Archive for June, 2008


what if i only existed when you read me?

Filed under: love, poetry, prose poem, random, thoughts, writing by lissa — 14 Comments
June 30, 2008

photo by Dylan_Murphy.
…

reader, i’m on the opposite side of your screen. can you feel me?

reach your hand through the page and stroke the nape of my neck. there’s a brief moment where you can slip your hand through the pixellated colors of your monitor and feel the wires of the machine wrap against your wrist as you get deeper and deeper into the computer and closer and closer to my neck.

reach for me and i’ll instinctively lean my head towards your fingers and feel the ripples in the ocean of our love as your hand runs up and down my skin. when your arm starts to weaken from the incredible stress involved in being in so many worlds at once, i’ll let out a soft whimper as i start to feel you pull away.

i can’t make my own ripples or contain enough love to fill a puddle of water. i’m not really an animal; i can’t sustain myself. i belong in the plant kingdom. i’m mostly broken. i could break and scatter the rest of myself into a small patch of soil and become something beautiful that you could keep in your sunroom and water each day. i would learn to grow tall, leaning towards the direction of your voice. i could live for you.

when we’re once again on opposite sides of the computer screen and you don’t know what to say to me because of course i can’t be your plant and you really are tired of my sad poems weighing you down, i’ll type “don’t worry. this is fiction.” you can breathe a big sigh of relief as you turn off your computer and decide on what you’re going to make yourself for dinner, completely unaware that without you, i am darkness.

–lissa

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imagine freedom

Filed under: dream, family, love, prose poem by lissa — 19 Comments
June 24, 2008

this poem is inspired by this painting by rick mobbs.

hold your breath and kiss me until joy travels through every orifice of your body.
. ……… . …… ………………………………. .

imagine us together forever. tuck yourself under the shade of the chocolate tree in our imagination, carve our initials s and e into the trunk with strawberry juice, and lay with me against the blue soil until dawn.

i stroke you over and over until the whip lashes tattooed into your brown skin shimmer like golden stars. you become so warm that you relearn how to feel and tears of happiness stream down your face as my laugh, slow crescendo of love tickles your cheek. i see the anatomy of a rainbow in your eyes.

just before nightfall, you point into the distance. tremors overcome our bodies as we see us in a future dreamland — young, happy, and free with our daughter by our side. we wake during the night surrounded by the remnants of her singsongy voice; she soothes us back to sleep.
. ……… . …… ………………………………. .

when morning comes and master finds us, we repeat “we dwell in the house of the lord” again and again. we are not afraid because we know that i am the sun and you are the earth. our story is without end.

–lissa

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the hardest meal

Filed under: family, flash fiction, life, thoughts by lissa — 11 Comments
June 15, 2008

photo by boskizzi.

***

Dinner was the hardest meal.

My dad would wait for me until late, seemingly incapable of eating alone. The two of us would sit at the kitchen table with the same white tablecloth that Momma had bought years ago although now it was faded rainbow because of all of the fruit punch, orange juice, and coffee spills.

I opened the door hoping he was in bed since it was already after ten o’clock. I peeked into the kitchen and saw him asleep in his chair.

The room smelled like tomato sauce. I lifted the pot and saw that he had made my favorite, spaghetti and vegan meatballs. The spaghetti had wrinkled and the sauce had dried. I quickly put some of the food onto a plate and sat down at the table. I twirled the spaghetti onto my fork and chewed as softly as possible.

He must have sensed I was there. He smiled faintly at me as he opened his eyes. His shirt engulfed his body, and his cheeks were thin as though he wasn’t eating enough. We went through our ritual conversation: How was your day, Mirabel? Good, Dad. What about yours? Good.

I never felt like he wanted to know more. His smile deepened when we had this conversation but his eyes looked down at the tablecloth, the wall, the darkness emanating from the window. This was all we usually said to each other.

Our conversations had been like this since Momma had left five years ago. I had been twelve then. The day she left he had stared out the window for hours, his breathing rushed as he held onto the edges of the table. Maybe when she left he had gone inside of himself and never come out.

There had been other women like the neighbor, his co-worker, but they hadn’t stayed for long. They could never make it through dinner. If you’re not used to it, the silence ate away at you.

It hadn’t always been like this. When Momma had been there, the conversations had been spirited and neverending. She would have to force us out of the kitchen so that she could clean up and we could go to sleep.

