Time Warp

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again.
Do you remember last Halloween?
We were set to go, all geared up
to experience the raunchy hilarity
Firsthand.

Then I said no.
And you were angry.
We said some things,
Then some worse things,
And then you hugged me.

I didn't hug back.
So instead you stabbed.
You stabbed and you stabbed
And you stabbed, and for a while
I bled, until
Life brought along
Bandaids
And I forgot about the scabs.

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again, and
I can't help but wonder
If you'll take someone else.

The Tube

BeepBeepBeep. Bzzzzzzz. THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

It’s like the diagnosis has already been given: boom, you’re dead, meet your new coffin. Couldn’t afford a nice pine, so we had this plastic one rigged up especially for you, with all the bells and whistles (literally).  Thought you knew heaven? Well this ain’t hell, baby, but you’ll be hearing these sirens (Ma, it’s a twister!) and heavy bass thump-thumps for all eternity so hang on tight.

The worst part is, they give you headphones to put on your head, with filtered in radio, so all the while it sounds like Armageddon out there, in here it’s Eagles and Cher and horses with no names. That kind of music sort of loses something when you get a headache from all the high-pitched screaming that all but completely drowns out the Beach Boys (not that that’s a bad thing).  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Tumor. It’s the word thought but never spoken. You try to think of anything else, of your upcoming seventeenth birthday, and the cake (Rango this year, last three cakes were Spiderman), but you can’t, because there’s a stupid little voice in your head whispering “Tumor. Cancer. You’re dead.” It doesn’t matter that your mom’s out there (she thought it might be MS) holding the tips of your fingers as tight as she can, because that’s all she can reach. It doesn’t matter if you got to hear a reassuring voice on the phone just a few days before telling you it was gonna be okay, that they’re praying for you. That they love you. It doesn’t matter, because you’re scared out of your mind that the little voice is right.

You cry as soon as the nurse says Needle. It’s not just a shot, it WON’T be over in a second, because this one STAYS in your arm, held in place by a piece of plastic which, by the way, eventually slips into your vein and dissolves. But only after they pump blue dye into you so they can see if there’s something in your brain that shouldn’t be there. After that, not only are you laying there thinking, “Oh my God, she’s sticking me and I can’t MOVE!” (can’t fight), now there’s the realization that somewhere inside of your vibrating, aching, screaming head, your brain is turning blue.

 And now you can feel it: the needle, the plastic tube in your arm, the nurse tying the tourniquet (ouch) so they can find the right vein, and her fingers pushing hard on the crook of your elbow. You can’t move away this time, you can’t fight the injection. Can’t move anywhere, ‘cause there’s thick hospital plastic one inch to your right, to your left, maybe six inches above your nose, and the plastic sheeting under you is vibrating, stirring the blood.

Then it starts again. Bzzzzzzzz. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Some of it sounds like the old dialup Internet, the mechanical hee-hawing and computer purring AOL used to make you wait through before you could find out if you had any mail. But it’s louder, it’s like you’re INSIDE of the computer, and the modem is hooked up to your head. Every once in a while, they ask you how you’re doin’.

“Well doc, I’m half-blind, strapped to a table, shoved in a tube, I got a freakin’ HUGE needle stuck in me, my face is all sticky ‘cause I haven’t stopped crying yet, and this is the third Frankie Valli song I’ve heard since I’ve gotten here. So tell me, is it cancer?”

********

               

Distant

Wait
Just one minute
Slow down
And take a breath.

This can't move any way
But fast
Too fast
And we need just a minute
To think.

I don't know
What you're playing at
I don't know
What this means
But I could use a bit more time
To think about
Why we're here.

It's not like
I can't live
Without you, and I
Realize that now and must
Take a break
From all that.

Keep your distance,
Stay away,
And don't
Look at me
That way.

I've put away your picture
I've put away our souvenirs
I can't clear you from my head
Or erase your sweet laugh from my ears, but
I can live
Just fine
Without you,
At least
For now.

