Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

Some pictures don’t require words. Happy Halloween.

sarah

“I don’t care if they read. It’s not about that.” I lit a cigarette and continued typing.

Well, that’s ridiculous,” she sneered. “Of course you care. If you didn’t care you wouldn’t go to the trouble.”

I was onto the picture search and barely heard the nag rasping in my ear.

“Are you listening to me?” Even when she screamed it was barely a whisper. Really it wasn’t her talking that drove me up a wall but rather that sense of being poked in the forehead. That sense that something was obscuring my view of the screen.

“Uh huh.” I couldn’t find the right picture and I’d been to several sites looking already. It was going to be another long post. Damn! Amazing how finding a picture can hang you up. The post could take minutes (or hours) and then you spend the rest of the night looking for the picture.

“That one isn’t bad,” she said.

“I’m looking for right - not not bad. It has to be right.”

“Why?” she danced in and out of my peripheral vision. A flash of chiffon and feathers. “Who cares? Nobody reads anyway.” It always came back to the same taunt.

I typed in a different key word. Click. Pictures popped up. I scanned. Click. Next page. Click. Next page. “I’ve already told you it doesn’t matter if anyone reads. But of course somebody does. My stat counter says so.”

“Well, if they liked it - they’d say something, wouldn’t they?”

She was relentless, and doing everything she could to distract me. “Sometimes they say something.”

“But if they really liked it - it wouldn’t be sometimes, it would be all the time.” She bapped the side of my head. “You’re just not that good. You know it and so do I.”

Click. Up popped the perfect picture. “Oh yes,” I said. Copy. Paste. Click. Publish.

“So you admit it?” She was delerious. “You’re no good. You’re no good. Baby, you’re no good.” Did I mention she likes Linda Ronstadt?

“I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s all good. If they read then they do. If they don’t then they don’t.” I pulled a drag off my smoke. “I don’t do it for them. I do it for me.”

She rolled her green eyes.

“Scoff all you like,” I narrowed my eyes at her and dared her to speak. She said nothing. “Good, that’s more like it. You see, dear muse despite my pathetic life, my nowhere job and all the other things that can and do wrong - this is the one place that is all mine. I can do what I want, say what I want. Express my ideas and opinions. Even if no one is reading I still publish the thoughts.”

“Okay,” she backed off.

I sighed, relieved the dialogue was over for the time being.

“But if you were really good…some publisher……”

And then. My head exploded.

copyright 2006

If beggars chose
to play the king
and shed their ragged
robes

And walked the Earth
with heads held high
that men might see their
souls

Their hollow eyes
would glisten bright
with newfound strength and
pride

Their crooked bodies
would stand upright
and reason not
to hide

The heavens then would open
and send down
hymns of love
And give anew
a life to those
who sought the velvet
glove…

But beggars do not
choose a role
of kings or creatures
great

They only ask
with open heart
to find a sweeter
fate.

© 2006

Kingdoms gone past
buried with the dead
whose names no longer
merit memory…

Battles fought fierce
with fire
heartfelt purpose
unbearable pain
and burden

And yet
not a word remains
in any text
in any recollection
upon
any Story Teller’s lips…
To pay homage
to the lives spent
in the name
of the purpose
or ideals
Which so much then…
beared such meaning

The dust has settled
into great rocks
of granite
And the stories
only spoken of
by the most stalwart of
ghostly beings…

So fleeting seems
the important moments
of now…
So quickly
they dissipate
into the future
© 2006

When I was a little girl
I wanted to be a dancer…
a famous ballerina!

But Mommy and Daddy didn’t
have the money…
So I danced in the daisies
and made due with
what I had

And in my imagination
I was beautiful
the music filled
my heart…
they all loved me…

But in reality
I was just a little child…
dancing in the daisies
with a dirty face

copyright 2006

I was having trouble with various things at the old url, so I’m moving everything over here. Stay tuned.

sarah

Faith peered out the dirty window. Was he coming? No, he wasn’t. Her Daddy had left that morning, to look for work. “Don’t leave the apartment,” he warned. “No matter what happens, don’t leave.”

