I tried to remember, but I said "what's a flower?"

February
lyrics: Dar Williams

* I threw your keys in the water, I looked back, they‘d frozen halfway down in the ice*

I remember, we were having an argument. Both red faced and hollering like small children. You were swinging your keys in front of my face, yelling because I had lost my set. Just another one of the things that showed how irresponsible I was. We weren’t ready for this, I couldn’t even keep track of a set of keys. I remember being angry, watching the shiny keys flash light in my eyes, and glint in the sun. The sun was especially bright that day, and we were by the lake. The reflection from both the lake and the keys made dazzling sparks of light glint across your face and hair. You were beautiful even when you were angry, and red faced, and yelling. My head began to hurt from the argument, and the constant clang, clang of the keys. I reached up, snatching them from your fist, and threw them. I watched as the keys splashed, and then froze into a small cube of ice. It was February.

*They froze up so quickly, the keys and their owner, even after the anger it all turned silent and Everyday turned solitary so we came to February.*

February is supposed to be a month of love and happiness, what with Valentine’s Day smack in the middle of it. After the incident with the keys, everything between us became like the ice in the lake outside our house. We spent ages walking on the ice, waiting for it to crack, and when it cracked, we waited for it to break, to swallow us both into its freezing mouth. When it finally broke under the weight of our relationship, we had been ready, preparing for some time. Life vests, were being worn all the time, so when the ice gave way, and took us captive in it’s frozen arms, we didn’t even blink. We just went on, in different directions, down stream.

*First we forgot that we planted those bulbs last year, then we forgot that we planted at all. Then we forgot what plants are altogether and I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting and the nights were long and cold and scary can we live through February?*

For a while, I floated in the icy bath, letting my skin become pruned and frigid, allowing my heart become freezer burned and rough around the edges. Somewhere along the floating journey I found your keys. There they were, just suspended in the water next to me, and when I reached for them, they kept getting further and further out of reach, until at last, they fell over the side of a waterfall, and all I could hear was a fait splash over the roar of the falls, and all I could do was think of how the water reminded me of your eyes.

*I think Christmas was a long red glare, shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards and then the snow, and the snow came and we were always out shoveling and we’d drop to sleep exhausted and we’d wake up and it’s snowing.*

When I think back, I realize there were signs. Signs that the ice was thin, signs that at any given moment, things would shatter beneath us, and we’d be gone. I remember Christmas, how we gave presents, how we sat around the tree, you, me and our dog. Tearing at paper and bows, not even reading cards. I remember how you hated the snow, how we serious you were about shoveling. “Can’t leave it there forever.” you’d say, and I would make snowballs and throw them at you. You never thought it was funny, you didn’t have time for games, you had to shovel. “James,” I would whine, “come and play!” feeling like a child again, and while you were shoveling, I would be making snow angel families, then, you would come and shovel them away. This was what we did everyday, and we’d both come inside, our noses pink with cold, and both angry with the other. You were angry because I hadn’t helped shovel, and I because you had destroyed my fun. Then, when we’d wake up, a fresh blanket of snow had fallen, and we were both cross again.

*and February was so long that it lasted into March and found us walking a path alone together. You stopped and pointed and you said ‘that’s a crocus’ and I said ‘what’s a crocus,’ and you said ‘it’s a flower.’ And I tried to remember but I said, ‘what’s a flower and you said, ‘I still love you.’*

Somewhere along my icy journey, the lake began to thaw, and I knew the Spring was arriving. The water began to rush around me, as the ice was melting and the first thing I found was you. I got to thinking, about the way we used to be, and even after all this time had passed, I couldn’t remember anything when I was near you. My mind was flooded with the icy water from our past, and when you reached out to touch me, I shivered. Being around you again was like having an ice cream headache. I told you I’d found your keys, and you nodded, saying maybe I wasn’t as irresponsible as you had thought. I smiled, my cheeks warming, but my hands were still cold.

*the leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store. my new lover made me keys to the house.*

Every time I look at a set of keys, I think of that day, at the lake, and how I somehow managed to find your keys again. When you suggested I get a set of keys, I shook my head, but we went anyway. You said it was time, we were ready, this time, you said, would be different. And they were.

*and when we got home, well we just started chopping wood cause you never know what the next year will bring. and we’ll gather all our arms can carry, I have lost to February.*

Thought I saw you yesterday, thought I passed you on the street

Less Than Strangers
Lyrics: Tracy Chapman

*You and me Had some history Had a semblance of honesty All that has changed now*

There are things in my life that have no beginning, and things in life that have no definite end. I always thought we’d be like that. I truly did, because there are times, when I can’t remember meeting you, only that I’ve known you, and I can’t remember losing you, only that you’ve gone. I used to keep everything in a shoebox under my bed, so I could take out the letters, the photographs, sticky with fingerprints, and look them over, a memory of what we used to be. I don’t like to think of those things now, they only seem trite, and foolish. Things said, and done in vain, useless mementoes. Of course, I have yet to dispose of them permanently, to throw them down the incinerator would be a step beyond what I am capable of. Instead, they have simply moved, further and further away from my bedroom as time wears on. First, moving from under the bed to the top shelf of the closet, then into the hall closet, and finally, where they are now, on the top shelf of my storage space in my garage.

