Slide

Nell watched Donna talk to Father Mercado. It was the same conversation that they had every Sunday afternoon, the same conversation that she would have with Father Mercado when it was her turn to make her way to the doors. The words were platitudes that were passed between people so that they knew that the world still revolved the same way, that everyone was still in this together.

"Thank you Father, wonderful service." Donna said.
"Thank you my child. It was a pleasure to give it." Father Mercado graciously replied to the words. Nell hesitated to use the word compliment because a compliment implies that you thought something about what was going on. These were words of formality not choice.
"You're too modest Father." Donna continued.

It wasn't a long speech. You didn't have time for a long speech as you made your way out the door. There were people behind you and people behind them so you had to make sure that you got through your words quickly. Nell was very well practiced at it. Every Sunday Nell and Andy got dressed in solemn silence and drove over to St. George's Cathedral. They listened to Father Mercado give his sermon, they took communion and then they thanked the Father for his time on the way out. This was the comforting ritual of Sunday.

"Can't be too modest before God." Father Mercado replied to Donna and she took her cue to leave. She shook his hand and made for the door all under Nell's gaze.

Andy, his hand firmly gripping Nell's arm led her towards the priest and at that moment Nell wished that things were different. She wished that she had spent the morning lying in bed relaxing and enjoying the warmth of her covers. She wished that she could have read the paper and enjoyed another cup of tea without feeling that she was guilty for avoiding this place. She wished that Donna would come back so they could talk to each other. She wished that Andy's hand didn't grasp her elbow so hard. She wished that she felt that she had a choice in all of this. She wanted to yell at the Priest, tell him to go to Hell. She wanted to run out the door and into the grip of the winter snows outside and laugh like she was a child again.

"Thank you Father," Andy's deep voice broke through all of Nell's wishes and dragged her back into the consistency of the present. "Wonderful service" Andy added.
"Thank you my child. It was a pleasure to give it." Father Mercado's voice answered the compliment in the same measured tone as he had answered it last week.
Nell felt the grip on her arm. "You're too modest Father." Nell added that, taking her cue.
"Can't be too modest before God." The Father smiled as he completed the formula.

Nell took a step towards the exit but paused, causing Andy to drop his loosening grasp. She turned towards the Priest and asked, "Are you sure?"

one
by
one

the ants go marching
away to

greener words

Update and stuff

I haven't been updating here much because I've been working on a project for friends. There were five people who asked for a hand made gift and so I'm making each of them 5 poems and then sending them a copy of all of them.

It's been a little time consuming so nothing's been put up here.

better things

i have better things to do:
i can write a letter.
i can make dinner.
i can knit a sweater
okay, i can practice knitting a sweater.
i can clean the house.
i can take a walk.
i can might just douse
any fires that I come across.

even my own

listening

i refuse to let me use you to help me with you hurt me

11-09-2009

we're sitting on a warm red couch talking of nothings that pass between us. you say we're making progress but you act like we've never moved. you want to stretch but are afraid of the results. i laugh, you laugh and we continue to sit. you lean back into me and say, "i want to love you" i laugh again. you smile, but you don't know that to want to love me you can't love me right now.

sardonic

we sit and talk about love
ours
and the future
ours
and life
ours
and while away hours under
smoking coffee cups
and friendly laughs

alone in the dark
the words return
and realization strikes

the love was mine
the future was yours
and the life belonged to neither of us.

you said that you wanted to love me
my laugh remains
it's just become
sardonic