She stepped back and pulled her jacket around her. “I’m so cold,” she told Joey, her stuffed monkey. “You cold too?” she snuggled him under her jacket. “That better?”

It was getting dark but she was afraid to turn on the lights. If Mrs. Bartowski saw them, she’d come again. Pound on the door, swear in Polish, demanding the rent.”I know somebody’s there,” she’d yell. Faith hid under the bed until she went away.

“Don’t worry Joey, Daddy’s coming back. He said so.” Joey’s only eye twinkled, reflecting the shine from the streetlight. “And he’s going to bring Christmas back with him!” Her heart cheered when she thought of a little tree with sparkling lights and maybe even a present.

Faith slid down the wall to the floor and closed her eyes. Thoughts of candy canes, pizza and Daddy’s laugh, flitted through her mind. He’s coming back,” she told herself. “Back to get me. He promised.”

She fell headlong into the world of sleep. A thud and a clunk woke her. She jumped up and looked out the window for her daddy. Disappointment rose as she saw a grocery truck, across the street at the little market. A delivery man unloaded the truck and stacked boxes filled with fruits and vegetables, on a hand dolly. As he tilted the dolly, an apple fell in the snow. A beautiful apple. Faith lipped her lips, thinking how sweet and crunchy it would taste. In and out he went many times. Would he spy the mislaid ruby glistening in the white, white snow? “Please don’t see it,” she prayed. She did a little dance when he got in his truck and drove away. Leaving the treasure behind for her.

“Joey, wake up,” she shook her toy. “See? Look!” She frowned. “I know I’m not s’pposed to stay here but it’s just only for a minute!”

She threw him to the floor. “Okay, you big baby! I’ll go by myself! I’m not scared!”

She marched across the bare wood floor and flung open the door. The coast was clear. Her hand wrapped around the key in her pocket. Prepared for her mission, she forged ahead.

She froze when Bartowski said,”What are you doing?” A voice like sandpaper.

Searching for an answer the ornery woman would believe from her eight-year-old brain, Faith turned slowly. Another prayer answered, Bartowski wasn’t there. “What are you doing?” Bartowski barked again. Bartowski’s growl came from the other side of the door. She scurried to the stairs. Little feet padded down the stairs, barely touching. The front door was in her sights, two stairs to go . . .

Whoosh, the door opened and the frosty air bit at Faith’s nose. Thud, the door closed and Mr. Forrester stamped his feet on the door mat. Nowhere to hide. Faith pretended invisibility.

“You think I’m without eyes, little one?” he asked.

Faith’s grin bared the gap made by her missing front tooth. “Just pretending.” She came down the last two stairs.

“Children should sleep at this hour.” He looked up the stairs,”Your papa, he knows you don’t sleep?”

She flipped her hair to seem grown up. “I’m big enough to stay up. Daddy’s having a bath. He wants a newspaper. From the little market?”

Forrester opened the door and stepped aside,”then fulfill your papa’s wish, you must.”

Faith didn’t wait for a second invitation.”Night, Mr. Forrester,” she murmured.

She was giddy with the thought of her first bite of the apple as she raced across the street. She slowed as she reached the curb, eyes darting, searching out her dinner. Gone! She walked back and forth. “It’s here, it’s here, I know it’s here!” Her stomach growled at her. Faith wanted to cry. Her feet were wet and she shivered, but she refused to give up her search. The store owner, Mr. Lee, rushed out, “You go away.”

“No! You can’t make me! It’s a free country.”

“You try steal from me,” he yelled.

“Did not!” Faith sassed.

“You steal like all kids . . . ”

“Did not,” she insisted. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Stay away from store . . . I call police.” He went back inside grumbling in his native language.

Faith dodged cars as she darted across the street. A man honked his horn. “Stupid kid!”

She hurried up the steps. So cold now that she didn’t care about the apple anymore. She just wanted to get inside and change her socks and wrap a blanket around her.”Daddy’s coming, soon. I believe, I believe,” the words repeated in her mind.

