone who would listen
She was a riot, never the clown
Til the day he showed
And turned her world upside down
Thursday, April 8, 2010
my response to the poem i liked
i realy like this poem, i love the authors tone, she has an alomost quit, understated elegance as she descibes the simple pleasures of life, and then slips into deeper, harsher sad topics, all while using that sweet honest tone. Its haunting, reading, but its beautiful, almost too-pleasent. and i love that she is teling a story weve all herd before, but it stil gives you the chill, and its almost visual...
A poem i like from poetry out loud .org
[He Lived-Childhood Summers]
By Lorine Niedecker
He lived—childhood summers
thru bare feet
then years of money’s lack
and heat
beside the river—out of flood
came his wood, dog,
woman, lost her, daughter—
prologue
to planting trees. He buried carp
beneath the rose
where grass-still
the marsh rail goes.
To bankers on high land
he opened his wine tank.
He wished his only daughter
to work in the bank
but he’d given her a source
to sustain her—
a weedy speech,
a marshy retainer
By Lorine Niedecker
He lived—childhood summers
thru bare feet
then years of money’s lack
and heat
beside the river—out of flood
came his wood, dog,
woman, lost her, daughter—
prologue
to planting trees. He buried carp
beneath the rose
where grass-still
the marsh rail goes.
To bankers on high land
he opened his wine tank.
He wished his only daughter
to work in the bank
but he’d given her a source
to sustain her—
a weedy speech,
a marshy retainer
3 complete pieces
I: Days that fall like wandering stars.
your ashes are falling from the sky They’re periwinkle stardust, feathers
your face is growing and grime.
a big red balloon,
a duck in a pond, {sleep restless angel}
my tears are the pond
who is the duck?
my dress is moving
it’s too tight,
it’s not tight enough.
Your calling
I’m deaf I’m listening I can’t hear you I don’t want to listen.
The rain is staining my dress
your fears, because I’m too afraid to call them mine.
they’re ruining my life
they’re ruining this, our, mine and yours Paradise
---You don’t believe me
Well I don’t care
That’s a lie.
Your not reaching But It’s me right?
Why Why Why
your so tiny,
i’m smaller.
Your too big
I’m Taller,
II: Amber bath
And I’m alone again
Floating-
But this time still it’s all so new
Murky,
I float and swim in molasses,
the color of oysters, and of your eyes
I taste
it tastes of tears but they’re not mine
It smells. Amber and bonfire,
I am spinning, too fast but I like the numbness in my head It’s liberating
So why am I so terrified…
III: Where am I?
Still in the pond I float lazy legged and spinning out of control
I am muting.
The colors are turning pastels, lilies in the famous pond he painted for me
And I am vanished, somewhere,
I lost the colors and now, I am gone
I’m so scared, because I’m looking at the painting on the wall, and I can’t find my face,
Where did you go?
And I look down, and whose clothes are these? and how do they all of a sudden match,
My shoes are on the wrong feet and I can’t walk very far without falling,
I can’t breath
Who is holding me?
Trying for my safety, but my head is humming
I want to cry out but can no longer scream,
And it hurts, so bad,
This silent riot
This silent protest in my head
And now that I am with all The You’s…. don’t worry, be happy they sung
Oh G-d, I’m so alone, this wasteland where I can’t be herd.
Where know ones listening
I am cut throat, clawing, a dying in this gallery everyone looks but no one sees
and then the sounds,---they go too,
And all I see is you.
The endless parade
The endless charade of you’s
And I can no longer hear the things not said…
IV: No name
And then comes a boy, red freked, and twisted into himself
he doesn’t talk either, he is forgotten, he is no name
and I don’t think he hears,
but I think maybe, he can see…
Me?
Does he know? His eyes tortured water, drip of pain and warning,
Don’t resist Role over, play dead.
And I cry, because, that’s all I can do
Wail, Why?
I was so perfectly breakable
Why did you bring me here, to this wasteland of thought control?
Were there’s no pond
Or duck
And nothing tastes of tears…
And he wants me to stop, but I can’t help This time their mine.
And now I’m done for, because I see them coming
White coats, and stolen Halos, they come
She
She can’t be trusted,
Little girl, why can’t you just be satisfied?
And a NO finally breaks free---
from a place behind, that I did not know existed.
People staring and pointing
Some people, asleep on the floor in happy dreams stir,
And the no name has induced paralysis just looked but not of mind
I told you, restless one, you should have played dead,
now you’re gone,
they’ll take it all away now, and when you wake you won’t be the same, girl.
