| Where My Heart Is I am from the crisp cool scent of winter on autumn�s breezes. The stench of corned beef and cabbage wafting from the kitchen. I am from chunks of hot dogs hidden at the bottom of the Spaghetti-O bowl and the purifying rains of spring, lovely lilac-scented air. I am from a crumbling puke-colored house hanging on the side of a hill with rusted metal fire escapes. Drunkeness, harsh moments of sobriety. Schizophrenia and depression. I am from twisted twinkling Christmas lights; garish reflection on the Southern Comfort bottle and a creaking tire swing hanging from a frayed rope beneath a shroud of Weeping Willows. I am from three feet of snow in front of the door and two more up the nose. Marlboro cigarettes stolen silently from my aunt�s pack. I am from gooey marshmallows with burnt outsides, papery in my mouth and a mirror with thin spider web cracks in the shape of someone�s head; chanting Bloody Mary. I am from the sweet grainy taste of green apples still bathed in the heat of the sun and rainbows there are no ends to; no pot of gold no matter how far you chase it. I am from the Mediterranean in the summer, bubbling blue sea and salty winds and Foreign soil beneath tattered black and white Vans; through Spain, Italy, Israel, Greece. I am from all that I have known, thought, hated, learned and loved. I am mostly from Water rushing beneath steel, returning to people left behind. A child�s smile and hearing mommy for the first time. A hug; chubby little arms around my neck and a kiss Long remembered. |
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Scattered I see the rain in my dream. I can feel it running over my skin. I am in a frenzy. I first avoid it, memories of drowning. The rain falls with fury. I know it's the musician of time. Playing its music along my body. I search for comfort, redefining my lies. I sweat in the burning rain, redefining courage. I stand beneath the awning, redefining life. Streams of water drift to the sewer drain. I can taste the acid of my tears, as they slide down my face. I stand ashamed in the rain. It's rythmn defies me, it defines me. Rain. |
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| Walls Heed to the walls; they deliver the truth. They are ruthless watchers; they are mute. Revere and conceive. Smooth, pebbled, planked. Ivory, maroon, ebony, every shade between. They see us fall, fail. They see us as brutes. The confessions, they absolve. The tears, they understand- The pain, they remember. The visions, they endure- The aromas, they inhale The cloying scent of lard amongst the chattering voices of a dinner party. The yellowing sickly stench of cigarette smoke. Stark white, the alcohol odors of a hospital permeate them. They rise around us, they reach to comfort. What do they teach? The walls reverberate with our lives, our remainders. They can witness. The walls can honor the games in which we revel. They are saturated with our cries. They speak the truth Of ten thousand lies. |
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