in desperate times

In compensation for our collapsing dignity and self-respect we find ourselves engaged in acts of escalating grandiosity—leaving preposterous tips or paying extravagant compliments—in hopes that someone might find us bearable, but then lashing out if they did, knowing they were wrong and such is life.

What the fuck do you have in it?

 A cough drop, some mint, candy, petty cash, a cigarette, a lighter, hand sanitiser, a toothpick, stamps, fresh wipes and these are only a fraction of what I have in my purse. Why such a big purse you ask, what the fuck do you have in it? Most of the time I don’t answer. Sometimes, I nod my head, I smile, a short laugh “ha ha” a chuckle as if someone just told me a joke. If they were to persist, I’ll show them all that I have, I’ll probably even explain why I need all that stuff on me all the time. But, people don’t usually ask such questions; they think it’s intruding your private space. So, I don’t bother. A casual smile, a short laugh, a chuckle, awkward silence and we move on to the next subject.

  The fact is all that I have in my purse is carefully chosen so I’ll always be prepared. Everything is there so I can be at an advantage at the moment of truth. Actually, that’s not true. I have all of this so I am not disadvantaged at the moment of truth. Because really what kind of advantage will a cough drop or a stamp give you. There is always a store you can hop off your car and get all that is there in my purse. But, think of this…what if the one I utterly adore with all my heart, no, not even that. What if a charming lad whose smile will take my breath away or just a regular looking girl or someone utterly ordinary asks me for a stamp, well…not even ask, what if this person just stood there in front of the red post box biting into their lip, scratching their head on a rainy day with an envelope in their hand wonders if I, standing right next to them knew if the post office will open in an hour or if I knew where they could buy a stamp and then coughs, without a clue that the rain dripping from his hair is dampening the envelope, desperate and edgy looks around and in that moment, that moment of truth you wouldn’t ask me “why such a big purse, what the fuck do you have in it?” instead, you’ll smile and be grateful for the stamp, the cough drop and I’ll deal anything for that smile. That entrancing smile when I offer you that cigarette on a cold rainy eve, the delight in your eyes when you hear your envelop flop down safe in that box. I’ll trade it all. Now, you won’t ask me “what the fuck?” instead you’ll ask “what else do you have in there?” I’ll probably answer without hesitation “everything you’ll ever need”, “my love, everything you’ll ever need”. You’d think am crazy, but I’ll wait for that awkward silence and then laugh… a loud laugh. “am kidding” I say…”I need all of that, you never know”. That comforts you. So, there…I carry all of this for that slight chance, not big, not even probable but it’s a very slight chance at happiness that will come along from strangers or friends. For happiness that I can say “yes” to and welcome it than say ‘sorry, I don’t have a cigarette/toothpick/stamp/coughdrop/candy/lighter/mint” my purse carries a slight chance of saying yes and not sorry. 

Bukowski’s cast a spell on me

 

I walk the corridors of madhouses

 

to the tune of Sibelius symphony

 

I opened the door and there he lay

 

there he lay my love

 

across the legs of a woman in a dirty dress

 

a jug of Zinfandel to his left and he’s just

 

gotten off

 

of

 

5 days of

 

tequila

 

a piano in the centre of

 

the room

 

and

 

a bed

 

to the right

 

a table bearing a typewriter

 

hovers over his head

 

‘when you are not around”

 

he says

 

I’ll set this bed on fire

 

sing the National Anthem

 

he rips the telephone wire out

 

but before he does

 

he telephones

 

Paris

 

Madrid

 

Tokyo

 

intoxicated

 

he tells me stories about

 

how he was a

 

matador

 

a boxer

 

a pimp

 

a friend of Ernie’s

 

a friend of Picasso

 

God

 

Sober now he talks of

 

Insurance policies

 

Decaf latte

 

Broccoli

 

A very green lawn and

 

Garbage cans with tight lids.

 

Bukowski’s cast a spell on me

 

I rip the telephone wire out

 

But before that

 

Bonjour

 

Ola

 

Moshi Moshi

Disintegrate

 

It starts out small 

an anomaly, a mild aberration off the ideal reference 

something you ate, something you didn’t 

maybe it's how much you move or didn’t 

it's the stress you say

you continue, you eat, move and live right to the right you know best 

and then it's a tear, an organ on the verge of failure.

You can still save it, they say

just some pills, dietary changes 

MOVE YOU MUST 

but you don’t, your annoyance with the world has earned you a cake 

your annoyance with your husband has earned you a tub of ice-cream

your defeated children earn you your fried up breakfast 

now its 2 organs on the verge of failure

You can still save it, they say

a few procedures, dietary changes 

MOVE YOU MUST

but you don’t, It's my legs, am too tired, where do I go 

I have no friends 

your insecurities earn you a lazy day in bed, a week even, a month perhaps… let's make that a year 

your fears of the unknown keep you with the familiar

you spend your days with the “Could have been’s” 

too late now, I could’ve found love, I could’ve travelled the world, I could’ve danced

now it’s 3 organs, that’s the charm you know 

the third bell that brings you in

the third rap to sentence your deeds 

the third that won’t save the two 

it’s your mind, medical induced psychiatric disorders 

it’s a dog trying to catch its tail. 

MOVE YOU MUST 

Dear mother, I’ve seen you physically and mentally break a little every day 

Its the graduation I missed nursing your hysterectomy 

It's the marriage I walked into to nurse your ego

it's the job I quit to nurse your non-functioning kidneys and lungs 

it’s a matter of time they say

It’ll all come to an end, be patient, find a healer

learn to let go. 

Dear Mother, MOVE YOU MUST

but you can't. 

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses, went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Mascara

These days I line my lashes with mascara 

ooh, going girly eh? is the usual reaction I get 

Yes, that’s me…I am all girly, I say

why would a well informed, confident woman laden her eye lashes with soot, turpentine and wax?

why didn’t they ask me that?

I know you would and here’s what I have to say…

I cry these days and I don’t know why 

I don’t know where to draw the line 

Mascara helps!

It draws a line across my face and when I taste soot, I know I should breakaway and I fill my fingertips with the soot and draw a line between the person across the table and I. 

It’s simple, isn’t it?

What it means to let you go

 

to let go means to not tear up when you bring up a fond memory of us

to let go means to not distract myself with shopping when I think of us/you 

to let go means to not look at you walk away from the rearview mirror

to let go means to not hope you will look back 

to let go means to be happy for you and whoever you choose to be with 

to let go means to accept what you choose to  tell me and what you  don’t 

to let go means to know our paths may not ever cross 

to let go means to be ok with the above 

to let go means to not look at your peeking boxers and smirk

to let go means to stop trying to make you laugh 

to let go means to know you may not  find me funny

to let go means to know you and I may never hold hands again 

to let go means to know my travel buddy is no longer mine alone or ever will be or ever was

to let go means we may never make a travel memory of “us” again

to let go means to know you may never ask me out  on  a ride ever 

to let go means I can’t ask you out on a drink or a ride either 

to let go means to know that it not always will be what I imagine it to be  living  with you 

to let go means to stop imagining living with you 

to let go means to delete you from my emergency  contact 

to let go means you should delete me from your emergency  contact (I hope not)

to let go means to stop stalking you on social media 

to let go means to stop planning your birthday gifts

to let go means to not bring up your name on a whim and fancy 

to let go means to stop having conversations with you in my head 

to let go means to let go of what I don’t like about  you 

to let go means to forgive you 

to let go means to accept that you have forgiven me

to let go means to accept what I have chosen

to let go means to love you for  who you are and will become 

to let go means to allow the universe to guide our paths