Then they came for me.
V: A darkness called bliss
The last thing I saw was you.
Your ashes were falling from the sky
And they were periwinkle.
Ashley Siflinger
Ashley Siflinger 2/24/10
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
Ashley Siflinger 3/17/10
Brandon was nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He never did things like this. And by things I mean go on blind dates with girls he barely new. Come to think of it, Brandon had not been on a date for over two years, he hadn’t been to a bar, a club, anywhere since Laura died. And not because he didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to date, he did, desperately, but he just didn’t have the time. Ever since the accident, ever since Laura died, he had been left to take care of their son, their little boy, Jake who was diagnosed with autism at 22 months. And they survived, somehow, the three of them, even if Laura had to quite her day job to take care of him, the job she loved, that one that made her face light up every time she talked about it. But they made it through things together, until Laura died. With her gone it was like the cement of the house was gone, the glue that held every thing together was gone, and Brandon was left picking up the pieces of what his life had been. And now suddenly, he found himself sitting on the girls couch…Jane’s couch, while she was in the kitchen making tea. Was this a mistake? He thought, should I have not come up for a drink? Brandon quickly scanned through the evening in his mind. Dinner had been fine; they had gone to the small Italian restaurant around the corner, and they had a nice easy conversation about work, about the economy…but not about Laura, and defiantly not about Jake, not yet at least. He tried to remember what Jane had said… she said she had liked her job, that she was a secretary, that she got paid well… and she was a republican, and then she had asked Brandon were he stood on politics, but he had replied curtly that he was not interested in politics. It was easier that way, less painful then telling this girl his story. The story of how he had grown up in a conservative home, and never really thought about politics, he just sort of was a republican because his parents were. Until Laura, a liberal world wind marching the streets in protest in a pair of doc martens. Brandon was walking to school; he going t Columbia at the time, when he had seen her, marching with other protesters, in front of a government office. She was pale, fragile, skinny, looking at her you would never know she could get so loud, so angry. She screamed, throwing her fists in he air, and then grabbed the megaphone out of a mans hand, screaming an anti-war chant. And Brandon stood their, his polo and crew cut watching her, amazed. And by next week, he had been standing by her side; arm and arm at a similar protest screaming of government corruption… but Brandon shook that memory out of his head, and focused on the little blond in the kitchen making Coffee. Brandon considered Jane; she was sweet, and cute, and nice… but soft, breakable, nothing at all like Laura. despite her fragile appearance Brandon had only seen Laura cry once, when Jake had been diagnosed, it had been terrifying, like the sky was falling, she had broke down in his arms on the bathroom floor, she sobbed, wailed, her tiny little features becoming distorted, she cried until she fell asleep their in his arms on the bathroom tile, and Brandon sat their, holding her up, feeling like his world, no the whole world was ending, and he could only watch, powerless to stop it.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandon’s train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied. “Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea. “I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted. Thinking of their honeymoon, thinking of Jamaican iced Tea, the one they brought a case home to the states. “Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully. “But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”
“Oh” Brandon said looking down, he meet Laura’s eyes, sweet, unbroken, she deserved someone whole, not a shell of a man, a shadow of what he used to be, of what could have been. He grabbed his Blazer and stood up. He bent down and kissed the top of the girls head. “Sorry.” He said before leaving.
your ashes are falling from the sky They’re periwinkle stardust, feathers
your face is growing and grime.
a big red balloon,
a duck in a pond, {sleep restless angel}
my tears are the pond
who is the duck?
my dress is moving
it’s too tight,
it’s not tight enough.
Your calling
I’m deaf I’m listening I can’t hear you I don’t want to listen.
The rain is staining my dress
your fears, because I’m too afraid to call them mine.
they’re ruining my life
they’re ruining this, our, mine and yours Paradise
---You don’t believe me
Well I don’t care
That’s a lie.
Your not reaching But It’s me right?
Why Why Why
your so tiny,
i’m smaller.
Your too big
I’m Taller,
II: Amber bath
And I’m alone again
Floating-
But this time still it’s all so new
Murky,
I float and swim in molasses,
the color of oysters, and of your eyes
I taste
it tastes of tears but they’re not mine
It smells. Amber and bonfire,
I am spinning, too fast but I like the numbness in my head It’s liberating
So why am I so terrified…
III: Where am I?
