Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

No longer a child
and yet not old
No longer shy
still not bold

In between
rich and poor;
good and bad…
wanting more
than my mother had

Full of ideas
and things to do
Feel like paper
in need of glue

copyright 2006

Be not my adversary
but be my friend
Be not my opposer
but teach me to bend

Be not my advisor
but give me your ear
Speak not loudly
just that I may hear

Be not my path
but show me the way
Leave not my side
but know I might stray

Show me not
through your eyes
but through my own
Stand with me
but let me stand alone

Be not my keeper
but be my mate
Know that I love you
no matter our fate

Be not my shadow
but be my twin
Speak of my good deeds
and know of my sins

Be not my fire
but keep high the flame
Know my passions
and make me not tame

Be not perfect
but be what you can
Know that I give you
all that I am

© 2006

“I don’t remember you.” Those words made their mark deeply. I found myself at the edge of a cliff all the landmarks of my affection gone.

Memories, from my first sight of him, cooing and reaching out his arms to me to the hundreds of outtings he, his mother and I made over the years screamed and careened past me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt an odd expression on my face - one I had no control to change.

“Really?” I muttered and tried not to sound sad. He was a child after all. Just eight years old. The complexity of human emotion still a concept he sought to grasp.

“Yeah, really.” He said it simply with no crack in the door to wedge my foot in.

I smiled and patted his arm. “Well, that’s okay honey. I remember you.”

It had been a long time. Fours years. Not long in adult time but it was half of his life span. Children change so much so quickly. I told myself it was okay. Not to feel sad or disappointed. I told myself I was still happy to see him. But I wasn’t very convincing. It gave the day, one of celebration - not just for a holiday dedicated to blessings and thankfulness but of the reunion with Julie, my best friend a different color.

She had moved four years ago to Montanna. How it broke my heart. Though I understood her need to get out of a big city, she had a young child to raise on her own and didn’t want him to grow up around gangs, drugs, crime and everything else that is unhealthy for children growing up in big cities. We managed to stay in touch. To phone and write and send gifts at the appropriate occasions…but it wasn’t the same. There was void without her - without them.

Travis, her son, was as much a part of my life as Julie had been. We went everywhere together. Did everything together. We even discussed the idea that if anything ever happened to her (God forbid) that I would take Travis in a heartbeat. How could I not? He had captured my heart and love the moment I looked into his big green eyes.

The Thanksgiving reunion was not just with Julie but with Travis as well. Except it really wasn’t. Because he didn’t remember me. And I didn’t know how to respond to that. Did I just back off and talk to him as though we’d just met? Ask him about school and his hobbies? It did make sense though - his reaction when I hugged him. The blank look in his eyes. The rigidness of his body. The way children act when doting strangers pinch their cheeks and tell them how much they’ve grown. I suddenly felt like that whacky old aunt that nobody remembers and everybody cringes at their presence.

The evening went on. We played Trivial Pursuit - laughed at the same old jokes and one liners that old friends do. I caught him watching me a few times and I wondered what went on in his mind. Was he remembering? He warmed up a little. Told me about his favorite movie. Complained about his younger siblings who had come into being during the four years in Montanna. Talked about his Dad (the man Julie had married and whom I was yet to meet as well). And I think out of politeness said he thought I was starting to look familiar.

Until the evening came to an end and he discovered I was going back to the hotel room with them. “Where are you going to sleep?” he wanted to know. “Somewhere,” I shrugged sensing an upset in the near future. He didn’t take kindly to giving up a bed to himself and having to share a bed with his mom. No, that wasn’t going to do at all.

And so went the next two days. Little cracks and remarks, cold stares, pouting. Each time my heart broke a little bit more. I chided myself for being so childish. I was the adult. It was my job to take it in stride. I really wanted to, I really did - but I couldn’t quite get over the shock of it. Couldn’t quite accept that I was forgettable. Reason, logic did not work in this scenario.

The night before I left he got upset about a movie or something…it was a trivial thing. I teased him and said “don’t worry I’m leaving tomorrow.” “Yeah and none too soon, either,” he snapped.

That sent me over the edge. I went to the patio and cried. I mourned the loss of my friend Travis. I finally accepted that whatever had happened in the past didn’t matter. It might just have well not happened.