I’ve changed my route to work Mark, so I don’t have to pass the offices. So I don’t have to imagine you inside, working away. It takes me twenty minutes longer to get where I’m going, but it feels more like closure to me, not needing to pass by where you are. Where you might be, where you will always be in my mind. Perhaps it is foolish, perhaps it is childish, but that’s how I always was, isn’t it? Always out to do things so they were more complicated than they needed to be. Going out of my way trying to avoid the things I always seemed to find.

I used to drive past those buildings everyday, and then past the restaurant we always ate at, the one with the tables on the patio, where the lady bugs always dined with us.

“Don’t kill it!” I shrieked.

“Why? It’s a bug, and it’s on my plate!” you answered, a look on your face I like to believe was intrigue.

“It’s bad luck to kill a lady bug.”

*We shared words Only lover speak How can it be We are less than strangers*

Maybe what happened is that one night you accidentally did kill one, maybe that’s what really happened to us, some curse from a lady bug.

The simple act of squishing and insect dragged us down into the depths of a despair we couldn’t claw our way out of. Squinting in my memory I like to imagine that everything went wrong beginning with that point of time. That single smidgen in the line of time catapulted us into the end of it all. Perhaps it started long ago, perhaps we never should have even ventured into the idea of a relationship, but the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that the entire fall began with the death of a lady bug.

*Oh it hurts to lose in love Let anger and cruelty win It's unfair that you doubt your feelings And that you'll ever love again I know that hearts can change Like the seasons and the wind But when I said forever I thought that we'd always be friends*

But, my memory fools me nowadays, things I thought I remembered are only vague, muted colors now, and places I thought I knew remain dust, blowing through the corners of my mind. Every time I replay a memory, it changes, and certain things become clearer, or more blurred. Arguments become more vivid, darker reds, bright blues, and the soft times become cleaner, more pastel. My mind compensates for what my heart wishes were true.

*I thought I saw you yesterday I thought I passed you on the street I swear I saw your face I was not imagining That you stole a glance my way You walked away from me*

I saw you the other day. The day I decided to quit being a foolish little girl, to quit taking twenty minutes longer to go anywhere, and I walked. I walked down the street, and saw you coming out of revolving door. We had one of those awkward pauses, the ones they have in movies, where you look into the eyes of the other person, and you see everything you had together flash in a montage before your own eyes. You were the first to walk away, first to break the gaze, but we both turned, and caught each other looking. You kept walking, pretending you hadn’t seen me, that nothing had happened. As I kept walking, past the office, past the lines of shiny cars, down the street, the pavement glistening in the summer heat, I watched as the ladybugs fluttered around our table, and I was prepared, but the tears never came.

*You and me had some history Had a semblance of honesty All that has changed now We shared words Only lovers speak How can it be We are less than strangers*

//

Perspective

Always my life seems to teem
with drama and angst.
Things I can’t command-
so much to do, so little time.
People who let me down,
disappointments I’ve caused.
The little inconveniences of my day
to day, smothering me.

Petty fights about who was wrong.
A misplaced set of keys,
an unbalanced checkbook.
A flat tire, and being ten minutes late.

Then, I see him.
Pacing the median
cardboard plea in hand,
worn down shoes
tatty clothes.
Suddenly, my problems
seem so small.
Things I have
more than the things I don’t.

A little perspective
is all we need sometimes.

Turtle Hill

Steep stairs
six girls sit-huddled-
watching the eclipse
the tension hangs
off them like a blanket.
a tiny bubble of anger
as the moon begins to hide
blow, blow
expanding until it pops

Yelling begins
as the moon turns red
voices cracking with emotion
wind chapped lips
whistles around the stairs
louder, louder
stomping up and down
the night sky
shrouded in darkness

Four girls, between the two,
plead for the resolution
with knowledge that this
could be irreconcilable.
Murmurs, as the moon returns
intervention
the anger, and resentment
still clings, it’s arms wrapped
tightly around the six
a caravan of uncertainty
trudges down the stairs
and then goes its separate ways.