Still in the pond I float lazy legged and spinning out of control
I am muting.
The colors are turning pastels, lilies in the famous pond he painted for me
And I am vanished, somewhere,
I lost the colors and now, I am gone
I’m so scared, because I’m looking at the painting on the wall, and I can’t find my face,
Where did you go?
And I look down, and whose clothes are these? and how do they all of a sudden match,
My shoes are on the wrong feet and I can’t walk very far without falling,
I can’t breath
Who is holding me?
Trying for my safety, but my head is humming
I want to cry out but can no longer scream,
And it hurts, so bad,
This silent riot
This silent protest in my head
And now that I am with all The You’s…. don’t worry, be happy they sung
Oh G-d, I’m so alone, this wasteland where I can’t be herd.
Where know ones listening
I am cut throat, clawing, a dying in this gallery everyone looks but no one sees
and then the sounds,---they go too,
And all I see is you.
The endless parade
The endless charade of you’s
And I can no longer hear the things not said…
IV: No name
And then comes a boy, red freked, and twisted into himself
he doesn’t talk either, he is forgotten, he is no name
and I don’t think he hears,
but I think maybe, he can see…
Me?
Does he know? His eyes tortured water, drip of pain and warning,
Don’t resist Role over, play dead.
And I cry, because, that’s all I can do
Wail, Why?
I was so perfectly breakable
Why did you bring me here, to this wasteland of thought control?
Were there’s no pond
Or duck
And nothing tastes of tears…
And he wants me to stop, but I can’t help This time their mine.
And now I’m done for, because I see them coming
White coats, and stolen Halos, they come
She
She can’t be trusted,
Little girl, why can’t you just be satisfied?
And a NO finally breaks free---
from a place behind, that I did not know existed.
People staring and pointing
Some people, asleep on the floor in happy dreams stir,
And the no name has induced paralysis just looked but not of mind
I told you, restless one, you should have played dead,
now you’re gone,
they’ll take it all away now, and when you wake you won’t be the same, girl.
Then they came for me.
V: A darkness called bliss
The last thing I saw was you.
Your ashes were falling from the sky
And they were periwinkle.
Ashley Siflinger
Ashley Siflinger 2/24/10
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
Ashley Siflinger 3/17/10
Brandon was nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He never did things like this. And by things I mean go on blind dates with girls he barely new. Come to think of it, Brandon had not been on a date for over two years, he hadn’t been to a bar, a club, anywhere since Laura died. And not because he didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to date, he did, desperately, but he just didn’t have the time. Ever since the accident, ever since Laura died, he had been left to take care of their son, their little boy, Jake who was diagnosed with autism at 22 months. And they survived, somehow, the three of them, even if Laura had to quite her day job to take care of him, the job she loved, that one that made her face light up every time she talked about it. But they made it through things together, until Laura died. With her gone it was like the cement of the house was gone, the glue that held every thing together was gone, and Brandon was left picking up the pieces of what his life had been. And now suddenly, he found himself sitting on the girls couch…Jane’s couch, while she was in the kitchen making tea. Was this a mistake? He thought, should I have not come up for a drink? Brandon quickly scanned through the evening in his mind. Dinner had been fine; they had gone to the small Italian restaurant around the corner, and they had a nice easy conversation about work, about the economy…but not about Laura, and defiantly not about Jake, not yet at least. He tried to remember what Jane had said… she said she had liked her job, that she was a secretary, that she got paid well… and she was a republican, and then she had asked Brandon were he stood on politics, but he had replied curtly that he was not interested in politics. It was easier that way, less painful then telling this girl his story. The story of how he had grown up in a conservative home, and never really thought about politics, he just sort of was a republican because his parents were. Until Laura, a liberal world wind marching the streets in protest in a pair of doc martens. Brandon was walking to school; he going t Columbia at the time, when he had seen her, marching with other protesters, in front of a government office. She was pale, fragile, skinny, looking at her you would never know she could get so loud, so angry. She screamed, throwing her fists in he air, and then grabbed the megaphone out of a mans hand, screaming an anti-war chant. And Brandon stood their, his polo and crew cut watching her, amazed. And by next week, he had been standing by her side; arm and arm at a similar protest screaming of government corruption… but Brandon shook that memory out of his head, and focused on the little blond in the kitchen making Coffee. Brandon considered Jane; she was sweet, and cute, and nice… but soft, breakable, nothing at all like Laura. despite her fragile appearance Brandon had only seen Laura cry once, when Jake had been diagnosed, it had been terrifying, like the sky was falling, she had broke down in his arms on the bathroom floor, she sobbed, wailed, her tiny little features becoming distorted, she cried until she fell asleep their in his arms on the bathroom tile, and Brandon sat their, holding her up, feeling like his world, no the whole world was ending, and he could only watch, powerless to stop it.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandon’s train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied. “Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea. “I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted. Thinking of their honeymoon, thinking of Jamaican iced Tea, the one they brought a case home to the states. “Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully. “But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”
