my real name -- Dixie

Ozzy was the boy next door
Izzie was my great great aunt
Zazu was our chow chow dog
And Ferris Paris was the cat

My cousin's name was Esmeralda
Once we lived on Rhinestone Lane
I called my Latin teacher Gilda
Father's boat was named Verlaine

At night I dream of other me's
Of Jasmine, Lilith, Xanadu
But morning come I'm back inside
Just Sue

til Dad comes home -- Dixie

Graveyard. Dad always worked graveyard. That made it hard for Mom to threaten us like our friends' moms did. By the time Dad got home, like 8 in the morning, the Dad-worthy transgressions were all forgotten or buried in our dreams far, far away.

"Wow, are you lucky!" Nick would say after one of those big chewing-outs he got from his Dad. "It's like having no dad!"

"No way," I'd explain loudly. "He yells at us good, it's just during the day."

But no one believed me, even if my brothers tried to confirm it by showing their ripped shirts and black eyes. We didn't want our dad to be weird. But the truth was, the little guys ripped their own shirts and gave each other black eyes, like boys do. It was never Dad. Not only did he work graveyard, but he didn't whack us around, or Mom, and he hardly ever yelled even when he hit his own thumb with a hammer.

We wished we had a normal dad, but we didn't, so the other kids teased us and called us the lucky ducks, and it took us like forever to realize they were right.

2010 prompts

1/2/10-2/20/10
1. the missing link
2. egret on snow
3. it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers
4. the test is graded by outside sources
5. that might even happen tonight, right?
6. refigerator art
7. the right door
8. the center of the house
9. my real name
10. My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family. PLUS We were drinking champagne and losing our shirts.
11. I was dressed in a completely inappropriate shade of pink. PLUS I decided the only solution was to seduce him.
12. the naket tree
13. must of just been the day
14. changing the subject
15. til Dad comes home

It will kill him to hear that / 9/19/09 Melinda Jean

It’ll kill him to hear that.
He’s already dead in ways that lie dormant
Like a frightened possum
The more you poke the stiller it gets.
A funny reaction.
Really the thought of telling him originally is to wake up this that is dead.
To have the presence of exchange.
The frame that is promised initially is trust.
Yet the other can have criteria that are
Cradles from the past
Fall or rock, you take the chance
It seems every time
You take the chance,
Believing that a place of safety and connection
Can be created
For that underground world of the dead.

Why We Broke up in the First Place 9/19/09 / Melinda Jean

Why we broke up in the first place
Second place
And third
Home base and he’s out.

It seems chilly in the before thought of breaking up.
Chiller still after. The silent absence weighted like a bottomless pit.
Topless, I can imagine her boobs saying desperately, reaching for home plate. Yet the referee shouts “out,” it’s too late, too late.

For the guy it’s some image you don’t quite match.
For the woman, the loss is the consistency, and she’ll notice it missing.
The elevator going up but there is no floor.
The stakes get higher, rising
Each floor more baggage is added.
And then it’s like a stroke.
That irregular cut off that effects the existence of the relationship itself.
Some strokes you survive, others
Well, it’s the reason you broke up in the first place.

How to be Happy / Dec 12, 09 / Melinda Jean

Reach out
Stay in
Pull the stray lingering hairs off your sweater.
Pet the curls of kitties.
Graze on all the frozen grass
Drink the cocoa, hot
Make your bed
Make-up your face
Listen to sirens knowing
they’re going to help.
Know things change
Put on a new thing
Reach, stay, linger
Pet, graze, drink
Make, listen
Help, know
Change.

Momentary Lapse of Irresponsibility / Melinda Jean

He saw her through the window. She was in her curlers pealing apples from the tree. It was late or fall, the clocks moving forward backwards, he didn’t know. He pulled the squeaky screen door. She turned. The bowl half-full, pieced apples that had been cut away from the worms.
“I feel bad, I’m taking away their homes, but most of them have left their hollows.” She was talking about the worms, he smiled.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started. An apron was taut around her melon belly; it pressed against the porcelain sink. She turned the water off. The tap drip, drip dripping.
She saw in his hand a golden shaped dolphin. He’d given her a sliver one when they meet; he had traded some artwork.
“You think, I think, married is, we should. Do you want to?” He had moved closer, her belly pushing into him.
It was dark out but still early. She thought maybe they could make it.