Sometimes she’s an angel. At other times a witch. There is no way to know when her personae’s going to switch. When an angel, she’s gregarious, obedient and sexy, but during her more bitchy days, she’s silent, dark and hexy. No x-ray can determine which one she’s going to be. There is no test to indicate which one she’s going to see when she wakes up each morning and stumbles to the mirror to see which one she’ll be today–the feared one or the dearer. I’m always the first one to see what side of her will win, for each day the face she chooses is the one that I’ll be in!
She is my very oldest friend—I met her as a child. Then she was the feisty one while I was shy and mild. Diametric opposites, still we are never parted— one of us the loner, the other open-hearted.
She makes friends everywhere we go. I’d rather be alone. For all my hermit tendencies, she stirs me to atone. She thinks up the parties and though loath to go along, I give up my solitude to join the social throng.
We have coexisted throughout a lengthy life. I thrive when I am single. She wants to be a wife. When we are together, one must devour the other. One at a time we make the choice: single girl or mother?
One succeeds the other in a continual chain. As soon as one’s exhausted, the other shows again. Our relationship is infinite. Neither can break away. While she drinks all the shooters, I am the one to pay.
When I am the diligent student, she shares in all my glory. I get to write the manuscripts. She gets to live their story. One-by-one we take our turns determining our fate— one of us always timely. The other always late.
Perhaps our friends are tired of not knowing which will show— the one who’s energetic or the one of us who’s slow, but our very oldest friends will simply wait to see, knowing that whoever shows, either will be me.
What I photographed a few days ago was this clear balloon lit up with L.E.D. lights. I think it was a leftover from the Rave they held across the bay which had just closed down. Afterwards, they brought them over to La Manzanilla to sell to the rodeo crowd! A man approached me in the street in front of my house and offered it at 180 pesos, then 150. Finally, at 100 pesos, I put him out of his misery. A friend said she bought one for 280 pesos! I really wasn’t bargaining. Just didn’t think it necessary until it was so cheap that I couldn’t resist.
Here it is two days later. The balloon is deflating and the LED strands aren’t. When it is almost totally deflated, I’ll try to figure out a way to blow it up again. It has replaceable batteries, so if I can keep the air in it, it should last for a long time.
HERE is my initial post entitled “Cosmic Self-Portrait” in which I asked you to identify what it was. It was taken on my terrace at night and you could look through it into the inside of my rental house but also see me reflected in it as I took the photo–plus surrounding lights.
I am the emptiness in you that glues the parts of you together. I form those other worlds that are the universe inside of you. I have a language all my own that speaks through your voice. There is something holding us together, something keeping us apart.
You are that part of me that only I can search for. You are the part I wrap myself around. You are the mystery that forms the game of my life. When I am alone, you create in me the opposite of loneliness.
They are the full cast of her life. They come together when she is willing to let both of them go. She lets them take turns being her guide. It is in getting lost in them that she lets herself be found.
The NaPoWriMo assignment: Write a poem that plays with voice. For example, you might try writing a stanza that recounts something in the first-person, followed by a stanza recounting the same incident in the second-person, followed by a stanza that treats the incident from a third-person point of view. Or you might try a poem in the form of a dialogue, which necessarily has two “I” speakers, addressing two “you”s. Another way to go is to take an existing poem of yours or someone else’s, and try rewriting it in a different voice. The point is just to play with who is speaking to who and how.
She enters my hideout and calls it her own. Now I’ll have to move on, for my cover is blown. I try to go deeper into my lair but still she follows, finding me there. I cannot escape her. She has all my keys. She blows through my memory like a fine breeze, usurping my details to make them her own so I can’t reclaim them, wherever they’ve blown. From a full-body mirror, she stares back at me. My elbow’s her elbow. My knee is her knee. She alters my hairdo and rouges my cheeks. She searches my memory, looking for leaks, then piles the lost parts up in her poems, through her underground railroad, gives them new homes. When I see myself spread out here in these pages, some private part of me protests and rages, but she doesn’t listen. She finds me too fussy. She leaves herself open, the ungrateful hussy. Does she not realize that it is me who has made her whatever she’s turned out to be? She should listen more closely when I say to stop. Allow me to be her poetry cop. But she doesn’t mind. She says what she wishes. She dines out on me and leaves me with the dishes!
I am meeting a challenge to post a selfie..and wondering if I’ll be brave enough to post one I don’t like. Okay, off to the hunt. Brb.
Not a selfie and not taken in Seattle, but a zippy title, no? This is a shot someone took of me at my all-school reunion a week ago. Why is it that it is that the lips that get thinner with age and not the hips or arms?
Okay, now I challenge all of you to post a photo taken within the past few weeks. You can call it a selfie even if you don’t have one of those arm-extension dealies or a tripod and timed-release camera. It is a selfie if it is of yourself only, no matter who took it–taken within the past two weeks. Please link to my page via the comments so I can see that you’ve answered the challenge.
This post was done in honor of the glittering one. See her selfie here: