sun beams from above
sensitivity runs high
words salty like sweat
like a lead apron
the weight is heavy
concentrated on shoulders
not for an xray
no dentist visit
no little toothache
this will require
an actual paycheck
to relieve the pressure
rebuild a safety net
brighten the smile
of false security
I am a little surprised and embarrassed to admit that the death of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson yesterday was difficult for me to process. It is not that I believe they shouldn’t be mourned, I just don’t know if they should be mourned by me. I have had several people that were an integral part of my life die in the past and I understand the grief process as a way to transition to a different type of relationship, one based upon memories. I didn’t have a two way relationship with either of these pop icons, so why did I respond so strongly? Or maybe I did have a reciprocal relationship, just not with them personally.
My memories of these two icons is with the people that were around me when I was younger. Catching the boys talking about their Farrah poster, all of us girls talking about how to get our hair to flip like hers. Wanting to own a bathing suit with no liners and figuring out how to convince mom that everyone already had one. And guess what girls? We can kick butt and look good doing it! Shallow as it sounds, these were important topics at the time. These were about feeling like you fit in and tripping into an early awareness of sexuality. And Michael? These memories are of laughing with friends while we tried to mimic dance moves with absolutely no training. I remember putting on moon boots to see if it would help, as you might have guessed, it didn’t. This too was about sexuality. Not the overt crotch grabbing dance moves but more trying to look like you were concentrating on the moves while sending seductive glances to your latest crush. This was no easy task. I’m sure I tripped up more than a couple of times which was not the kind of sexy I was aiming for.
As these memories began tumbling forth yesterday, I thought of the people attached to them. Some of these friends have died, many I have merely lost touch with. Still others I have contact with on a regular basis. We think different things are important now. Sometimes they are still fairly shallow concerns. Not generally life changing or life molding, although that’s what I thought back then. I find myself wondering about my feelings of loss. Is it a loss of a passionate youth? I’m still laughing, but rarely that laugh that used to bring me to tears. The one where you couldn’t catch your breath. I find that the adult me can wait my turn to share important news. My new lip gloss is no longer an excuse to cut in mid-sentence. I think at some level, I miss this.
I know that there are adult lessons to be gained from these two pop icons. How to fight cancer with dignity. Stardom and the question of mental illness. The grown up version of this is your brain on drugs. None of these things really came to mind yesterday when I heard of their passing. I simply saw myself immersed in the pool of youth. I wasn’t looking around for the path forward. I wasn’t looking backward to see how I had gotten there. I was splashing, laughing, and enjoying every moment. This is what I miss. When loved ones have died in the past, I have looked for actions that will honor their memory. That is how I best process my grief. This grief I am going to process by jumping in puddles, doing some crazy dance moves with friends, and getting completely lost in our moment.
Sitting quietly at my kitchen counter
I realize my mixer is stuck in reverse
ideals and antiquated beliefs
fly out the sides of the bowl
ingredients were added one at a time
individually, as directed
It turned out bland
Now I scan the shelf for seasonings
borrow a cup of something bold
sprinkle mirth from the canister in back
experiment with a new mixture
ever changing and adjusting
the personal blend
Hoping to beat the secret recipe
I pull the dream from my pocket
Flip it over, feel the weight of it
And wonder if nightmares can be reborn
If monsters can again roam free
In the night, peeking through my eyes at the day
With plastic incisors like Halloween handouts
Fur like you see on the dash of an outdated car
Eyes rolling independently, nearly finding me
A growl that, left unheard
Might only be a howl
I shove it back in my pocket.
Between space and time,
Between tequila and lime,
You look good.
On the other side of last call,
Sitting, teasing truth from fables on the eve
of my fortieth year. I am a woman
with sons, but not blessed with a daughter.
Some would say more highly esteemed by my Creator.
At times I wonder if I am complete.
It’s different when my niece and I hold hands.
At church I was taught to pray with hands
together – we prayed to Mary, not to Eve.
“Pray for us sinners now and…” you complete
the rest. This is not about the blessed virgin woman
who bore Christ. Impregnated by the great Creator.
How did God decide which winning sinner’s daughter?
I have a responsibility to my nonexistent daughter.
The future of so many is in my trembling hands.
This Christian Nation has been the creator
of tremendous confusion. Misrepresenting Eve,
and me, and my sister, and niece – all women.
The myth and fallacy considered by most, complete.
Nuns taught my Wednesday catechism, complete
with rulers. Did mother know that her daughter
was whacked on occasion? A crazy robed woman
attempting to put the “fear of God” into me. Lay hands
on me now – speak tongues – attempt to save me from my eve
of destruction! How cruel is this hidden Creator?
Male and female together is the perfection and Creator,
or neither, a true God needs no assistance to be complete.
Knowledge was the gift our Lord predestined for Eve,
with Her acceptance, our veil removed by the original Daughter,
so that we could go naked, to the exalted hands
that pulled forth the rib and refined it to Woman.
The Holy Ghost is – was – will be, this Woman
as designed and destined by the almighty Creator.
The final attempt of magical, loving hands
to bring us back so that we can share in the complete
redemption, now possible because of the destiny of First Daughter.
We have left paradise behind in order to join God after our eve.
Redeemed by bleeding hands of a Man, and bleeding through Woman.
Eden was forfeited by Eve, and now we are no longer separate from our Creator.
With the plucking of an apple, our Trinity complete: God, Son and Daughter.