packing him up for New York,
in his backpack I find
a 9-volt battery, a bus pass,
a dirty pair of ear plugs.
and there he is.
I spread them out on the bed.
listening to him in the other room
putting on mixed up tracks,
I hear him over there
and yet
here he is right in front of me
on the bedspread that needs washing.
a spent battery that
his guitar pedal must have
used up months ago,
a crosstown trip
he took on February 21st of last year.
I miss him already.
I spend hours memorizing
the feel of his big arms
all around me
not just holding
but
loving me,
loving even the spaces around me
just because they are
close to me.
in the next room
he slows the pace,
switches to jazz,
and I suddenly remember
how we are all made of
molecules
that have no boundaries,
how even the brightest minds of our time
can't explain
why everything doesn't just
pass right through
everything else,
how we are all mixed up,
how no one knows why
we can't see it.
and just like that
I find the way,
the first reasonable thread
that I can pull,
the start of letting go
that lets him be
inside my cells
all the time,
the way even his old
bus pass
has come inside my body.
he's always home with me.
I let go the walls
and he starts playing Tom Waits.
there is nothing else
but us.
Wherein poet Deva Haney writes and rambles until she shambles off the beaten page and gets lost.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Sunday, March 9, 2014
This can be your good deed for the day!
Hey y'all, my good friend Spike Gillespie is the author of the blog Meditation Kicks Ass, in which she skillfully navigates the internal landscape of distraction, grief, terror, anxiety, love and gratitude. You know, that basics. She has just launched a Kickstarter campaign to help get her on her way to transforming the insights she's learned through the past year of her dedicated meditation practice into an honest-to-god book that we can all curl up on the couch with while eating an entire pecan pie and some jelly beans. Or whatever the fuck you guys eat while reading good books. I don't judge. Anyway, LET'S HELP HER DO IT!
Because Spike is (aptly) known as the Human Facebook, many of you may already know her, and for you guys I have no need to explain her awesomeness. You already get it. For those of you who may not have heard of her before, I suggest you click the Meditation Kicks Ass link up there and do a little digging around that blog. I dare you to not find yourself within her words and be highly entertained. I double dog dare you. You can also hop on over to her other delightful blog about Man College, wherein she regales us with adventures of Thursday afternoons spent at a tattoo shop learning all there is to learn about manly things. And sandwiches. And fake dog poop. And one time the baby Jesus. In short, if you don't check it out, you're just… you're just not experiencing the fantastically hilarious and well-rounded existence that is literally at your fingertips. Seriously. It's time to start living your life, people.
Every little bit helps, and she's worth every penny. Go on over and check it out, and spread the word if you can. Feel free to send a link to this page, or just one directly to any of Spike's pages, to anyone you think might wanna help. Remember, with Kickstarter, you don't have to pay until the campaign ends, so go ahead and pledge away, even if you still have another week or so before you get your illicit drug-smuggling funds back from the money launderers. You've got until April 3rd, and that's plenty of time even by the agonizingly slow standards of money laundering. I've heard. Not that I know that for sure. Just guessing. Wink, wink.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Like A Toothache
You will always be
farther away from me
than my losses
they are like
a tooth in my mouth
you cannot be closer
to me than that
than they are
what is lost to me
festers
relentless
ricochets
around my skull
makes ping-pong noises
that drown you out
at every hour
nothing is close to me
you are all
too far gone
I spend my days
tonguing my gums
distracted by
the ache inside me
hovering just above the hum
that is
everything else
what was becomes
the absence of what was
becomes
all there is
a tooth that can't be
pulled
farther away from me
than my losses
they are like
a tooth in my mouth
you cannot be closer
to me than that
than they are
what is lost to me
festers
relentless
ricochets
around my skull
makes ping-pong noises
that drown you out
at every hour
nothing is close to me
you are all
too far gone
I spend my days
tonguing my gums
distracted by
the ache inside me
hovering just above the hum
that is
everything else
what was becomes
the absence of what was
becomes
all there is
a tooth that can't be
pulled
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Apollo's Intuition
Outside the band's practice space
Apollo, the rambunctious doberman,
paused overlong while
sniffing my pants
and then, suddenly still,
he stood with his head
sloped over my knee
for once not
galloping around and
tugging the war
his head silent and
laid next to the smell
stuck upon my jeans
and I wondered
as I stroked his back
if he knew
if he scented the death
that had come upon us
last Sunday
and was pausing his
usual play
to momentarily mourn with me
my own dog
who is no more
Apollo, the rambunctious doberman,
paused overlong while
sniffing my pants
and then, suddenly still,
he stood with his head
sloped over my knee
for once not
galloping around and
tugging the war
his head silent and
laid next to the smell
stuck upon my jeans
and I wondered
as I stroked his back
if he knew
if he scented the death
that had come upon us
last Sunday
and was pausing his
usual play
to momentarily mourn with me
my own dog
who is no more
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Pieces
bring in the pieces
lay them out and
let me see
what we have here
yes, that
thing you said
six months ago
about rhythm
the branch by the mailbox
that forked more
to the left
than it should have
those three minutes
at the red light yesterday
when the shifting light
brought the quiet down
