A picture of me and my sister in early 2012, about 6 weeks before she died.
Some days are about longing.
There is a door, so I submit this to Norm2.0 Thursday Doors.
We are writing a quest where we ask different people to write more about a topic. The requests are anonymous and some are for existing titles that have no write ups. This topic was given to another person and then I was asked to write about it as well. My sister was an editor on the everything2 website. She was born in the year of the dragon. She died of cancer in 2012.
the mystic E2 dragon
“They want me to write about the mystic E2 dragon.”
“So I think of you.”
Silence… a weight. “So it’s me?”
“No, but you are a dragon, born in the Year of the Dragon.”
“Like we’re Chinese.”
“And you are an ox.”
“Thanks.” I wait. “Come on, show up.”
The dragon is made of a coat hanger, a rough gold cloth and black felt hand sewn to the body, thin gold cloth on the wings, gold earrings with rubies for eyes. Probably fake rubies, I’m not sure. I made it in college, tail to curl around the neck so that it can sit upright on my shoulder when I walk around. A gold fire lizard. I gave it to my sister, who said I could take it back when she lay dying.
The dragon morphs and now fills the living room, pushing on the walls and squashing me. The scales are hard and hot!
“Stop it!” I say, “Don’t destroy the house!”
The dragon is now couch size. My couch groans under it. The dragon is very alive and smoke rises from her nostrils. It manages to look like my sister, like a dragon and like the borg all at once. Metal and wires on the left side of the dragon’s face, eye socket with a metal camera that whirrs.
“Mind the couch.” I say.
She shifts a little, not shrinking. I peel myself off the fireplace, with the ache of the metal insert and the mantel on my back.
“So.” I say, “what should I tell them?”
She narrows her eyes at me and shrugs.
“What do they want to hear?”
“You tell me.”
“Keep the site alive.”
“Yeah, ok.” I wait.
She looks around. “Your dust bunnies are dying of old age.”
“That’s ok.” I say. “They are better than a guard dog.”
She snorts smoke.
“Tea?” I say. I have it made already, on a tray. The tray was painted by one cousin, the tea cloth woven by another, the teapot made by our mother, with my poem on it.
She takes the cup and saucer delicately. Five claws on each forefoot.
“What’s it like?” I say.
Shrug again, as she sips the tea.
“I’m not telling you. And this is your active imagination, so what a stupid question.”
“But I am talking to the unconscious.”
“Yeah, whatever. And anyhow, you’ve already decided, puny human.”
And here a curtains drops, while I thank her and we say goodbye.
Submitted to the Daily Prompt: candid.
I am failing to forgive
I am succeeding in forgiving
The people that I have let go
I have forgiven
I do not plan to see them again
They have hurt me grievously
They have had time and time, years
to contact me and to listen
They choose not to
I let them go
I am tired of being hurt
They have no remorse nor kindness
It is the people that I hold on to
Some hope that they are loving
Some hope that they will listen
Some hope that they won’t believe the stories
They still hurt me grievously
They do not answer and make no move
Listening loving healing
I have to let them all go
And then I can forgive
Beloved, I want to forgive
And there is no reconciliation
When no one will listen
For the Daily Prompt: finally.
My poems start with a problem, an idea, a worry. I never know where it will go when I start. This poem started with wanting to leave in a positive way and started with the title. So how could I leave but leave with kindness? And what would I leave?
So it is a song. And should include sign language, I think….
I shall leave you
I shall leave you with a song
I shall leave you with music
I shall leave you with a picture
I shall leave you with voice upraised
I leave you with a song
I leave you with music
I leave you with a picture
I leave you with voice upraised
I leave you a song
I leave you music
I leave you a picture
I leave you voice upraised
I leave a song
I leave music
I leave a picture
I leave voice upraised
leave a song
leave a picture
leave a voice upraised
a voice upraised
Prayers for people and animals and horses in California.
And everywhere else.
For Wordless Wednesday.