The dancers

The officer comes in, straight face
the focus, he knows, is de-escalation
despite the mother’s bruises and her children’s tears
what happened here
is simple in the way nothing is, ever
It’s 1977 or 8 or 9
the time, it runs together when you see the same faces day by day
He, the husband has been drinking, again
shouting slurred words, imagined offenses
And the wife, with her children behind her just asks that he please leave
So the children can sleep
So that they can have peace, though the oldest one knows it’s just temporary
The officer can see it in her eyes, the kid, no more than 6 who dialed 911 because her mother was taking blows and couldn’t get to the phone…
He says, “come on sir, let’s go”
takes the husband by the arm and guides him outside, where the blue and white lights of his cruiser cast eerie dancing shadows on the homes facade.
They are visitors, these shadows.
Reminders to the officer that all is not well here,
And he thinks of his wife and his child, at home.

Reconciliation

she didn’t do it right
the baby came first
but not before the one that didn’t
because there was a clinic in Chicago
that would take care of the problem
so he said…

And it did for a little while,
take care of the “problem” which was
in fact
to hide the fact that she was not
the “girl” she was expected to be
…secrets were born instead

The second became the first to
change the shape of things
though still no ring
…a circle if you will
of impatient nights and restless days
and wondering why it all turned out so different
than her dreams
…but still a dream

with little fingers and new eyes
through which she viewed the world
an ocean swell of love to wash her clean
she found her reconciliation

Conversation with my Self: Part 1

“Once upon a times
and happy endings
are for dreamers
much too clean”
she said
she preferred life messy
and dramatic, looped where
most preferred straight lines
because “the truth,” she said
“is most are lost anyway
and only pretending that the
by-line was authored in smiles
and sunshine
the subtext and addendum hidden
deeply within themselves
and they are miserable”
“Well I,” she said, “know Life,
and for the record,
she is one bitch
who expects no platitudes
or compliments
and will give none.
Life expects only that you dig in,
get dirty and learn that in the muck, the mire…the messy places…
You find yourself.
Fuck the fairy tale,” she said.
“It’s a lie. Don’t search for
neatly written and lovely words,
the alignment of the stars,
the magical fix…
All these things are far
from where you really need to be and certainly aren’t realistic
or obtainable and when you miss the mark where do you land?
In the same stubborn place
as all the other fools
who live in the illusion of perfection
that the fairy tale dreamers sell.”
“You see,” she said, “with a fire in her eyes that spoke truth,
“in that indeterminable amount of mess and flaws and imperfection, those who really look beyond the chaos and see
with seeing eyes,
find perfection they had searched for
all along.”