Essentially (un) Explained
I used to dig my fingers in the dirt and pull out onions -
scrape the layer clean with cold water and bite down,
happy with flavor on my tongue - I'd dig for clams
on the seashore and float on the serf in my Captain
Hook raft and use a piece of driftwood against the
waves so I didn't go out too far. I remember holding
onto the side of a boat, with my father laughing at my
fright while we navigated the Cedar River. I always
loved the ocean but rivers and lakes seem unnatural
to me. I found a pocket knife buried in the heavy sand
once; red leather sheath and cold silver - I hid it away
and kept it on me in case of emergencies - I remember
sitting at a table (the curves of my youth just learning
how to straighten themselves properly) and listening to
a boy talk about the angles of my face, and how the high
cheek bones and long lips would change me, as though
my future were decided not by fate but my fear of waiting.
I became a thirteen-year-old runaway; she-thing who couldn't
take it. I would have left and never come back had Ritchey
not found me, had he not kissed me with his Marijuana flavored
lips in the woods, had I not learned that the roar of my femininity
was a weapon that I could weld with just as much damage
as the pocket knife that fate had buried long ago for me to find.
I have a strong sense for the end - listened to death rattles,
woken up to bad news, cried at the sight of his blue lips
when they said he would never move again.
They tell me that to hate others, is really to hate yourself, but
my bitterness at the chains tattooed onto me kept me breathing
for as long as I have. I don't call my father Dad anymore!
I hate the boy who put his hand over my mouth and threatened
me with silence (the last, and only other time that I was hushed!)
I hate the place I grew up in because it only recognizes the person
that I used to be, rather then who I have become!
I hate war (the thick masculinity and dollar signs that fuel it)
I really hate it when you tell me to be quiet.Regret is just another
form of silence, and I regret that underneath it all I don't regret
anything. I remember the blue dress torn, the purple ring shining.
Your hands in my hair, my tongue smoothing across your lips
(my own blade burning) I remember the front end of my car
slamming into me during the car crash, I remember the weightless
heaven that kissed me like a hellish hunger. Black on black - blister
the insight that I give you - don't be like me unless you fear it -
become - decrease - distinguish - diverge - freak out,
because the reality is that I missed so much while in the
pursuit of things (un) experienced. Bars on my window -
bars on my body - scowl at the idea of things icy and vindictive -
gratitude for how you shifted me - or maybe how I shifted myself -
miserylike a storm, to topple myself and remain (Fetal) and shiver.
There was never a middle to ground me; just the beginning bathed
in the burning bright burden of an accident that grew in my mothers
womb (name her for her beauty, because we wanted her so much).
I'll I have now is the end; essentially (un) explained.