It’s an odd thing when a child forgets you - no matter how much you remember them. When they look at you as they would any stranger. When you want to hug someone who is wary of you. I cannot really describe it.

At the very end we got to know each other a little - in a clean slate sort of way. I rescued him and took him on a little errand while his mother wrangled with the two little ones. I think he decided he might like me.

When we said goodbye he almost looked sad. Maybe some memory was winding its way to his awareness. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He hugged me many times and said “I love you.”

And in the end maybe that’s all that matters.

Copyright 2006

I gave them my pledge
I agreed to the oath
I went on my missions
and did what they told me.

Right or wrong.
I did as I was told.

Many a rock I sat upon.
Barron lands
my eyes did come to know.
Every stretch of unwanted
black, desert space
had come to be
my stations
my posts.

Where the sun never shone.
Where no sun there was.
On fond thoughts
of warmth and fresh air
I did live.
Sweet memories
of friends
and good talk.

I sighed.
I shrugged.
I had given my pledge
taken my vows.
A good soldier was I,
A good officer I was.

I questioned nothing.
Year after year
I reported for duty.

The dreams that
had moved me when a boy
the hopes
the images that
leapt and sprang
from my mind
and my heart.
Were but that - dreams.

For the uniform
had not made me
braver still.
Had not bestowed
the courage
or strength I sought.
It had given only
the answers to
the lines in my father’s face
and the worry in my
mother’s eyes.

I inherited
the lonliness of my uniform
separated from all
that was precious to me.

In the War for Freedom
I planted the Flag.
Watching the dying
faces of my friends
hearing the cries
of life’s last breath.
With each
my heart became heavier
my fear stronger.

I was lost
I was tired.
My purpose
long forgotten.
My deeds less pure
my actions more human.
Each day
a nothing.
No tears left
only a dull ache.

In the night
I saw a shining!
it shone ever more
in my approach.
I sped toward the light
my heart lifted
my hopes rekindled.

More brilliant it became
as we drew closer
So sure was I…
so certain, so right…

The impact
the explosion
the screams of my crew
were swallowed…

The next thing
I knew
I was a small girl
sing songs
no one seemed to know.

copyright 2006

The wars have been long
the battles endless…
Through it all
the light
that has kept
my soul in flight
has been
but the thought of you.
The certainty of your love.

All about me
explosions.
At ever corner
the enemy
lies in wait
of my footsteps.

No…
if has not been
an easy war.
It has not been
a war of remembering.

It has been
a war
of horror and pain.
Of climbing the sheerest
of cliffs
which left my hands
bleeding
my body
scarred.
And has tormented
one and all.

And I fear
even you, my Sweet.
Far away
and safe from its suffering.

This war
has been never-ending.

I have come back.
Again and again.
Ready.
Spear in hand.
Gun aimed.
A thousand times
I have died the
hideous death
of a soldier in war.

A thousand times
I have returned.
Praying to see
flying high,
the baner of hope
and Freedom.

At last.
To see the end of
the nightmare
We,
all of us, have known.

A thousand times
and one
I have fought
and hoped.

Alas, my Sweet!
The end draws near
as every moment sounds
and slips away.

I am coming
home soon.
And will smile not,
’til it is your
shining countenance
my eyes behold.

Fear not.
The war is ended.
Home soon, I will be
where I belong.

copyright 2006

By this window
I have waited.
I have watched.
By day. By night.
I have watched
until my body ached
and my heart wept.

So long you have
been gone
so long it has been.
Now I know
every crook, every scratch,
every detail
that makes this window.
I know each pattern
the sun makes across the land.
Every song the nightengale sings.

Still.
I wait.
Though they laugh.
They whisper what
fool am I.
“he is not coming back, dear Maiden.”
I shake my head.
“The war has sure killed him.”
I close my ears.

This window
where I have perched
knows all my
secret wishes.
My dreams and hopes
live here.

The wait
has been an awful one.
The days and nights
ever longer.
Your face
is but a shadow.
Your voice escapes me.
As the breeze so needed
on hot summer’s night.

It has been forever
and so lonely.
I wonder if
they are right.
I wonder what
fate has befallen you.
What has become of me?