“Oh” Brandon said looking down, he meet Laura’s eyes, sweet, unbroken, she deserved someone whole, not a shell of a man, a shadow of what he used to be, of what could have been. He grabbed his Blazer and stood up. He bent down and kissed the top of the girls head. “Sorry.” He said before leaving.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
dialoge starter revised
Brandon was nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He never did things like this. And by things I mean go on blind dates with girls he barely new. Come to think of it, Brandon had not been on a date for over two years, he hadn’t been to a bar, a club, anywhere since Laura died. And not because he didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to date, he did, desperately, but he just didn’t have the time. Ever since the accident, ever since Laura died, he had been left to take care of their son, their little boy, Jake who was diagnosed with autism at 22 months. And they survived, somehow, the three of them, even if Laura had to quite her day job to take care of him, the job she loved, that one that made her face light up every time she talked about it. But they made it through things together, until Laura died. With her gone it was like the cement of the house was gone, the glue that held every thing together was gone, and Brandon was left picking up the pieces of what his life had been. And now suddenly, he found himself sitting on the girls couch…Jane’s couch, while she was in the kitchen making tea. Was this a mistake? He thought, should I have not come up for a drink? Brandon quickly scanned through the evening in his mind. Dinner had been fine; they had gone to the small Italian restaurant around the corner, and they had a nice easy conversation about work, about the economy…but not about Laura, and defiantly not about Jake, not yet at least. He tried to remember what Jane had said… she said she had liked her job, that she was a secretary, that she got paid well… and she was a republican, and then she had asked Brandon were he stood on politics, but he had replied curtly that he was not interested in politics. It was easier that way, less painful then telling this girl his story. The story of how he had grown up in a conservative home, and never really thought about politics, he just sort of was a republican because his parents were. Until Laura, a liberal world wind marching the streets in protest in a pair of doc martens. Brandon was walking to school; he going t Columbia at the time, when he had seen her, marching with other protesters, in front of a government office. She was pale, fragile, skinny, looking at her you would never know she could get so loud, so angry. She screamed, throwing her fists in he air, and then grabbed the megaphone out of a mans hand, screaming an anti-war chant. And Brandon stood their, his polo and crew cut watching her, amazed. And by next week, he had been standing by her side; arm and arm at a similar protest screaming of government corruption… but Brandon shook that memory out of his head, and focused on the little blond in the kitchen making Coffee. Brandon considered Jane; she was sweet, and cute, and nice… but soft, breakable, nothing at all like Laura. despite her fragile appearance Brandon had only seen Laura cry once, when Jake had been diagnosed, it had been terrifying, like the sky was falling, she had broke down in his arms on the bathroom floor, she sobbed, wailed, her tiny little features becoming distorted, she cried until she fell asleep their in his arms on the bathroom tile, and Brandon sat their, holding her up, feeling like his world, no the whole world was ending, and he could only watch, powerless to stop it.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandon’s train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied. “Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea. “I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted. Thinking of their honeymoon, thinking of Jamaican iced Tea, the one they brought a case home to the states. “Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully. “But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”
“Oh” Brandon said looking down, he meet Laura’s eyes, sweet, unbroken, she deserved someone whole, not a shell of a man, a shadow of what he used to be, of what could have been. He grabbed his Blazer and stood up. He bent down and kissed the top of the girls head. “Sorry.” He said, before leaving.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandon’s train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied. “Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea. “I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted. Thinking of their honeymoon, thinking of Jamaican iced Tea, the one they brought a case home to the states. “Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully. “But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”
“Oh” Brandon said looking down, he meet Laura’s eyes, sweet, unbroken, she deserved someone whole, not a shell of a man, a shadow of what he used to be, of what could have been. He grabbed his Blazer and stood up. He bent down and kissed the top of the girls head. “Sorry.” He said, before leaving.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
imaginary store
Ashley Siflinger
Black coffee, orange marmalade, and a jar of rain.