You know I breathe too much anyway, I can do that anyday

Long after midnight curfew we sat starry eyed//

The weed hit rough, and she held back her cough the best she could. the boys were barely coughing at all, and somewhere in the back of her mind, that voice that always pressed into her "you must keep up with the boys." nagged.
she took another hit from the blunt, holding in the smoke, feeling it pulsing through her veins. hotboxing the car had become a recent hobby. a hobby she felt made her a part of something. made her feel like she belonged here, in this place, with these people. a membership to a subculture she'd never really thought all that much about until this summer. which changed everything, forever.

smoke hung in the air of the car like a wet blanket. heavy, burning her eyes, and making it feel like every breath she took made her even more high than the last. she could barely see the boys sitting in the front seat the smoke was so thick. the car at this point, was like a bong, and she eyed the window hungrily. breaking the box would have been a huge faux pas, even as a beginner she knew that much. her heart was pounding. her tiny frame shivered a bit. summer in San Francisco is always the coldest season.

she placed her palms flat on her thighs and rubbed her legs, the sensation calmed her a bit, even though she knew she was too high for this moment. his face was close to hers and she tried not to breath, but she wanted to breath him in so badly. she wanted to lean in, and press her mouth to his, she wanted to taste him, to feel his lips against hers. his hand was on her arm, taking her hand in his, and he whispered in her ear that she was alright. "relax, relax, relax." the mantra made her body slack, and the tingling in her arms and legs surged as he touched her fingers. she passed the blunt, and knew, thankfully, it wouldn't make another round to her, even with the four of them.

this was a dangerous place to be, with his hands in her hair, and her face resting on his shoulder. this was the road to the past, a place she'd promised herself she wouldn't go back to physically. the truth was, even her memories were beginning to fade into the distance, until she saw him again. until he touched her in that casual way...the way that speaks volumes, without uttering a word. the silent understanding bodies create between the ones they know so well. the touch that practically screams "it would be so easy to surrder yourself to your memories, to this familiarity, no matter how poisonous."

"relax, relax, relax."

she closed her eyes, and watched her past, her present and future play behind her heavy eyelids. the truth was, the poison didn't seem so bad at this moment.

Beloved gaze in thine own eyes

Easy like Sunday morning//

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his car, watching the rain plop itself down onto the windshield. I’m so high I can almost feel the sound of the rain drops on the hood of the car. The rain is a fat, heavy rain, plodding along in the sky, all over the city. San Francisco is beautiful when it rains, and we're sitting up by Twin Peaks with the entire city laid out before us, like a giant buffet. There's a heavy fog that's hanging over the city skyline, just the very top of the Golden Gate peaks out of the grey sky. It's early on a Sunday morning, and part of me is afraid we'll get caught. He's reassured me so many times that it's a Sunday, it's raining, we'll be fine. I’m sitting right next to him, but I suddenly have this amazingly empty feeling I understand is loneliness. I miss him, he’s right next to me, in person, but I miss him. I know this is because he’s not the same person he used to be. He’s different, and I’m somehow still the same, and it hurts. I close my eyes, he turns on the radio and I can feel the music pulsating through the speaker because my right knee is pressed against it. He finishes rolling our second blunt. I can still breath in traces of smoke in the car from the last one. realize I don’t remember where we’ve just come from, and I don’t mind so much. All I can remember of Saturday night is him picking me up. My eyes are still closed and I'm rummaging through my memories to piece together the missing spots. Wondering why they matter so much anyway.

All the parties were the same. All my nights lately felt the same. Same people drinking the same drinks- talking to the same people about the same things. The same people leaning on the porch out back or standing in semi circles in an overgrown yard, smoking, holding their beverage of choice in one hand, a cigarette or blunt or joint in the other. The same people hooked up, the same people fought, the same people got too drunk, or too fucked up, and had to be taken care of. The same people had the same drama, and the same people complained about all the same things.

The only thing that ever changed was the location, and after awhile, the only way to tell it was actually a different house was by the framed family pictures on the walls. Sometimes I'd see someone's senior picture, or a sibling's portraits, and try desperately, drunk or high, try to remember if and how I knew this person.

Who did we know here again?

It never really mattered- who knew who, everyone in the city that we partied with was only seperated by two people, three or four at the most. Everyone knew everyone else more or less. Otherwise you knew someone who knew someone. High school, grammar school, someone who lived on your block. It was always the same. Another house, another yard, another street crammed up and down with cars. Nothing ever really changed, and part of me liked that. Part of me liked the fact that I wasn't really from here. I didn't grow up here, and I was merely another link in the chain of people. I was a newer link, somehow that felt shiny and fresh to me. I could be invisible if I wanted, "who's that, what parish are you from?"

I run my hands along the side door of the car, feeling the pattern woven into the fabric underneath my fingertips. Every nerve ending is on high alert, and when he puts his hand on my knee I turn to face him, and we both laugh for no reason.