He takes his lover's hand to his heart and holds and holds, wait and wait for the dimmest gray to match the clouds, the wave, the dark sand between teeth, small grinds disturb the moment of storytelling "I won't leave here, I won't leave until it's over." The apples wait by the kitchen sink, the baking dish is dry, the cinnamon is one dash short of reverence. We have sugar that will last us forever. We'll wait.
So come home and fight the battle, it is safer here, we can lock the front door, draw floor amulets on the ground using turmeric and charcoal. Ask me to bring you yesterday's paper because today is happening too fast. Today is happening way too fast.
Go ahead, it’s OK. First you have to remember that this was the dead of winter, and winter in Siberia ain’t like winter in Des Moines. By the first part of November the lake was frozen over. She had been living there 17 years -- since the camps shut down. She was more beautiful then, but it was already the beauty the breaks hearts, but I’ve had too much to drink, you know that already. Her son will be up later today by truck. The red-haired woman that lives over the ice house will bring him from Kierograd, if the Express is on time. So go ahead, ask if she did it.
Ask me if I ever, go ahead if I ever killed anybody go on if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ doncha know we used to say that all the time and call each other Ace and Hun and Hooker. You can ask all you want, it don’t make me no nevermind. Ask me later, after dinner, ask me after my show is over, no, I’m not sure when that’ll be, sometimes it goes on and on, call me sometime, leave a message, ask me call you back, maybe I will, probly not though whatcha got for me, anyway, you got somethin’ I want I might call you back, ask you over for a drink, let you ask me all your questions, did I ever, when did I, who was it, how many times, why, what you want to go asking why-- how the fuck I know why, it just is that’s all, but you can ask, askin’ don’t hurt, don’t mean I gotta answer, and if I do it might not be the truth I’m tellin’ you won’t know you won’t ever know what’s behind these lyin’ eyes.
Ask me, or don’t. I proffer my advice whether you ask for it or not. It is not that I do not believe you can figure it out for yourself, or maybe that is precisely it.
It is presumptuous of me to speak of my vast experience with relationships or to assume that you know nothing of love. Forgive me.
I am too impatient, too persistent, too cocky. Believe me; the sinking nausea of regret hit me as soon as I dropped your unsolicited letter in the mail.
It is too late, too late to pull it back and pretend I did not suggest that you leave him, that there is someone more capable and loving out there in the universe waiting for you.
You did not ask me. I should not have written anything but welcome back, I hope this finds you well. Forgive me, I am an asshole who only wants the best for you.
Ask me? That's funny, you've never done so before. Oh how I wish you had asked me. How I wish you had cared beyond what you thought I could do for you.
I liked it when you paid attention. I thought it meant I was special. A drink, why yes, I'll pretend to be grown up. You asked when you knew it would dampen my responses. You asked when you knew flattery and charm would make a young girl feel important. But then the big question came and you never asked.
Why did you never ask? I would have loved the opportunity to say no. I would have loved the opportunity to see that the world was not all roses before having my petals plucked and crushed.
Ask me about the self-hatred I felt from having my power taken away. Ask me how I felt being instantly turned from a valuable amazing girl into nothing more than chattel. Ask me how it felt to be used and thrown away, broken bruised and bleeding. Ask me how it felt to want to die rather than re-live that moment every day in horror and nightmare until I was no longer human.
Go ahead, ask me. I will tell I know nothing. Nothing about myself or where I come from. I know only that my mother was young and wanted college, not a baby. I know only that I never quite fit in. I was never enough. Or perhaps it was that I was too much. Whatever, I was not the norm. I grew up the black sheep. Terrified of being called out for being myself for being different. There is more irony in those last words than you can ever know. More isolation more loneliness and far more pain than anyone will ever understand. Ask me, and I will tell you I do not know if I understand what it is to be human. I just don't understand. Ask me and I will tell you one man can be an island, adrift.
Ask me about the air on the top of Kilamanjaro, how thin it is, or the feel of the tide sucking sand away from supporting my toes. Ask me about the flight against the blinding sun of an eagle or an osprey with a fish, even the hummingbird at the fuchsia. Ask me for details, colors or the sounds of wings fluttering. I will tell you a movie version. But if you ask me about the future, my future, your future, any future I will mention snow, those French caves, the bones of a dinosaur dug up on a Nebraskan plain. Time just may be a circle, or a rubbery reflection of any moment chosen at random. Perhaps that is what I believe, the random, the unfair, the misunderstood, the cruel, confused, mishmash hash of life. From this stew an amoeba emerges. Let's name it Hope and attach too many ambitions. Later we can watch it snow.
