Thomas Gainsborough's Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Mrs. Richard

Such love, such hateful love.

The hate that comes when love mustn’t be.

She is not mine, nor ever will be,

Belonging forever to another man.

Her gentle figure held by night,

But not by he who cares as I,

By one who thrives on hateful love.

And yet I have her still.

Her grace lies in the hanging branches,

Her glorious eyes shine from the heavens,

For natures beauty and she,

Are one and the same to me.

Her rosy cheeks are what they say,

The bright little flowers grown.

She gazes at me with wistful visage,

Her coils of soft hair whisp with wind,

And a singe tear, might I see,

Drip from her lovely lash.

For hateful love is hers,

Such love is hers, but not alone.

DENTIST
Open up, try not to speak.
You don't need to cuz I can see it all.
Your teeth and mouth can tell me
Much more than just what you ate,
The details of your love life,
Where you vacationed last month,
Your mouth says it all, so please,
Don't speak.

(Text Message Poem)

Variable

            When rain fell she would cry. All her carefully bottled and labeled frustrations would leave their jars and fill her eyes with emotions she didn’t understand. She would sit in her car and listen and sob, creating a simple song of sorrow. She never knew why the rain did this to her. Perhaps it was her close tie to the heavens. She had always looked, acted and generally been angelic; it was not surprising that when heaven cried, so did she.

            The drought came through once, and she disappeared.

            My heart broke unevenly, and I felt lopsided without her. I ate both scoops of ice cream and only listened to jazz. I glared and swore and took apart my jeep. I stood in the sprinklers for hours.

            Three months later, there was a rainbow.

My Hope

Scaling the trees like we had done as children seemed all wrong in this situation. It used to be pleasure that drove us up the rough bark; now we climbed out of fear.

The shadowy men were a ways behind, but that didn't make it any less frightening, never before had my life been at stake.

"James?" Shayna whispered down through the leaves, "What are we going to do now?"

"Wait. Watch. Survive." I replied, praying my voice was strong enough to believe in.

"Do you think anyone else is out there?"

"I have no idea." without intention, my mind conjured up the horrific picture I had seen as Shayna and I were returning from our tour of the countryside. By some miracle, the two of us had slipped out of the grasp of these monstrous men that as far as I knew, had destroyed the entire country. 

I looked up to reassure myself that Shayna was still there. Things had been so unreal today, none of this had been predicted, there was no warning or way to prepare. 

Shayna had never looked so scared, or beautiful for that matter. Her dark complexion and brown themed clothes made her look like simply another strong branch extending to the sun. She looked so young and scared, like a child fairy caught in a butterfly net. She searched my eyes for comfort and faith, and I hoped there was something to give, but I knew there probably wasn't. Shayna bravely smiled and turned away. There was something between us that told me crying would break our hold on life. The tears that were draped behind our eyes must dissipate or all would be lost.

Up in that tree we would wait, watch, and survive for at least this moment.

The Wind-Knocker

Jonny was a plain boy. He wore trousers like all the other boys. His hair was somewhere between sandy and the color of dirty dishwater. His eyes were a brownish hazel and he had a few freckles, but not enough to stand out. He wasn't the tallest, but he wasn't the shortest. He wasn't the fastest, or the funniest, or the loudest, but he wasn't slow or boorish or quiet. Jonny was just Jonny.

Marie was pure golden sunshine. She had the blondest hair and the greenest eyes. She was the most athletic and had not a single freckle. Her smile was the whitest and her clothes were the cutest. Her curls were the most bouncy and she was as clever as a kitten.

Jonny woke up feeling as he did every other day, walked to school and sat down in his chair that wasn't quite in the front and not really in the back either. 

Marie woke up in splendor and flounced to school to sit in her seat on the very front row. Then "Hello!"

And Jonny wasn't just Jonny anymore, he was the boy Marie spoke to. Jonny donned a halo as the school master marched in and began lessons. 

Jonny felt exceptional all day, and was confident enough to tell a new joke, everyone laughed and Jonny took a step higher. Jonny ran the fastest and aced the exam, he flew home and polished his newfound halo in the mirror, carefully laying it on his bed stand as he drifted off to dream about the girl that had changed his world.

Jonny woke up feeling especially special and skipped to school humming a cheery tune and took his place in the very center of the room. Marie swept in and this time "Hello!"

