like … herself. But what was that? I began to cry again. The memory of her fragrance had disappeared. I peered at the walls covered with pictures of Nadine as a child. Since I’d shied away from coming into her room, I hadn’t yet gotten a good lookat them. And now it was too dark to see. But I could feel her all around me.…
She had lived in this place before I existed. She’d gone away and had me. Then she’d left the world. And me.
Mom, some things can’t be forgiven
The orange skirt put out in a bag
Never mind it was ruined
Your voice turned to vapor
The thousand braids, the hugs
All gone
Yet I remain to blow out my candles
Year after year, clenching in my fist
The same futile wish
That you were here
THE GIG
Not long after that, I started writing. My brain was wormy with words; I couldn’t get them down fast enough. Ray was on to a new mural as well, so things were even hotter down in the root cellar. He whitewashed one of the walls and the ceiling and started all over with more Saint variations—that’s how I came to think of them. The portrait of Lissa he left; she was just in the middle of a rodeo was all. Sometimes Ray would ask me what I was writing. It was hard to say. I seemed to be blatting out my whole life onto the page. I wrote about Nadine and Daddy, Rupert and Ruby; mainly about losing Lissa, though. Most of the poetrywas about that. After a while, I had quite a few poems. I had no idea that someday I’d share all that stuff I was writing with all of you. I began thinking a lot about Icky and Marilyn. I hadn’t been in touch with them since the day they told me about leaving for Queens. So I tried their cell number. Icky picked right up.
“Hey, kiddo! Where did you disappear to? We called you before we left, but your brother said you were visiting relatives. Wouldn’t give us your number.”
“I’m with my aunts down in Virginia. Sorry I didn’t call you myself. I was in the dumps for a while.”
“No more fertility pills, I hope?”
I chuckled. “Nothing like that.”
“So, written any poems?”
“I haven’t forgotten that I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“How’s it going in Queens?”
“We got a place to stay and the whole bit. Renovating an old warehouse for the club. Going to call it Club Nirvana.”
“Cool. Well, I just wanted you to know that I have written a few poems, not twenty, but getting there.”
“Coming up this summer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Got to read your poems at the open mike.”
“I’m not sure they’re good enough, Icky. And … I don’t know if I feel like going anywhere.”
“I hear you. Lissa’s death will take time to get over, I expect.”
“I could mail you the twenty poems when I’m done.”
“No hurry.”
“I’m writing some other stuff, too.”
“Such as?”
“The story of some of the things I’ve been through … the story of Lissa and me. I’m not sure I want to read that at an open mike, though.”
“Listen, kid, you do whatever you like. But if you want a gig this summer …”
“A gig? A real gig?”
“You heard me. If you’re not up for it, you can just come and help me with the lights. Marilyn and I think you’re great, kiddo.”
“I think you’re great, too, Icky. Here’s my aunts’ telephone number and address in case you want to reach me.”
After that call, I wrote even faster. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. I could never talk about what happened with Lissa and me in public! I thought I’d just send them my poetry. Or someday when I wrote about something else, I might accept that gig at Club Nirvana.
Out of my way, Giant
I’ve got bumblebees on my side
They’ll sting you with honey
And steal all your money
They’ll tan your hide
Now I don’t mean to threaten
But love is a weapon
It can slay you good as a gun
So out of my way, Giant
Your lazy day is done
PUZZLE
Do you ever feel like your life is a puzzle? Sometimes I do. A few months
She had lived in this place before I existed. She’d gone away and had me. Then she’d left the world. And me.
Mom, some things can’t be forgiven
The orange skirt put out in a bag
Never mind it was ruined
Your voice turned to vapor
The thousand braids, the hugs
All gone
Yet I remain to blow out my candles
Year after year, clenching in my fist
The same futile wish
That you were here
THE GIG
Not long after that, I started writing. My brain was wormy with words; I couldn’t get them down fast enough. Ray was on to a new mural as well, so things were even hotter down in the root cellar. He whitewashed one of the walls and the ceiling and started all over with more Saint variations—that’s how I came to think of them. The portrait of Lissa he left; she was just in the middle of a rodeo was all. Sometimes Ray would ask me what I was writing. It was hard to say. I seemed to be blatting out my whole life onto the page. I wrote about Nadine and Daddy, Rupert and Ruby; mainly about losing Lissa, though. Most of the poetrywas about that. After a while, I had quite a few poems. I had no idea that someday I’d share all that stuff I was writing with all of you. I began thinking a lot about Icky and Marilyn. I hadn’t been in touch with them since the day they told me about leaving for Queens. So I tried their cell number. Icky picked right up.
“Hey, kiddo! Where did you disappear to? We called you before we left, but your brother said you were visiting relatives. Wouldn’t give us your number.”
“I’m with my aunts down in Virginia. Sorry I didn’t call you myself. I was in the dumps for a while.”
“No more fertility pills, I hope?”
I chuckled. “Nothing like that.”
“So, written any poems?”
“I haven’t forgotten that I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“How’s it going in Queens?”
“We got a place to stay and the whole bit. Renovating an old warehouse for the club. Going to call it Club Nirvana.”
“Cool. Well, I just wanted you to know that I have written a few poems, not twenty, but getting there.”
“Coming up this summer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Got to read your poems at the open mike.”
“I’m not sure they’re good enough, Icky. And … I don’t know if I feel like going anywhere.”
“I hear you. Lissa’s death will take time to get over, I expect.”
“I could mail you the twenty poems when I’m done.”
“No hurry.”
“I’m writing some other stuff, too.”
“Such as?”
“The story of some of the things I’ve been through … the story of Lissa and me. I’m not sure I want to read that at an open mike, though.”
“Listen, kid, you do whatever you like. But if you want a gig this summer …”
“A gig? A real gig?”
“You heard me. If you’re not up for it, you can just come and help me with the lights. Marilyn and I think you’re great, kiddo.”
“I think you’re great, too, Icky. Here’s my aunts’ telephone number and address in case you want to reach me.”
After that call, I wrote even faster. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. I could never talk about what happened with Lissa and me in public! I thought I’d just send them my poetry. Or someday when I wrote about something else, I might accept that gig at Club Nirvana.
Out of my way, Giant
I’ve got bumblebees on my side
They’ll sting you with honey
And steal all your money
They’ll tan your hide
Now I don’t mean to threaten
But love is a weapon
It can slay you good as a gun
So out of my way, Giant
Your lazy day is done
PUZZLE
Do you ever feel like your life is a puzzle? Sometimes I do. A few months
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