Archive for March, 2011

The Cost of Nevermind

 

The Cost of Nevermind

  1. Camel Lights, one pack per day
  2. lighters
  3. cabinet door with head-shaped dent
  4. Band-Aids
  5. 12 years
  6. gas to get away
  7. 409 all-purpose cleaner
  8. Valium, not prescribed
  9. gas to come back, tail between legs
  10. cell phone over-usage minutes
  11. police officer’s hourly wages
  12. hair cut, to make him happy
  13. eye shadow
  14. birth control, to make him happy
  15. Kleenex
  16. an afternoon to move cabinet with head-shaped dent outside
  17. loose-fitting pajamas to wear when he is not around
  18. headphones to wear when he is around
  19. Neosporin
  20. 1 copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, mailed and never opened
  21. pawned wedding rings for monetary, not emotional purposes
  22. 12 years’ effort feigning happiness
  23. scarf to cover finger-shaped bruises
  24. advocate volunteer hours
  25. dead skin cells flaking from finger-shaped bruises
  26. trash bags
  27. hair dye, to make him happy
  28. wash, rinse, repeat
  29. 3 closed negative bank accounts
  30. She finds herself at 30, hoping there is nothing else to lose
  31. another year
  32. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

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Kathy

Listening to the song “Kathy” by Po’Girl brought this out of me:

I remember, do you remember when the snow felt soft? When leaves were not lush, crackly, or billowing, but simply leaves. With their purpose of dressing and undressing trees. I remember his black and white striped shirt stretched tight over his tight body. He was making us laugh. Do you remember the leaves poking over his head? Over the rooftops with leaves dressing trees and reaching toward a different kind of light.

I remember, do you remember singing in the early morning with fast fingers punching text messages? Making surprise stops with slices of home-made bread. Your skin pressed in coffee, the earned tips covering the cost of our rental car.

I remember, do you remember the snores in the dry sauna? The rain on our weekend away, together. We stayed an extra day and sat across a table top, coffee between us, exchanging paragraphs of questions written in sacred journals.

I remember, do you remember our knuckles barely touching? Getting stoned in cemeteries, and not knowing how to spell cemeteries. The four Vespas lined up on the sidewalk. All periwinkle. All showing us summer had descended.

I remember, do you remember when we used to be?

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