I loved to watch the two of them together. His eyes glowed soft charcoal colors for her. Her head slightly leaned towards him as she would smile at something he had said. Everything seemed perfect until the night before she left.

That night I slept on the sofa in the family room to escape them, crying softly into my teddy bear so they wouldn’t hear me. My chest shook like it would break. Did other kids have to go through this, I had wondered, staring at the television on mute. I watched Bill Cosby dancing with his TV children until sleep finally overtook me.

–lissa

note: technically, this isn’t flash fiction since it doesn’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. it’s a flash of a story that the father’s day holiday inspired. happy father’s day :)

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hartley

Filed under: family, flash fiction, life by lissa — 17 Comments
June 11, 2008

photo by Tracie Taylor Photography.
***

Cecilia roamed barefoot through Hartley’s room, looking for it. Every few minutes she felt dizzy and had to sit down on the pink carpet.

She had eaten wheat crackers with blueberry jam and water with a teaspoon of sugar for three days straight. She liked the process of painting the crackers and soiling the water. She liked the repetition. She liked digging the crackers into the roof of her mouth and licking the small sores that formed.

After about seven attempts, she found it — the clay angel she had made for Hartley. The angel had asymmetrical pink wings, a red sun face, and blue and purple flower patterns in its center. Cecilia held the angel in the middle of her chest, inhaling sharp, staccato breaths. She remembered the way Hartley’s smile reached her eyes as she traced the patterns with her fingers. It was the first time Cecilia had seen Hartley happy since their parents had explained what metastasize meant.

Cecilia laid her head onto the pink carpet that still smelled like Hartley. She dug the three edges of the left wing into her hand. She watched the pale circles they traced onto her skin reappear and disappear.

She went to the kitchen hours later to have dinner. She heard her voice, soft and squeaky, respond to her parents’ questions. Yes, she would eat the chicken and yellow rice. No, she wanted to eat alone. No, she didn’t want to talk about it. No.

She stood in the doorway until she heard their bedroom door click shut. She put the chicken and rice into a ziplock bag. She opened the back door halfway, so that it wouldn’t creak. She untied the black plastic bag in the trash can outside and slid the food in the middle of it. She wiped her hands against her pants, and ashamed about what the angel had just witnessed, she whispered sorry before she went back inside.

She sat the clay angel on the leather kitchen chair and then sat in the chair across from it. She had to push her chair a foot away from the table to see the tiny angel. She made wheat crackers with blueberry jam and water with a teaspoon of sugar. She liked the repetition. She painted, soiled, and chewed, noting that if she tilted her head at a slight angle, tears crept in her mouth and dulled the metallic taste of blood the sores caused.

–lissa

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blue weakling

Filed under: life, poetry by lissa — 10 Comments
June 9, 2008

photo by boskizzi.

***

they say they’re stronger than you.
they won’t let you wear them down.

i’m not strong.
i can’t will you away.
i unhinge my frontal bone
pour six happy pills in
and listen for the “ping” sound they
make when they reach the deep end of my sadness.

i don’t notice them say
they’re stronger than cancer
or pneumonia, but you,
you’re nothing that a night at the bar can’t cure.

i’m not strong.
i let you ride on my back.
you’re the reason for that weary
stare at the ground shuffle i do.

sometimes, i go to the cliff
an hour away from my house
and dream of throwing myself off
to get rid of you
but i’m not strong enough for that either.

–lissa

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when you look at me, what do you see?

Filed under: life, love, prose poem, random, thoughts, writing by lissa — 15 Comments
June 5, 2008

photo by dorukbayer.

***

readwritepoem prompt: start a poem with the line when I watch you

…

when i watch you, you grimace and stick your tongue out. you give me the middle finger. you pull your collar up around your mouth. you stare back, determined to win this contest. you turn your face slightly to the right so i can only see your profile. you slowly lower your bra strap. you reach your hand down my sweat pants. you kiss the corner of my lips, watching me until the closeness blurs me from you.

“what do you see?” you ask. you point to the chicken pox scar on your forehead, which i kiss; your curly hair, which i stroke; the slightly forward way your shoulders arch, which i envelop.

“i see you, leaving and returning to me. shy, brave, sad, joyful little flashes of you; i love them all,” i say.

you blush, and turn off the light.

“now what do you see?”

“you happy. i can hear your smile.” i trace the curves of your lips in the dark with my fingers, and hold you close until you pull away.

“and now?”

“you scared to be happy for too long.”

–lissa

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