Just a Thought

I had the pleasure last night to be in the company of some of my favorite people in the world. There were my parents of course, my best friend, her mom, and a family of beautiful souls that I've known for almost two years (come this November). I won't name them, for the sake of privacy, but I will say this: it is still extraordinary to me every time we meet just how kind, enthusiastic, and generous these people are. They have every right to be cool, distant, and haughty, boastful of the talent contained in their one family. But they're not. They treat everybody like family, and pay special attention to the people that they feel need a little extra love in their lives. I'm friends with not only the son, but the father, mother, at least one sister, and even their 'bodyguard' and his wife. We share a love of music, of a specific love for Elvis, and the need and capacity for laughter. I've seen Joseph perform the songs of Elvis more than ten times now, and I am still blown away every time. I've watched him grow in his talent for and his love of the legacy that is Elvis, and I'm proud of him, proud as if he was a part of my own family. But I suppose in a way, that's how it's gotten to be. Some of my best memories of the past year have been eating, talking, singing, and laughing with him and his family, and getting a glimpse of the young man behind all the hoopla and spiffy costumes. My favorite thing about these people is how real they are. I love the fact that I've eaten ice cream with Joseph's parents, that I've made Joseph himself so happy he's speechless (which is NOT an easy thing to do), and I love the fact that he found me special enough to sing my favorite Elvis song right to me, when there were so many other people in the room vying for his attention. Kiss after kiss, hug after hug, song after song, this family remains near and dear in my heart, and it'll be a blessing to see them again after so long.

Woods

If there were woods

To be found nearby,

I suppose I could walk

Through them, daring

To live deliberately.

Or I could always

Run there with my

Favorite yellow bear

And his timid pink friend.

Perhaps I’d roam them

Blind, wearing a bright

Yellow cloak to ward off

Those We Do Not Speak Of,

Stumbling, determined to reach

That mysterious place beyond.

Or worse, I’d run for my life,

A dark hooded figure at my back,

Wide mouth dripping unicorn blood,

Thirsty for my redeeming flesh,

And hope the centaurs

Or maybe Hagrid

Were close enough to save me.

Wherever the wood, however tall the trees,

I would do none of these things, for I am not

A character in another’s quiet masterpiece.

I might sit with a book

Or a pen and paper

And write

An adventure

Of my own.

What Can I Do

Oh I wish I was

Wish, yes, wish you knew!

In the land of cotton

C’mon, c’mon, oh, you can DO it!

Old times they are not forgotten

Pssh, you can say that again, buddy!

Look away, look away, look away

Don’t think I can.

Dixieland

What can I do? Is there anything?

He says you get nervous, you get

Self-conscious

When the time comes.

I understand that.

Maybe not in the same way, but

I’ve felt that way too.

But why you?

When what you have is so

Incredible,

You shouldn’t be afraid to

Show the world all that

You can do.

And you can do it. You have,

And you will again.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be there

When it happens.

All my trials, lord

Soon be over…..

The moment comes, the flute rises,

And you stand with your head

Bowed low, your hands crossed,

Your expression so solemn.

What are you thinking about?

What goes on in that head of yours

In that moment?

And then.

Your eyes glow bright

In the light

Your jaw is set, your soul determined

I’m praying now, you understand, praying

That this time you’ll

Do it

Go for it! Try! Shine!

Glory glory, hallelujah

His truth is marching on

Yes! Now! Go!

You want it, I can see that, FEEL it!

His truth is…..marching….

A deep breath shared by two souls

On.

Nope. Not this time.

What can I do

To help you

Believe in yourself

As much

As I do?

Enough

I believe
That you can never have
Too much
Of a good thing.

You can have too
Little
Of a good thing, or
Too
MUCH
Of a bad thing, but
Never
Too much
Of the good.

Contrarywise, I have had
Enough
Of a good thing, just
Enough
To get me by for awhile.
Simply
Enough
For now.