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superstitions 82607

August 25, 2007

Weaving my way through lampless rooms,
I enter my own home, blind.
The sun has long dropped from view and
With no sign of day, I’ve forgotten that I need light.
Out of sight, mind.

I spot, in the glint of perforated light of
microwaves, game consoles, power supplies,
alarm clocks and their faux mica reflections
The trail to a room I barely sleep in,
just down the hall from the room I rend my heart in.
There is a spider on the door frame, but I don’t kill it.
It’s bad luck.

Cracks go untouched, salt, unspilled.
I take attention to the little things, to keep them in order.
I take attention to the little things, to keep them safe.
I have my superstitions.

Weaving through dark carpets,
I superimpose my wishes over daily life
like a double negative of a photo.
Like “can’t not” be this in love this fast.
Like “won’t not” make it hard on myself.
Like “love kiss” that hand for the hundredth time today.

I superimpose my desires onto templates set before me hundreds of years ago
Templates that say, be patient
breathe
give him space
give him time.
Templates that offer guidance through the toughest times
Templates that say, don’t call until three days after
and for gods sake
Don’t visit him unannounced.

I’ve ignored the guidelines, I’ve colored outside
I’ve choked on chicken bones too, but I’m still here.
What else is there to be?

Superstitions that run deep in my brain, where the seratonin is long gone.
I know my car will lead me to disaster if I let the wheel take control.
I know the week after the visit is the quietest week of life, and brimming with the stench
of failure.
I know writing about it seals the deal, packs the box, and mails my heart
to the forklift drivers that bury it next to nuclear waste in Utah.
I know a phone call is a deal breaker
I know the internet is a brothel

I know if I put my right foot in front of the left when I stand like this, I can hear
words my mother told me,
Long after I hang up the phone: give him space, be patient, I love you.

Can’t not be devastated about this
Can’t not set myself ablaze
Can’t not make him understand why it hurts
Can’t not be sad anyway.

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2 comments

  1. I liked this one; but also, I hoped it helped some.


  2. beautiful.



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