Monkey Bars on a Cloudy Night

Last night, I was on my way home from work, and noticed that the Lippitt Park playground is reasonably well lit after dark. I've driven past this playground many times. It's my family's favorite playground to visit. We often attend the farmer's market there. But I saw it for the first time last night. It was one of those odd moments of something familiar becoming new for just a moment. I continued home. I put my children to bed, and left again to meet some friends for a night out after the stress of the past couple of weeks.

After a fun night out, I purposely headed home in the direction that would once again take me past Lippitt Park. Once again, it was well lighted. This time, I pulled over. I took a walk around, feeling the happiness of childhood there, and decided to climb to the top of the monkey bars. There I sat. I only spent a few minutes on that dome. It was cold, and the breeze simultaneously cut through me and caressed me. The silence was both lonely and beautiful. I suddenly felt happy and free, a feeling I'd needed for weeks. I climbed down, and went home feeling as light as a laugh on the breeze.

I learned two things last night. Sometimes we need to let go of the seriousness of life and embrace our childhood, even if we are well beyond those years. The other thing is, if one decides to sit on top of monkey bars in New England in October at 2am, one should be wearing socks . . .

Untitled

Days like today make me wish with all my heart I were a visual artist. I get images in my head, and I want to share them. I don't draw or paint. Sculpture seems beyond my grasp. I am not a photographer or videographer. And yet, I have these images that I would like other people to feel. So, I am left with words. The words that follow do not do my image justice at all. I hope you enjoy anyway.


Footprints left
in dust
still covering my feet
from the walls crumbling
around my shoulders
Hand prints left
in paint
still drying over cracks
ever widening
Finger paint marks
your stone body
from my blind attempt
at escape
when the roof caved
under the weight of my sigh

Mine to Bear

I gave birth to my own crown
one thorn at a time
carefully nailing each into my forehead
and perfectly arranged hair
stepping back from the mirror
to admire my handiwork
my new red pearls
before climbing onto my cross
of splinters
of glitter
of tiny white lights
and memories
I stretch my arms
to embrace the ghosts
to be beaten and whipped
until my skin fell away
and I was released
raw into the world
to wander

Paralyzed

I'm not really one to write rhyming poems. It seems so stilted to me, but here I have one. I'm not in love with it. I'm still playing with it. It just sounds so forced to me. I'd love feedback.


it only took a look
to wreck it all
I asked you to wait
I passed you by
you watched me fall
The set of your shoulders
paralyzed me in flame
with no voice left
to scream in pain
you'll never own this blame
you saw barren waste
I saw hope cloaked in gold
my pain is written on you
our story closed
my own left to be told

Dream #3

In my dream, it is so dark, I can't see anything. My eyes are open. I'm staring, trying to see something, anything. I'm not afraid. I'm not sad. I'm not happy. I am only aware of my being, that I have a body, even though I can't see it to be sure. My body is being rocked gently, as though I were laying in the palm of a giant who carried me around like a child might carry a robin's egg that has been thrown from the nest. All of a sudden, I feel the sensation of falling. My stomach goes into my throat, like it does of the first hill of a roller coaster, when the bottom drops out and you are free fall. Still all is dark. Still I feel no emotion. While still falling, I wake up. My stomach is still in my throat, and nothing daylight offers seems to fix it.

Dream #2

In my dream, I couldn't hear anything. People were talking. I knew this, but I couldn't hear a word of it. I was walking through a crowded room, and people were talking to me, saying hello. I couldn't hear them. I became increasingly frustrated with the pats to the back, the grabbing my shoulder, and smiles and moving lips. I was confused and I was trying to tell people that I couldn't hear anything they said. I couldn't even hear my own voice, and the people went right on smiling and laughing and greeting me as though I'd said nothing. And I stood in the middle of this room, crowded with happy people all telling me hello and I screamed at the top of my lungs I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I DON'T UNDERSTAND! But they swirled around me, still laughing. Still smiling. Still patting my shoulder. Still saying hello. As if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Dream #1

This is not a real dream. This is something that came to me, and may go into my play. I've had a rough couple of days, and this piece (monologue?) came back to mind.


And in my dream, I was flying, but I didn't want to be flying. I just couldn't help it. I couldn't stop. I kept going higher and higher. I looked down and the treetops were getting smaller. All I could think of was how I would return. What would happen if I just ceased to fly? I could imagine the fall and my body being broken by the trees, falling into a thousand pieces on the ground, unrecognizable as me. All of my pieces and all of the parts of me I keep hidden, visible to anyone who might walk through the trees and find me. Or the pieces of me. So, I closed my eyes and just tried to feel the wind against my face, but I could still see the treetops through my closed eyelids. Still getting smaller. And I let go.