The girl in the pastel colored dress, with blond waves, reaching her back, and dark circle under her eyes, from reading comes into the store, in a hollowed out tree, she carried under her arm a red book, and other the other arm she carried a beaver. Their at the small wooden table lance Armstrong sits at the window with the view of the world. A French woman rides in on a bicycle, her long dark hair tied to one side, she is wearing a red beret, and her bicycle is built for two she is carrying a large French beget, she walks up to the shelf and grapes a jar of marmalade, then lance gets up and pours himself a cup of black coffee And lastly, the tiered, sad girl walks to the shelf and she grabs herself a jar of rain. And there is a sun shower, in the jar, and there is a lightning storm, and there are big drops of lazy rain, and there is humid rain….
Black coffee, orange marmalade, and a jar of rain.
The girl in the pastel colored dress, with blond waves, reaching her back, and dark circle under her eyes, from reading comes into the store, in a hollowed out tree, she carried under her arm a red book, and other the other arm she carried a beaver. Their at the small wooden table lance Armstrong sits at the window with the view of the world. A French woman rides in on a bicycle, her long dark hair tied to one side, she is wearing a red beret, and her bicycle is built for two she is carrying a large French beget, she walks up to the shelf and grapes a jar of marmalade, then lance gets up and pours himself a cup of black coffee And lastly, the tiered, sad girl walks to the shelf and she grabs herself a jar of rain. And there is a sun shower, in the jar, and there is a lightning storm, and there are big drops of lazy rain, and there is humid rain….
dialoge starter
Ashley Siflinger 3/9/10
Brandon was nervous; he never did things like this. And by things I mean he never went on a blind date with some girl his co-workers had set him up with. In fact he almost never dated, period, it had been hard for him to get out since Laura died three yeas ago leaving him to raise an autistic son, Jake. And don’t get me wrong, he loved Jake, loved him more than anything, and he didn’t mind taking care of him, even if it meant sacrificing all of his time apart from work. But taking care of a son with autism has taken a toll, and Brandon hadn’t been to dinner with a girl in three years, let alone up to her apartment for a drink afterwards. And its not because he didn’t want to, he did, desperately, but something change after Laura died. He was no longer the fun loving guy, who could drink anyone under the table, or the guy you turned to to be your wing man when you were at a club. No, after Jake was born, and especially after Laura died, Brandon had stopped going out, having fun. And now, despite what his friends thought, he didn’t need just another one-night stand, he needed a wife, someone to share a life with, someone who was caring and gentle, and most of all, willing to help take care of Jake. But here he was, at this girls apartment, sitting on her couch, and he didn’t even feel anything, all he kept thinking was Would she make a good mother, and Could this girl really take care of Jake.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandons train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied.“Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea.“I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted.“Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully.“But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”“Sorry.”
Brandon was nervous; he never did things like this. And by things I mean he never went on a blind date with some girl his co-workers had set him up with. In fact he almost never dated, period, it had been hard for him to get out since Laura died three yeas ago leaving him to raise an autistic son, Jake. And don’t get me wrong, he loved Jake, loved him more than anything, and he didn’t mind taking care of him, even if it meant sacrificing all of his time apart from work. But taking care of a son with autism has taken a toll, and Brandon hadn’t been to dinner with a girl in three years, let alone up to her apartment for a drink afterwards. And its not because he didn’t want to, he did, desperately, but something change after Laura died. He was no longer the fun loving guy, who could drink anyone under the table, or the guy you turned to to be your wing man when you were at a club. No, after Jake was born, and especially after Laura died, Brandon had stopped going out, having fun. And now, despite what his friends thought, he didn’t need just another one-night stand, he needed a wife, someone to share a life with, someone who was caring and gentle, and most of all, willing to help take care of Jake. But here he was, at this girls apartment, sitting on her couch, and he didn’t even feel anything, all he kept thinking was Would she make a good mother, and Could this girl really take care of Jake.
“Would you like some tea?” the girl called over her shoulder from the kitchen, breaking Brandons train of thought.“I would. Thank you.” He replied.“Careful. It’s hot.” She said returning with two cups of steaming tea.“I usually prefer iced tea.” Brandon admitted.“Mmm. I don’t have any.”“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.” Brandon suggested hopefully.“But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes.”“Sorry.”