She put her key in the lock but it wouldn’t turn. She tried again. “Oh, no! No, no, no!” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d die in the cold. Daddy would find her frozen and lifeless in the snow. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean it. Somebody, please help me.”

Magically, the door opened. Faith’s breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t look up, afraid she’d meet the horrid gaze of Bartowski.

“Come, child,” Forrester said quietly. “catch your death, you will. Come in, come in.”

Faith obeyed. “Thank you, Mr. Forrester . . . I guess I forgot my key.”

Forrester opened the door to his apartment, the aroma of sausages rushed into the hallway. Faith took in a deep breath, trying to fill her empty stomach with the smell.

“He will be home, soon?” Forrester asked without pause.

Faith looked at him with world-weary eyes. “What?”

“Tell your papa, Forrester says to sleep you must go.” His smile made her believe kindness still lived in the world.

She smiled back and slowly climbed the stairs.

When she closed the door, she felt better. She couldn’t look at Joey because he would say, “I told you so.” She searched the kitchen for something to eat. The cupboards held cans of food, but she couldn’t make the big can opener work. She opened the box of oatmeal and took a handful and chewed on it loudly. “It’s not that bad,”she told herself. My stomach doesn’t care.”

Six days came and went. The oatmeal was gone. Her stomach nagged relentlessly. The window became her world. She slept beneath it at night, stood at it by day. When she heard footsteps, she held her breath until they moved away. It never occurred to her to peek outside to find the offerings from Forrester.

“He’s not coming,” she whispered to Joey on the seventh day. “We’re all alone.” She couldn’t stop the tears or the pain in her heart. In sleep she found no solace. Bartowski’s mean face leered at her and threw her out in the snow. Mr. Lee chased her with a broom. She lost Joey in the gutter. She reached out to catch him but found herself falling, down, down, down a chasm of no end.

“Let me die, let me die,” she called out in her sleep.

“No, child . . . I don’t let you die,” Forrester’s soothing voice came like an angel out of darkness.

Faith’s eyes dared to open. Forrester leaned over her and put a cool cloth to her head which was so hot.

“The doctor coming soon,” another voice? Bartowski?

Faith forced herself awake and sat up. “Where am I?”

“You are safe,” Forrester said.

“My daddy . . . ”

“He comes, little one. Soon, he comes.” Forrester put a spoonful of soup to her lips. The taste exploded in her mouth and was nearly too much.

“Where is he? Do you know where my daddy is?” her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m here,” Daddy said.

The widest smile of her life spread on her face as she saw him, arms full of Christmas. He dropped his packages and rushed to her side.

“I believe, Mr. Forrester,” she whispered. “I believe.”

copyright 2006

Coffee
cigarette
music soft
morning fog
burning off
to high clouds
bright sun

something buzzes
around
my brain
but it
doesn’t speak
my place
my spot
has been
found

I drift…
sunday paper
old movies
kleenix
more smokes
diet cokes

computer screens
rewrite scenes
read again
start over
“is it good?”
yes
“but is it good?”

© 2006

My last sight of them will come soon. A tangle of copper colored hair flying in the wind as she pulls away in the big white truck. A goofy four-year-smile pressed up against the window. A giggle I won’t hear. The taste of McDonald’s still on my lips (from our last fine meal together). The world will be bigger then, as the distance puts us farther apart. The days will be longer and less mirthful. When we’ll see each other again, I don’t know. There’ll be phone calls, perhaps letters and emails…but it won’t be the same. Good bye Jen, see you in the funny papers. Arthur, take good care of your mommy.

Who will ever know my heart?

Do my words betray and bare my soul?

Do I show what lies behind the stoic gaze and constancy of my daily life?

No turning back - time does not unwind - but thrusts forward.

Ready or not I must follow it into whatever future unfolds.

Uncertainty, the delight of a promised surprise.

The fright of resisted injury of body or soul.

I do not get to know until it comes.

A strange comfort but a comfort still.

It’s quiet here.

And words are the best paint to color the silence.

Footprints left behind to mark my passage after I am gone.

copyright 2006