A ghost
I am.
An angel lost
in flight.
Waiting at my
window
to catch you in
my sights.

A thousand times
I’ve felt you die.
A thousand times
I’ve wept.

The war that
have gone to fight
must long been ended.

Yet
I cannot let you go.
I cannot forget
the dreams
that we shared.
and must share again.
And so…
I wait at my window
wishing you back home.

Alas!
the word is come
from you.
The waiting
is near to over.
Again
we will be together.

No more
the window strikes me sad.
Nor the sun’s shadow.
Soon my love
you will be here
at your place.
By my side.
That I have kept for you
so long.

copyright 2006

Hold me close
and leave me not
to the wolves and rogues
of this world.
Alone to fight the battles
of pain that have ripped
and torn the cloth of decency
of all of its men.

I stand atop a hill
tattered and defeated.
As an old woman
who survives all of her kin.
Even her man.
Who is left with
but a handful of dust for memories…
And sweet recalling.
Whose life has ended
and yet goes on.

I look to the Heavens
and see a shooting star.
I feel certain
that Angels live there -
among the clouds.

I turn to tell you
but you are not by my side.
A void.
Filled with only the faint
recollections of you.
There merest image.

Disappears it does.
As the star
that was so brilliant
with fire only moments before.

In the night
you have reached into
my Dreams.
Crawled into my soul.
Shared all with me.

Still,
I wake to find
you are not beside me.
Your earthly form escapes me.

How long
does this continue?
Before you show yourself to me?

How will I
know you?
Must I reach back into
my Dreams?
My Heart?
to find the answer?

Or will it come
as lightning?
One great streak
across the sky?

When shall I
be enfolded
in your protective Wings?
When will the Angel
alight upon the Earth
and beckon me out
to fly with Him?
In His journey -
His flight of Eternity

copyright 2006

( for a friend who is hurting - and for whom I wish I could do much more.  sarah )

Dear Mommy,
please don’t cry
I feel that teardrop
in your eye.

My time with you
may be small
but my heart’s love
gives you all.

In your garden
I will not play
but forever
I will stay

With your spirit
with your love
as your secret
cooing dove.

Hold me close
as I hold you
know that we are
ever two.

Never goodbye
never farewell
for in your soul
I’ll always dwell.

copyright 2006

“I am but a lonely hunter; searching true for what is mine. I do not desist in my quest because I cannot. Forward, I am impelled, not by desire but by fate. Not by yearning but instinct. Do you hear me? Does my voice reach the inner chambers of your mind?” Maggie looked up from her paperback and scanned the crowded bus with her eyes. No one looked in her direction or met her gaze, yet she was certain someone had spoken to her.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and exhaled deeply as if it would cool her off. She looked down at her chubby arms and protruding stomache with dismay. “It’s the weight,” she thought to herself. “If I weren’t so damned fat I wouldn’t sweat so much.”

The man next to her gave her a sidelong glance and moved further against the window and away from her.

Had she said the words out loud? Or was he as repulsed by her body as she was?

“I am a lonely hunter,” the voice said again.

She looked around sharply, certain this time someone was playing a cruel joke. As people had done all her life. Speaking when she wasn’t looking. Making derisive comments when they thought she couldn’t hear. But she did hear, all of them, every time they were uttered. But on this bus, there didn’t seem to be the least interest in her from anyone. She craned her neck to see and found herself staring into frosty grey eyes. “What are you looking at?” the teen-aged girl asked.

“I thought you said something to me,” Maggie mumbled.

“Why would I say anything to you? I don’t talk to fat pigs,” the girl snorted, causing the earring in her nose to nearly climb her nostril.

Maggie turned away, red-faced and fighting tears.

The bus driver called out her stop and she rose as gracefully as she could though she knew she looked like a pregnant cow and everyone was looking at the fat lady trying to keep her balance as the bus came to a halting stop.

Sweat popped out on her forehead and under her nose, beneath her blouse she could feel it running down her sides from her armpits.

With as much grace as she could muster, she waddled up the aisle to the exit, smiled briefly at the bus driver and got off the bus.

