New Spring (glimpse of a short story in progress)

It is come. She has been asleep so long that she cannot rightfully orient herself with the day or time, but is finally pulled up by her instincts and maybe something more. She is a bear, waking from long hibernation. Limbs are stiff; she stretches. She notices that her hair has grown quite long and pulls it up on the top of her head and ties it into a temporary knot. The strong smell of new buds entices her out into the garden. Falling on her knees, she draws in the Spring air, still crisp with moisture, and laughs quietly. After running her fingers over the dew soaked grasses, she forcefully pierces the sacred ground with her bare hand and retrieves a fistful of the mythical soil. As it slips loosely through her open fingers, a single golden larva catches the morning light. She takes it gently between her teeth and bends her neck far back, delivering the worm to the sky and waits for the phoenix to accept it. This is her offering.

Ghost

Looming universe and by chance find
Likely coincidence, two souls in need
There was no beginning; we were simply in the fire
As if a trance took me through
How sultry and shocked and stirred I emerged
You, cool in the moment
Lured me to play outside my limits
This made me love you and trust you effortlessly
Untouched, I have been warmer with you
Restrained, I am open
Light-headed, I consider my circumstance
And consequence
I can only imagine the smell of your neck, cradling my face
Your breath on my ear
In my mind we dance and I sing to you softly
My voice mostly air on your shoulder, burning your collar
Lyrics I have known and new words for these seconds
New language born in melody and passion and pounding measure
I imagine a powerful draw between us… among other aching things
Our bodies moving together in rhythm, twisting and leaning
Hands free to explore and give touch
We write it all out and stretch ourselves out in it; bathe in it
Experience
I know you take pleasure in me, though I am only a
Ghost in your mind; a dream that fades
And I do not agree to this
I am here, drunk with sensation, knowing
You will never take me in with your eyes
Taste my tears on your tongue
Still, they are no less true
Unfinished longing and curious acts of affections left
Hanging in a empty room
A corporeal touch ever only a notion
These things I acknowledge
Yet in early hours of the morning, when we hide
In the arms of other lovers
I am here alive, mouthing airy words, half asleep
Burning the dark
Lyrics I have known and new words for these seconds

Unfinished

Almost
He speaks lyrics. She takes code
Raw skin begs experience. Invokes a girl she was
New breath, thrive. Fine and frozen out of mind
Sweet somethings and secrets. Unrelated realities ignite.
Unwhispered deceit is no less a lie; recoil
Unseen, she recalls courage. Chill hope for warmth
Need to let forth; give
Opens and melts for him. They give and pull and give…

Clocks tick and silence

He is changed… distant. Comprehends fear
Pallid cries, borrowed words
Heavy space and slow motion killer; wavering
Actual blows would sting her less
Throatily, vibration formed words; ought
Glimpses and failed attempts exhaust his intent
Separation occurs. Reason returns wounded
There was always distance, though the importance different

Abruptly, he appears content

She questions her sanity, the weight of her thoughts
Resents his stability
Invisible from one another, they go
In tribes along cold rivers; stagger
Scars resemble autumn, colorful and temporary; salient
As great songs exist for singing, almost-love stories write themselves short
Render an empty audience. The pen but a hostage
As also a heart

I loved watching the salmon run in North Seattle. Amazing.

NYTimes Issues Half-arse Apology

Response letter from change.org:

Dear Jennifer,

Big news! After a massive outcry from more than 40,000 Change.org members -- which led to news coverage in the Huffington Post, Village Voice, and even London’s Daily Mail -- New York Times public editor Arthur S. Brisbane has issued a strong rebuke of the victim-blaming in a recent article by reporter James McKinley about the gang-rape of an 11-year-old girl and her community's response.

Brisbane wrote said that the outrage was "understandable" and that the piece conveyed "an impression of concern for the perpetrators and an impression of a provocative victim" that "led many readers to interpret the subtext of the story to be: she had it coming."

The apology isn’t perfect -- it decries the lack of "balance," as if the paper should be providing equal voice to the concerns of the victims and her alleged attackers. And unfortunately, while the story ran in section "A" of the Times, Brisbane’s commentary showed up only online, not in his weekly column.

But because the Times is so high-profile, this condemnation still sends an important message to reporters all around the U.S. that readers will hold them accountable for insinuating that victims are somehow responsible for playing a role in their own sexual assaults. And you made this happen.

