Six Feet Under

Bsd 

This is a guest post by our very own Sarabonne:

Six Feet Under and I'm Still Waiting

 

I'm surrounded by solidity & warmth, a womb that cradles me,

holds me, caresses me,

and moves inward.

I am claustrophobic. I am under,

where the light is stark and artificial.

I am six feet under.

Sitting in rooms with windows at the ceiling, waiting by tunnels that roar,

so much time I'm below,

below everything living & I want to tear my eyes out.

And I'm waiting, it is my constant, this creeping time,

waiting to arise,

to climb out into the light.

I am six feet under & I want out.

To see infinity, air & space,

flocks of birds floating in waves of sky,

to breathe, to be free.

And I am still waiting.

Central Park Stories

Bsd

1.

                         Girl with pink hair 

            fairy wings painted on her face 

                             bells 

                       strapped over jazz dancers' shoes

                               on her ankles. She sings, 

                  her voice ringing out alongside the pure tone 

                                   of the bells she rings 

                      under the bridge with its Turkish ceiling

                            accompanied by the dark faced 

                                       dread - locked 

                                          black man.

                An elf and a witch doctor, singing together.

2.

Two girls crouch under the statue in the fountain, and they are orphans, thieves, searching for something they barely believe in, armed with a rusty key and the spell sold to them by the old woman in the market. In New York City's Central Park, they are two girls, too old for this, who indulge themselves in a moment of childish fantasy. In a city whose name does not exist, they are exactly that, and who knows what else? Witches themselves, lost princesses, oddly loyal citizens? They teach themselves to fence with badminton rackets, or sticks, or perhaps they do not teach themselves to fight at all, except to survive. 

Monday Morning

Bsd

I know I should save them up and delay posting these, but what the hey. You can go to town and read it all, or save them up for a rainy day and savor my finely crafted work.

(Written February 26)

I wake up ticked off

by the alarm

on my phone incessantly beeping

three days in

and I don't want to get up for work

the burn of frustration

propels me out of bed

straight into a cup of coffee

hoping the sweet sugar buzz slide down

my throat

will lessen the sting

of this cranky morning

when nothing I wear or own

is quite right

neither is anything else in my life

I've got this invisible TO DO list

with too many things TO DO

I could use a cliche

like I'm struggling to breathe

say something familiar

like I just want to sleep

I want my coffee to save me

from the pointless persistence

of the thoughts clogging my brain

I walk out the door ticked off

by the time flashing

in blue numbers on my phone

three days in

and I don't want to go to work this morning.

Union Square Starbucks

Bsd

Things are a bit busy here in the Union St abode, what with moving and all. Thank G-d (and a handy handyman), we managed to get our couch through the hallway and into the living room with only a minor loss of limbs (the couch's, not ours). 

In the meantime, I'm posting a couple of poems I wrote recently. Because I read them today, and they were pretty damn good.

(Written March 29)

In the space between 

assaulted ears

        and behind 

busy eyes

        there exists

                  a    

         core of silence,  besieged by thoughts:

                                     

                               I love her shoes, oxford heels

                                                                       with a shearling lining  

                   black men look so good 

                                                    when they

            dress classically

                            

            and BAM!

          that woman's wearing bright colors

                                        three kids run 

after their father

 my coffee is too hot

          and milky

   That couple  

 ape bearded man 

 sharply

  rat featured woman 

walked by 

this Starbucks window

                                         just a moment ago

     Manhattan is full,

                                            fast,

                                  and I miss the rhythm of Brooklyn

Breath inhaled, breath exhaled

                        the calm space between lungs

                                            widens

                        even as the nerves in my belly

                                         tighten

                     under the strain of thoughts:

I have less than twenty dollars in my bank account

                         but I really want new shoes

         I wanted to shop today,

         but didn't.

         and damn

         will my roommate be angry when I tell her the cord to her laptop is frayed

                              and won't charge anything anymore

                             the new one won't arrive for a week. 

                                     

                               our security blanket is gone.

          I have to cancel my credit card,

                        because I am too lazy to clean my room

                                           and find it.

                                                     besides, I think I accidentally threw it out

  when I was sick.

The Alarm Clock and the Sound

Bsd

In a cold room that exists solely within the confines of my

         pretty  little head,

this alarm clock is a weight upon the dresser by my

        cozy little bed,

and it ticks

        (tick tick tick)

and this melancholy quiet sound 

                    echoes.

        On a morning that didn't happen, or may have happened, or always happens,

            I lie on my back with my eyes closed,

                           lonely gray light filters through the shades

                        this alarm clock makes its harshly quiet sound

                                      (tick tick tick)

                              and as I drift back into a drugging sleep,

                                            it fades

                                          away.

It's a warm night,

     heat 

blankets every surface

in this solitary room of my imagining

I drop the alarm clock. 

It bounces,

damaged,

but there it is -

still making its jarring quiet sound

                                                                        (tick tick tick)

                         I am exhausted.

                           of all hope.

                           of making

                                   it

                                 stop. 

I Am Moving Up in Life

Bsd

I am moving.

Up two floors, to a beautiful pre-war detailed, four bedroom apartment, with lots of sun, built-in closets and beautiful high ceilings, where I will hopefully reside in the room with the skylight and the glass sliding doors. Oh, and there's a bathtub. 

I have proclaimed my love for my basement many a time, and as basements go, it's a pretty amazing one. There are so many memories held within these stark white walls. My little pink bedroom is dear to my heart.

But this new, bigger, brighter place has stolen my heart away. 

I'll save the nails I bought today to hang the pictures in my new room. 

I'll begin saving money for all the new furniture I'm going to buy tomorrow. 

I'll dream tonight of Shavuos, when a fellow blogger is coming to stay with me, and we'll sit in my gloriously sunny new living room, and talk until the sun has set and risen again

Hair

Search for My Soul, Part 1

Bsd

I'm so glad I got to talk to you

You 

sparked the memories

of what I want to be

off the flint of who you are;

I was stirred into flame

by my frustration. 

How did I

let my life get here?

To this point

where the distance between my dreams

and my reality

have grown so far

I no longer even feel

a need

to bridge the gap?

I thought

I always knew who I was

I thought 

I still was that person

I think

I still am. 

But buried underneath

layers of laundry and dishes left too long

jobs proposed and left unpursued

education attempted and failed

the me I thought I was

has been crushed

Deeper and deeper

harder and harder

smaller and smaller

I can feel the lump of my soul

next to my heart

held safely between my lungs

under the protective plate

of my breastbone. 

You

added the slightest

lightest

bit of pressure.

There is something about the way you think that is just so foreign to me. 

I couldn't help 

but fight with that

even though

it was like banging

my head

against a wall. 

Again

Again

Again

until suddenly I shook 

loose

that crushed piece of myself

and it was a diamond in my hand. 

Such Great Heights

Bsd
This song has been threading through my mind these past few days. Walking around in the alternately bright and cloudy spring, I'll find myself singing, and what I'm singing is this:
Such Great Heights (as covered by The Wrong Trousers).

WARNING: THIS SONG FEATURES A WOMAN'S VOICE.
(This is when it's good to be a woman. At least when I'm feeling guilty for listening to non-Jewish music, i don't also have to feel guilty for kol isha!).