Friday, March 5, 2010
I liked the story how to become a writer by Lorie Moore. I liked the somewhat dry sense of humor, and as someone who likes to consider themselves as a writer, i felt as if i could relate to what the character went through. But reading about all the trials, and the character trining to philosophise, and even when she reached "her dark place" where she felt hopeless, it was funny, in an endearing kind of way, like watching a younger sibling....and then you realize that when you went through some of these "dark times" it didn't seem so funny
But what i really loved, was how bits of the characters experiences, made there way into the story, i love how it was heavy, in a way. I i found myself relly touched by the hiden almost insight, about her losing her virginity, and her parents divorce, and how she made sence of it all in her writing. And how she couldnt make sence of what happened to her brother, she cant come to terms with a tragity of such magnitude.
"In thee years there have been three things: you lost your virginity; your parents got divorced; and your brother came home from a forest 10 miles from the Cambodian border with only half a thigh, a permanent smirk nestled into one corner of his mouth.About the first you write: ''It created a new space, which hurt and cried in a voice that wasn't mine, 'I'm not the same anymore, but I'll be O.K.' ''About the second you write an elaborate story of an old married couple who stumble upon an unknown land mine in their kitchen and accidentally blow themselves up. You call it: ''For Better or for Liverwurst.''About the last you write nothing. There are no words for this. Your typewriter hums. You can find no words."
And she even asks, in such an under stated way such a powerful question "If there's a God, then why is my brother now a cripple?"
But what i really loved, was how bits of the characters experiences, made there way into the story, i love how it was heavy, in a way. I i found myself relly touched by the hiden almost insight, about her losing her virginity, and her parents divorce, and how she made sence of it all in her writing. And how she couldnt make sence of what happened to her brother, she cant come to terms with a tragity of such magnitude.
"In thee years there have been three things: you lost your virginity; your parents got divorced; and your brother came home from a forest 10 miles from the Cambodian border with only half a thigh, a permanent smirk nestled into one corner of his mouth.About the first you write: ''It created a new space, which hurt and cried in a voice that wasn't mine, 'I'm not the same anymore, but I'll be O.K.' ''About the second you write an elaborate story of an old married couple who stumble upon an unknown land mine in their kitchen and accidentally blow themselves up. You call it: ''For Better or for Liverwurst.''About the last you write nothing. There are no words for this. Your typewriter hums. You can find no words."
And she even asks, in such an under stated way such a powerful question "If there's a God, then why is my brother now a cripple?"
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Valentines Day story
2/24/10
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
The inside of the coffee shop was colorful, vibrant; inside people are coming and going with their daily routines. Behind the counter an older Mexican man in a green employee’s apron is running around making coffee, which he finishes and hands to a small woman. A tall thirty- something approaches the counter.
“Hey Chris, the usual eh?” said the man behind the counter his lips pulling back into a wide easy grin.
“You know it buddy” Chris said as he reached into his wallet. Smiling, the man went to the coffee maker.
“You know man, one day I know you’re gonna come in here and order something different,” said the man, returning with the coffee.
“I don’t know Eddie maybe”
“Well, come on man, what about today. Can I interest you in something sweet to brighten up your Valentine’s day?” said Eddie playfully gesturing to the case, displacing, pink frosted cupcakes and red, heart-shaped cookies.
“Tempting, but my Valentines Day doesn’t need any brightening,”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Its’ true man, I might be getting that promotion today.”
“Don’t you like, already own the company?”
“Almost man, almost, all in good time.”
“Well when you own half of Los Angles I better get like a Christmas tip at least”
“If I get the company, ill by you a car” Chris says Chuckling.
Eddies thick eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, “Is that so” Eddie says mockingly.
“Swear on my life.” Eddie says grinnig.
“Alright, we have a deal.” Eddie says, chuckling. Chris is about to leave when Eddie grabs his arm to stop him.
“But come on you know that’s not what I mean…” Chris sighs, he’s heard this all before, from his sister, from his aunts, from his mother. Vividly, he remembers the conversation he had on the phone with his mother yesterday, and especially her response to him working late on Valentines Day.
“Why can’t you be like your cousin Joey? the boys younger than you and already married, and hes given your auntie Mae three grandbabies. Comon Chrisy When are you gonna make me a proud mamma? You find yourself a nice, decent girl, not like that tramp Candy-”
“Mom…”Chris sighs
“Ill rephrase, that Woman with promiscuous tendencies…”
“ Mom, Candy was not promiscuous…”
“Honey, who wears shorts, to Vermont in the winter? its simply not becoming..”