We have much more to do together as we fight for the rights and security of women everywhere, but we’re proving we can make real progress. If there’s a campaign you’d like to start, click here to create your own petition:

http://www.change.org/start-a-petition?alert_id=IWSUxNFEGk_ASyPcpxGbg&me=aa

Thanks for taking action,

Shelby and the Change.org team

Deep Canyons

I swallowed my worries in syrupy spoonfuls

Serving no purpose, I gave them power

Baffled, I punished my thoughts…

…until they were raised and red

I breathed and waited for a sign from the godless sky

You were dissolving in the water

Shame runs fast in deep canyons

You sacrificed me; risked my last bits of peace

I watched you decide…

…my pain was a fine trade for borrowed time

I breathed and waited for a sign from the godless sky

Moved on

Dragged my broken armor behind me…

…it is my hope

I am a ghost waved away like smoke

I am a ghost that you haunt from time to time

I breathed and waited for a sign from the godless sky

A quiet passage opened and I moved on

I have embraced the silence…

…despite the blisters and the blindness

This hope is deep

I have still a long way to go

Margaret

Dear my public-diary:

Last August when school started, I set my phone alarm to the ungodly hour of 5:30am as I am not a morning person and need to be yanked out of REM well before being gently coaxed from my bed. This gave me enough time to have a cup of coffee before helping the banshees get ready for school and make the bus each morning. A few months ago we were running late and I decided to drive the girls to school instead of frantically panicking trying to run out in the dark, forgetting things that get forgotten under such circumstances and setting an all around wrong mood in which to start the day. Since the school is just five minutes away, we didn’t need to leave until 7:30am, which gave us about 40 extra minutes in the morning and lowered the stress level for the entire lot of us. Of course, from that day forward I have been driving the kids to school and enjoying the less stressful mornings and sleeping just a little longer than I was before.

Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, I have been unable to change the alarm on my phone, which I have since named Margaret (the alarm, not the phone – who would name a phone?). Margaret was set on a ring/vibrate mode that was utterly obnoxious and served the purpose of waking me with a jolt of fear, lasting just long enough to find the STOP button and for Husband to grunt and sigh many times before his alarm was set to go off 30 minutes later at 6am (this is the time that we should be waking up now that we are car-riders). Each day we go through this shocking awakening at 5:30, me feeling around desperately for my phone then trying to focus my eyes enough to turn Margaret off and finally, both Husband and me yanking the blankets back up over our heads to capture a few more precious moments of sleep.

This is a good time for me to mention that Husband despises Margaret. In fact, he hates her so much he refuses to acknowledge her by name. Can you imagine?

At this point, you must be wondering (like Husband) why I have not made a greater effort to silence Margaret, or change her settings to wake me at a later time, to just find my phone manual and look up the steps necessary to do the job. The truth is that I feel that Margaret has become a part of our lives. I could never just silence her completely without feeling that something is missing - and who am I to change her? Would it even still be Margaret? I just don’t think I can do that to her. I know I know it is a real pain in the head to be punched out of a sweet dream by her incessant screeching-buzzing, or worse, to hear such noises inside my dreams and be shaken awake by Husband telling me to kill that racket. But Margaret has made a place in this world. She knows just who she is and what she is here for. That’s more than most can say and I respect that about her. Margaret is so stable and so reliable with her Monday through Friday duties – she even wakes us when my phone is powered off, if you can believe that. I admit I am a little inspired by Margaret. She sets a good example for me in her little energizer-bunny-sort of way. I want that.

Another sweet thing about Margaret is that she never asks for anything in return. Her love is unconditional and consistent. Something we could all take a lesson in from time to time. Come to mention it, I’d bet that Margaret would be willing to teach others how it’s done. Of course you’d have to sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed, next to Pup-pup in order to get a good view of Margaret’s magic. If you’re awake to see her go off, you can almost see the pride in which she does her job. The brightness of her flashing screen and the intensity with which she pulsates nearly moves her off of the nightstand. It is a truly magnificent talent.

So now you must understand my reasons for leaving Margaret just as she is; my little dancing, singing, slap-in-my-morning-face. How rarely we encounter such amazing characters in life. I am blessed.

O, Margaret, I love you! Don’t ever change!