Untitled Poem (mama I got half a ping pong ball)

Mama, I got half a ping pong ball on my forehead

—don’t you try to touch it—

Can we put half a baseball over top of it instead?

At least until it’s half a walnut?

 

Gosh it’ll be really nice when it’s half a pea--

Can you imagine that?

What a relief that will be!

And then someday finally

It’ll be half of nothing

At least a girl can dream

 

Only reason I have half a chance

Is cause I blocked her out

So she can’t ask me one more question

Or give me one more half answer

She can’t promise me something

And then leave out the half

Where she follows through

She can’t do the first half of my

Carefully crafted empathy exercise

About her point of view

And skip the second half that was supposed to be about mine

She can’t claim to be trying

Haha I don’t have to hear one more excuse

Not one more

Not another half ounce of fluid

Into the lump on my forehead

I’m surprised it’s not half a grapefruit by now

I’m surprised I didn’t birth a new planet

From how fast my head was spinning

And it could just float away

Find somewhere to orbit

Or somewhere safe to explode

It makes me laugh now

That she’s shut out

I think this grapefruit

Caught in a mouse trap

Might actually heal

This overused and abused human tool

Can clankity clank its way to the floor

The ball bearings can finally cool

And my mushy mind can reconstitute from the ooze

God what a feeling

Right after the beating

When the throbbing sets in

Microscopic soldiers marching

And you feel everything

But yeah, bodies heal and my mind can too

And there’s nothing like knowing

That she won’t ask me one more single

Solitary

Bad-faith question

Or ask me to believe one more single

Solitary

Empty promise

 

Go on and march in

I slept for 12 hours last night

And I’ll sleep for 12 hours more

March in and heal me up

Because I’m safe now

It’s worth it this time

I’ll never talk to her again

So heal me up

Do the best you can

It’s so quiet I can hear my nose whistle

When I breathe in

I’ll never let her hurt me again

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Centipede

I saw a centipede in the shower this morning. At first I thought it was a clump of hair, but it quivered and twitched. I thought about leaving it there and showing it up to my meetings with greasy hair. But then where would it go? Would it dry up and climb out to haunt me in my sleep? Would I be able to shower later, realistically? Sherwin's father came downstairs to take care of it for me. He smiled weakly, tissue in hand, as I showed him the way. Bent down and got it as I clasped my hands over my mouth, half-embarrassed and half-thrilled. The way that fear can be thrilling. He stepped back into the kitchen and examined it. “Old house,” he said, smiling. I smiled back and nodded my head in reassurance. “Yes it’s an old house. Thank you so much, it just freaks me out. I really appreciate it.” He was so kind that later I wondered if the centipede had showed up so that I could experience someone helping me. I’d only seen him downstairs once before to mop the floors. He’d turned the c...
Read more

I Dream of Hospice

Last night I dreamt about dying. This long drawn out process that never actually completed. Days of weeks of it. During an upswing, I ordered some Indian food from a counter. The owner–a man I’ve met a few times in New York City–said I had beautiful eyes and presented a selection of t-shirts, asking if I wanted to buy one. I told him, “no, I’m dying.” Then added, “do you have a smaller size?” He said they did not. I’d have drowned in the soft cotton of one of those shirts. It would have draped to my knees. Didn’t matter if it was red, or pink, or blue.. “No thank you, then,” I said. And took my food. I laid in bed on hospice, dying of old-age related somethings at 37. At one point I remember looking in the mirror under a dim light. I saw the wrinkles in my forehead and felt my stomach sink, but then I relaxed my worried face and they went away. Mostly, anyway.. but for faint lines that never used to be there. Faint lines that I could barely see under the dim light reflected in the clou...
Read more

Home

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. An involuntary movement against the pain of the truth I cannot endure. Give me any excuse. My mind desperately searches. My arms shoot up from under the sheets, hands opening my laptop to write a few sentences that had occurred to me. Then just as quickly I shut it again and bring my arms back into the warmth against my body. My eyes dart around the room, looking for something I recognize. The horror sets in. A month ago, when I left I said, “Yes of course I’ll come home, but in a way, I can never come home.” It’s happened. My God, it’s happened. Tears well in my eyes, and I sit up fully now. Committed to the writing. I’ve gotten my nugget. My head droops, my jaw hangs, my shoulders slump. I haven’t come home. In my desperation for relief, I came home to the fantasy of coming home. And after a day or two, the dust is settling and I see that I have no home. I had a home, and I left it. You know, the story is complicated. I try not to paint myse...
Read more