The sky was bright with afternoon sunshine and though she squinted against the light it raised her morale. She made the two-block walk home slow and easy. She smiled at the little children she passed, as they played and giggled. She stopped at a small flower shop and bought herself a bouquet of flowers. She was tempted to stop and get a quart of her favorite ice cream, but instead bought a big bag of fresh fruit. She told herself she would have a fruit salad for dinner and go for a walk afterward. Though she knew she would probably only go as far as the corner market and get the ice cream anyway.

“You are my fate, my destiny…” the voice resounded in her mind.

She shook her head, chasing the voice from her consciousness. She took out her keys and entered her apartment. It cheered her every time she saw it. She had decorated it herself and it was to her, the most beautiful place on Earth.

She turned on some music, went to the kitchen, took out a bowl, a knife and a cutting board and began to slice up her fruit for her salad.

She hummed along to the music and her heart was light for a moment.

“Maggie, do not reject me,” the voice whispered in her ear.

She startled on the sound, causing the apple she was slicing to slide off the cutting board onto the floor. She turned and saw she was alone.

“It must be the heat,” she told herself. “I need a shower. I’m hot and tired.”

She put her salad in the refrigerator to chill and went into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stepped under the cool water. She closed her eyes and imagined herself, slim and beautiful, being washed slowly and sensually by her lover. His golden skin against hers, his hands caressing her with water and lather. She could smell him, feel his breath against her neck, his erection against her buttocks, she nearly swooned from the magic of the moment.

The water became suddenly cold, her eyes popped open and she found herself alone and shivering. She stepped carefully out of the shower, she was shaking so she was afraid she would slip and fall.

She towelled off, her back to the mirror, ashamed of her body of lax flesh and cellulite. “You are so beautiful,” the voice was like liquor reaching into her nervous system and soothing her. She pretended not to hear him, not feel his presence. She told herself it was the depression speaking, that she must get her mood elevator prescription renewed.

“Open your eyes,” the voice was right behind her, the breath warm and sweet. “Look into the mirror,” he coaxed her.

She gave in and turned, afraid but determined. She would look into the mirror, eyes opened wide and defy her ghosts. She stood upright, threw back her shoulders and dared the reflection to make her afraid. A gasp escaped her lips when she took in the reflection that looked back. She was thin, beautiful, sensual; she saw herself as she really was, inside.

But most shocking was that she was not alone; the man of her fantasies stood behind her, glorious in his nakedness. He smiled at her.

“Who are you?” she stammered.

“I am yours,” he responded his breath so near it seemed to come out of her.

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m imagining this. You aren’t real.”

“Then turn around, Maggie, and see that I am real,” he had a hypnotic effect on her.

She obeyed his command without thinking. He told the truth, he was still there, not just a reflection of the mirror or her mind. She reached out her hand and it met with flesh, young and sinewy, warm and carnal. “I can feel you,” she whimpered.

“And I can feel you,” he caressed her cheek. “We are not lost any more, we are found, we are, as we should be, one.”

She fell into his embrace and wept. “I have waited so long for you to come back,” she whispered. “Where have you been? Why have you waited so long to return to me?”

He did not speak. His lips sought hers, his fingertips caressed her back, found their way to her buttocks and thighs. You could think of nothing but giving herself over to his passion and control. “Yes,” she murmured as his lips moved down her body, and brought her to ecstacy. Better than her dreams, her fantasies, he answered her.

***

“All done here,” the M.E. said to the EMT.

The EMT nodded and zipped up the body bag. He paused and looked back to the M.E. “Hey Doc, what do you think killed her?”

The M.E. shrugged. “Heart attack?”

“But she died with a smile on her face.”

The M.E. scratched at his stubble. “Maybe she was so happy it stopped her heart.”

copyright 2006

If I were an Angel
and you were a King
Would you love me more…
would it mean anything?

Would you bow down
before me
or would I bow to you?
Would you dare approach
What would you do?

Would I be treasured
or would I be shunned?
Would we be two
or separate ones?

Would I be beautiful
a sight to the eyes
or would you mistrust me
and accuse disguise?

If I were an Angel
and you were a King
would you love me then
would it mean anything?

But I’m not an Angel
and you’re not a King
November is still winter
and May is still spring

copyright 2006