“Okay I get it mom but …”
“And that red dress, she almost gave your uncle Herman a stroke, Do you want to give Herman a stroke?’
“No Mom, but…”
“Then shhh… both you and I know this has nothing to do with Candy, what I’m trying to say is that you work all day and night in that office, and for what? For who? You already made your fortune, but now you have to find someone to share it with”….Shaking his head to clear the memory, Chris tells Eddie, what he couldn’t tell his mother.
“Valentines Day is just another meaningless holiday, like groundhogs day, or boxing day…. Ooooh” Chris said taking a sip of his coffee. “Now that my friend is true love, no seriously that’s good stuff, you keep making coffee like this and I might just buy you a house.” Taking another sip “mmmm. On the beach, with a view…” But Eddie was still staring at him.
“Oh common man” Chris reasoned. “Valentines Day is just a day women invented, as an excuse for men to buy them jewelry and chocolates and lingerie, so that they can convince themselves that their men are in love with them or at the very least being monogamous.”
“No, you see you got it all wrong,” Said a voice from behind Chris, who turned around to see a tall blond woman in a pencil skit snake around him and approach the counter. “Women, despite the contrary belief, are not that delusional....Ill take the usual Eddie and one of those.” She said pointing to a pink frosted cupcake in the window. Now turning back to face Chris, who stood their dumbstruck. “No, you see, Valentines Day, was invented by a bunch of men of average to less than average attractiveness, in order to get their wife’s, girlfriends or mistresses, to sleep with them.” Eddie handed the woman a small latte and her cupcake, which she accepted and the reached into her bag to pay. Over her shoulder Chris mouthed to Eddie, you know her. Eddie smiled and nodded, and then raising his brows, he gestured to Chris then the woman then back to Chris mouthing she’s single.
The woman took a sip of her latte, “The plan, of course, backfired, because as you mentioned, Valentine’s Day has become less about the bang, and more about the buck.”
“Well said” Said Chris, regaining his footing and raising his coffee in mock toast to the woman.”But it’s not every day I meet cynics eating pink cupcakes.” The woman who was beginning to walk away stops and turns back to Chris.
“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”
“ Only hopeless romantics eat pink cupcakes.”
“What are you a physiatrist now?”
“Something like that” Chris says smiling and walking up to her
“Tell me Doc, how do even know the cupcakes for me?”
“Because I know you better than you think.”
“Really.” The woman said in disbelief as they began to walk to the door.
“Well, woman like you, that is, I’ve dated in the professional world for years…don’t worry I know your type.”Chris says.
“Really, and what’s my type?” The woman said, hiding how offended she was getting.”
Putting his hands up in mock surrender Chris says “let’s just say that that cupcake is for you…” Snaking around the woman and blocking the exit, Chris says “But tell me Miss Cynic, who’s the lip gloss for?” A faint blush appeared across the woman’s cheek, she sidestepped the man, almost at the door when he reached out her grabbed her arm, leaning down, he whispered in her ear,” Don’t worry Miss Cynic, you secrets safe with me.” The woman was half-way out the door when she turned back around
“What was her name…” she asked
“Who?”
“The one…you know the one who made you like this.”
“I…”
The woman was still halfway out the door she held open, sunlight streaming down on her hair, yellow hair, pulled back tight. She nodded to herself.
“Mine was Greg, Gregory.” She smiled an ancient smile, one of picnics, and sunsets and lighter days. “He died” she said looking down at her cupcake “a year ago in a car accident.” She looked back up at Chris, the smile gone now, she continued to stare at him, she looked down again and then back up at him, her mask firmly in place now, she turned on her heal and was about to walk out the door when she heard Chris faintly from behind her.
“Gloria.” He cleared his throat. “Her name was Gloria.”
The woman turned around to face Chris the ghost of the ancient smile dancing somewhere behind her eyes as she slowly turned her back on the man and walked out of the little coffee shop and back into the crowded street of L.A. And she didn’t know it, but that day, everyone on the sidewalk and everyone on sidewalks and coffee shops around the world will think about their long lost Gregory, or their long lost Gloria, and they will smile an ancient smile of picnics, of long walks, of rock concerts, of stolen hours, of whispered promises, and of sunsets. They will smile a smile of lighter days.
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