8 comments:
Ask Me
---
He takes his lover's hand to his
heart and holds and holds,
wait and wait for the dimmest
gray to match the clouds, the
wave, the dark sand between
teeth, small grinds disturb
the moment of storytelling
"I won't leave here, I won't
leave until it's over." The
apples wait by the kitchen
sink, the baking dish is
dry, the cinnamon is one
dash short of reverence.
We have sugar that will
last us forever. We'll wait.
So come home and fight
the battle, it is safer here,
we can lock the front door, draw
floor amulets on the ground
using turmeric and charcoal.
Ask me to bring you yesterday's
paper because today is happening
too fast. Today is happening
way too fast.
DRAFT
Ask Me
Go ahead, it’s OK.
First you have to remember that this was the dead
of winter, and winter in Siberia ain’t like winter in Des Moines.
By the first part of November the lake was frozen over.
She had been living there 17 years -- since the camps shut down.
She was more beautiful then,
but it was already the beauty the breaks hearts,
but I’ve had too much to drink, you know that already.
Her son will be up later today by truck.
The red-haired woman that lives over the ice house
will bring him from Kierograd, if the Express is on time.
So go ahead, ask if she did it.
2 November, 2010
Ask me if I ever, go ahead
if I ever killed anybody go on
if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ doncha know
we used to say that all the time
and call each other Ace and Hun
and Hooker. You can ask all you want,
it don’t make me no nevermind.
Ask me later, after dinner, ask me
after my show is over, no, I’m not sure
when that’ll be, sometimes it goes on
and on, call me sometime, leave a message,
ask me call you back, maybe I will,
probly not though whatcha got for me,
anyway, you got somethin’ I want
I might call you back, ask you
over for a drink, let you ask me
all your questions, did I ever,
when did I, who was it, how many times,
why, what you want to go asking why--
how the fuck I know why, it just is
that’s all, but you can ask,
askin’ don’t hurt, don’t mean
I gotta answer, and if I do
it might not be the truth
I’m tellin’ you won’t know
you won’t ever know
what’s behind
these lyin’ eyes.
Ask me, or don’t. I proffer my advice whether you ask for it or not. It is not that I do not believe you can figure it out for yourself, or maybe that is precisely it.
It is presumptuous of me to speak of my vast experience with relationships or to assume that you know nothing of love. Forgive me.
I am too impatient, too persistent, too cocky. Believe me; the sinking nausea of regret hit me as soon as I dropped your unsolicited letter in the mail.
It is too late, too late to pull it back and pretend I did not suggest that you leave him, that there is someone more capable and loving out there in the universe waiting for you.
You did not ask me. I should not have written anything but welcome back, I hope this finds you well. Forgive me, I am an asshole who only wants the best for you.
Ask me? That's funny, you've never done so before. Oh how I wish you had asked me. How I wish you had cared beyond what you thought I could do for you.
I liked it when you paid attention. I thought it meant I was special. A drink, why yes, I'll pretend to be grown up. You asked when you knew it would dampen my responses. You asked when you knew flattery and charm would make a young girl feel important. But then the big question came and you never asked.
Why did you never ask? I would have loved the opportunity to say no. I would have loved the opportunity to see that the world was not all roses before having my petals plucked and crushed.
Ask me about the self-hatred I felt from having my power taken away. Ask me how I felt being instantly turned from a valuable amazing girl into nothing more than chattel. Ask me how it felt to be used and thrown away, broken bruised and bleeding. Ask me how it felt to want to die rather than re-live that moment every day in horror and nightmare until I was no longer human.
It's a simple question. Ask me.
Go ahead, ask me. I will tell I know nothing. Nothing about myself or where I come from. I know only that my mother was young and wanted college, not a baby. I know only that I never quite fit in. I was never enough. Or perhaps it was that I was too much. Whatever, I was not the norm.
I grew up the black sheep. Terrified of being called out for being myself for being different. There is more irony in those last words than you can ever know. More isolation more loneliness and far more pain than anyone will ever understand.
Ask me, and I will tell you I do not know if I understand what it is to be human. I just don't understand.
Ask me and I will tell you one man can be an island, adrift.
Ask me about the air on the top of Kilamanjaro, how thin it is, or the feel of the tide sucking sand away from supporting my toes. Ask me about the flight against the blinding sun of an eagle or an osprey with a fish, even the hummingbird at the fuchsia. Ask me for details, colors or the sounds of wings fluttering. I will tell you a movie version. But if you ask me about the future, my future, your future, any future I will mention snow, those French caves, the bones of a dinosaur dug up on a Nebraskan plain. Time just may be a circle, or a rubbery reflection of any moment chosen at random. Perhaps that is what I believe, the random, the unfair, the misunderstood, the cruel, confused, mishmash hash of life. From this stew an amoeba emerges. Let's name it Hope and attach too many ambitions. Later we can watch it snow.
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