Jonny watched her eyes sweep past him and onto Sam. Jonny fell crushed as the schoolmaster marched in and began lessons.

A few people laughed at his joke, and Jonny dropped an unnoticeable step. He ran average speed and got a B- on his exam. Jonny walked home and realized he'd lost his precious halo sometime along the journey back. Now Jonny was just Jonny.

A Canvas Door

Swish swish. The wet white paint embraced the wood fibers of the door. The little girl with honey hair bit her lip as her father's hand gently led hers in swift motions across the oak.

"Now make sure you spread the paint evenly, that way it will dry nicely and be very smooth."

The girl said nothing, just carefully continued the strokes while her father coached and praised. He tenderly let her small fist go free, and she readjusted to compensate the loss of weight.

"You are such a big helper! Now your door will look like it's brand new!"

Still the small girl said nothing, but gave a small smile in token that she had heard him. In her mind she was preparing a canvas. She'd watched her older sister plastering an old canvas with a new white covering in order to start over fresh and new. She understood that the door to her room would be able to tell stories one day. Each slam of anger, each click of protest, each twisted knob would create a painting of her life as she shut things out and welcomed others in. The door would protect her and betray her, it signified beginnings and endings and everything in between.

"There! All done! Now remember, you don't color on the door!"

Perhaps not in crayon, she thought, but her heart would never stop painting stories over that bright new canvas.

Intruder

So this was the end. I had so much potential, but here I was about to die. I just knew it was going to be tonight. The scratching was basically in my room. 

The headlines would read "Two girls found murdered in their bed." And would go on to describe how tragic it was for the family. Mom and Dad would finally know we weren't imagining the noises from the chimney, and find out that the man had slowly scraped his way into the house, right under their noses. How he knew to stop his noise-making as soon as they were near, I would never know. 

I would never know a lot of things. 

I can die, I'm not scared. I feel my adrenaline slow down a small fraction. In fact, I'm rather excited to die! I wonder if they'll read and publish my journals. I bet boys will profess their love for me right over my casket. Dying will simply be an adventure. I can watch from the other side as they mourn and realize how much they miss me. It's like that song about dying young, it's sure to be romantic and full of bittersweetness. I always hated the idea of growing up, so this was simply a problem solver that I'd appreciate for preventing me from all that adult-ish stress that seems to consume people. So really, I don't mind dying tonight.

It is so loud now, he'll come bursting through any moment. I grab my sister's hand with panic, any quelling of adrenaline after my long self pep-talk is gone. I can't breathe.

"I know what it is!" Kate's whisper reaches through the darkness to pull on my sensitive ears. "It's just Deric making a tunnel through the chimney to connect our rooms! That way, when it's Christmas or we want to stay up late without Mom and Dad knowing, we can just hide in the tunnel! Don't be afraid, he's gonna bust through the wall and we'll have a good laugh!"

I feel her encouraging smile and confidence. What a silly story, she waits for me to decide. "Oh yeah! That's it. And that way he can get to the kitchen faster! It all makes sense now!" I play along. 

Now it's all giggles and hand squeezes and the sleep will come before he does.

A Pondering of Storm

Calm and sweet, her wet hair dripped onto her home-sewn dress. The night was chilled and the sun had been down for a time. The slight valley below shimmered with lights, but she didn't see it. She was looking farther, deeper. Her heart was a mystery to herself. She inquired of the Father who created her, the Omnipotent being that knew her. The lightning stood stark against the night clouds, while perfectly safe on the hill, she observed. She imagined the unheard cracks and rumbles to match the view. Surrounded by the dead, she felt alive. Her grandparents so close and silent. Then she knew, she understood. While others saw a girl in the graveyard, she felt a woman with a purpose.

Ode to My Hair

Manipulated through life, pulled this way and that. Like some angelic cloud it settles. Golden honey, dripping down the spine. Filled with passion and energy, waves tossed over a mountain. A cascading shower of fine-grained sand. Slippery, delicate strings of straw. Wind catches and wings spread. Soaring goes the free gold phoenix, before melting back to its nest. A shape shifting mass of amber vines pushed to and fro by sleek brown crocodiles and cobras. Possibilities rove the surface of the skull, to create a whole new soul.