November 21st, 2000

Chalkboard

(no subject)


I am soooo tired. Must be the melatonin. What has become of my favorite late night radio show? What are those foolish programming droids at Disney thinking? They took over 710 am, isn't that enough for them? Do they have to mess up my late night listening on 790am as well?

This is the worst rattie nightmare I've ever been through. I don't know what to do. Should I separate the last two boy ratties? What if I do that and they get lonely? What if I don't do that and one of them dies?

Oh that's it, I'm making myself go to sleep now. I've been editing some of my older poetry. Cydniey took my old site down. God bless her for having put it up in the first place and kept it going for so long. I will miss it though, but I will always be grateful to her. She is a truly good soul. I adore her.

Okay me drag weary head to bed. Hope the cats won't keep me up. I let too mnay of them into my bedroom when Scotty left. They'll have taken over the bed by now and I'll have to find a place to squeeze in.

Night night Live Journal Family,
Jacqui

PS: Leaving for Palm Springs tomorrow. This would be a good time to break into my house.
Chalkboard

(no subject)

Here's a poem I wrote for my husband long ago
(he left a little over two years ago)

He drives flowers into my hands
as if they were nails
Big pink peonies and poppy
flowers
meant for someone else
My heart has this open gash
that's pulling apart at the edges
where we used to be happy
I remember my beloved cat Skinny
choking and gasping for air
his lungs filling with water
in reaction to the poison
that burned them
on our wedding day
I remember me
a mute bride
a howl of pain so great
it almost filled that space
where my mother lives
She was there
in volcanic form
indomitable and controlling
forcing us to pose
for faithless recreations
of moments that had already passed
Images they would later retouch
to make me look thinner
Repainting everything but my own memory
I remember
taffeta and lace
presents and flowers
an angry woman pelting me with rice
for marrying the brother of the man
who would never marry her
I remember
a small cove, the Italian Riviera
a honeymoon picnic on rocks
splashing waves and tiny sea crabs
a rowboat ride on Lago di Como
I remember
a sunset view of Switzerland through
our bedroom window
Bats circling at dusk over Venice
The ancient beauty of Rome
and my hands
drifting
in an ice cold fountain
I remember
so many things
but nothing will ever change the fact
that he never stroked my hair
he never told me I was beautiful
he never held my heart
with any kind of regard
No, nothing will change the fact
that we hardly ever made love
certainly not on our wedding day
or any significant romantic occasion thereafter
then hardly at all
then hardly
now not at all
but he presses flowers into my hands
that smell of spring and summer
that promise happiness and family
a soft window seat with a view
through warm crystal window panes
of a garden in England
with silky hens and geese
and the sounds of my children
playing like music below me
A friendly cat climbs the wisteria
to rest in my lap
and he will come up from behind
and wrap his strong arms around me
pressing flowers into my hands
that were never really meant for me
and though they feel like soft pink velvet to my lips
they nail me to this empty life
and promise so much pain
when I try to tear myself away
Chalkboard

(no subject)

I have to get going, but I thought I'd share another older one with you. I live in Los Angeles, I bet you can guess who this was about.

Impermanent Blonde

Didn't like her
Didn't like her son
He was the meanest kid
in the kindergarten class
Last week I went to a party
at her ex husband's house
I hadn't realized she was an ex
wife of someone so famous
She looked tired and thin
from trying hard to hide
pain, age and anger
She seemed dry
like her hair
and it scared me
Counting age spots and wrinkles
having dreams about losing my teeth
I wondered if I was heading
in the same direction
At her son's graduation
she wore a tight black dress
that blew up around her waist
with every hot and sunny breeze
Her tanned legs looked as hard
and out of place
as her black silk g-string panties
at a preschool picnic
At the desert table
she apologized for eating
a few too many
chocolate dipped strawberries
as if everyone were watching
and counting her calories
Driving by her building today
I see the yellow tape
and avert my little boy's head
The front steps are
wet with her blood and yet
despite the horror, sadness and loss
It all feels the same
as everything else
in this dangerously unstable city
where people are as brittle and close
to cracking as the faulty earth
There are truths
we never see
laying there
crumpled and broken
like all the quake wrecked homes
crushed to nothing
and left in piles in the street
Waiting for someone to come
and sweep the fear away
If I knew I had days left
maybe two or three
I wouldn't want to spend them
worrying about how things look
Keeping up a sunny front
while desperately counting
the caloric content
of a piece
of chocolate dipped fruit