and made it last
forever
these dripping sounds
sliding down
the side of the house
while we lay together
warm in the island of our bed
the mysterious
missed phone call
the softness of
last Friday
when nothing happened
at all
the painful shock
of my pounding heart
every time I think
maybe
the dog’s cancer
is catching up with us
sparkling blue eye
and the icy wake
that comes after
yes, all of these
bring them to me
spread them out and
watch now
closely, for this will
happen quickly
here, let me show you
how they fit
how they are all
the same
lay them out and
let me see
what we have here
thing you said
six months ago
about rhythm
that forked more
to the left
than it should have
at the red light yesterday
when the shifting light
brought the quiet down
and made it last
forever
sliding down
the side of the house
while we lay together
warm in the island of our bed
missed phone call
last Friday
when nothing happened
at all
of my pounding heart
every time I think
maybe
the dog’s cancer
is catching up with us
that one hot teardrop
pulled out of me
by someone else’s son’ssparkling blue eye
that comes after
bring them to me
spread them out and
watch now
closely, for this will
happen quickly
here, let me show you
how they fit
how they are all
the same
Saturday, December 21, 2013
The Bucket
the bucket is full
its contents threaten
to overflow
with every step
I have to measure my pace
walk very slowly
it takes hours to
move but an inch
the bucket is heavy
its bottom deep
no point in looking within
its depths are unknowable
the end of its insides
impossible to fathom
the bucket is greedy
never satisfied
its belly swells up
enough to eat
every painful drop
but it has no guts
it cannot digest
any of it
walking along the path
my lopsided yoke and
huge hungry bucket
whose wide open mouth could
swallow the heavens
are pulling down, down
on my right shoulder
listing to the side
like a ship half-sunk
while the captain stands
slant-legged
on the bow
mulling over the specifics
of his duty
a passerby stops to ask me,
What's with you, why
do you lean so far over,
why can't you stop
almost falling down?
and I dip my hands
in the bucket
try to draw out
one single silver droplet
that will explain it
try to choose one molecule
from the ocean
that I'm hauling uphill
but
the more I try to
tease out
one lone care
to be my example
the wider the gaps
of my fingers become
until I am holding nothing
but the span of a canyon
that cannot be bridged
and everything I meant to say
slips back into the bucket
all of a piece
and hoisting the slanted yoke
back up
my shoulder resuming its
shameful ache
I tell them,
Do you see? I
no longer know
its contents threaten
to overflow
with every step
I have to measure my pace
walk very slowly
it takes hours to
move but an inch
the bucket is heavy
its bottom deep
no point in looking within
its depths are unknowable
the end of its insides
impossible to fathom
the bucket is greedy
never satisfied
its belly swells up
enough to eat
every painful drop
but it has no guts
it cannot digest
any of it
walking along the path
my lopsided yoke and
huge hungry bucket
whose wide open mouth could
swallow the heavens
are pulling down, down
on my right shoulder
listing to the side
like a ship half-sunk
while the captain stands
slant-legged
on the bow
mulling over the specifics
of his duty
a passerby stops to ask me,
What's with you, why
do you lean so far over,
why can't you stop
almost falling down?
and I dip my hands
in the bucket
try to draw out
one single silver droplet
that will explain it
try to choose one molecule
from the ocean
that I'm hauling uphill
but
the more I try to
tease out
one lone care
to be my example
the wider the gaps
of my fingers become
until I am holding nothing
but the span of a canyon
that cannot be bridged
and everything I meant to say
slips back into the bucket
all of a piece
and hoisting the slanted yoke
back up
my shoulder resuming its
shameful ache
I tell them,
Do you see? I
no longer know
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Invisible Scars
it's not easy
to carry around
invisible scars
they're too heavy
and translucent
they don't get you anywhere
all the effort is your own
and every bit of it
costly
sometimes I
stand in the shower
and imagine
a long line drawn
down the side of me
pale and puckered
unattractive
something significant,
obvious
something anyone could see
if I were wearing
a bathing suit
it always
makes me smile
seems light as floating ashes,
that long line
which must have cut so deeply
taken so very long to close over
anyone could see
that
the line's there, i can feel it
run my hands over it
like a worry doll
like chalking a headstone
but I have to
forcibly call it into being
call it by name
for anyone else to
notice
and if I don't
they'll never know what
weighted unseen burdens
force me to
stoop my shoulders and
tip my head forward
twitch my mouth a little
as I stand in line
at the bank,
just one more woman
with a basket on her head
ghosts of a troubled past
spilling over the side
weaving around her
like traffic
to carry around
invisible scars
they're too heavy
and translucent
they don't get you anywhere
all the effort is your own
and every bit of it
costly
sometimes I
stand in the shower
and imagine
a long line drawn
down the side of me
pale and puckered
unattractive
something significant,
obvious
something anyone could see
if I were wearing
a bathing suit
it always
makes me smile
seems light as floating ashes,
that long line
which must have cut so deeply
taken so very long to close over
anyone could see
that
the line's there, i can feel it
run my hands over it
like a worry doll
like chalking a headstone
but I have to
forcibly call it into being
call it by name
for anyone else to
notice
and if I don't
they'll never know what
weighted unseen burdens
force me to
stoop my shoulders and
tip my head forward
twitch my mouth a little
as I stand in line
at the bank,
just one more woman
with a basket on her head
ghosts of a troubled past
spilling over the side
weaving around her
like traffic
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)