Woodlawn Manor

​

​

It's 2:14 in the morning.

I'm awake, because the sirens

and lights on the fire truck

at the nursing home across the street

scream loud and bright, and

I'm a light sleeper, and anxious.

I think about this

time trick-or-treating

my mom made us go

to Woodlawn Manor

instead of house-to-house. I Can't

recall if it was raining or

snowing, and if that was

why I don't know, and it's not important.

Still,I consider Googling the weather

from that day.

But, I won't, and say

“No,” out

loud and chuckle at

the absurdity, but stop abruptly,

because I don’t want to wake anyone

else up, just to have to try and explain

my thought process,

and how my thoughts

in the middle of the night

always feel more intense

than at any other time.

​

Tense has been a constant

struggle of mine, like, this

and then and

when are we going?

Where we're going is not

where we were, because we went,

and now we're here, but I worry

the message I send

isn’t sent

in a way that’s clear,

and fear those

I send, or have sent,

it to won't know what I mean.

So I'm confused on how I can,

or, could word this

to make better sense

of these sentences,

because I can't afford to tell this story

any more recklessly

than I am, or is it

Have been…?

​

feeling so annoyed with myself

the bantering the

condescending tone, I speak only to me

I internally scream,

!“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS!?!?!?"!<

​

I decide I'll look

for the answer online, but

give up after a few seconds,

because I can't word

the question right, and

keep accidentally pressing

the backspace instead

of the space bar.

​

Now I'm alert to the hum of

the furnace and car moving

slow down the street, it's

bass thumping

I concede and relent too often to

nights

counting minutes between the

pumps of the sump pump

pumping and brain

blood

temple drumming

Beats

Heart

string

strumming

Next day

eyeball thumbing

Spreadsheets in a caffeine filtered

No sleep

kind of middle of the night

daydream

-------

I wanted to be 
a witch. Instead 
I wore my sister's ladybug
costume from the year 
before, black tights with red polka- 
dots on them, and blue plastic
booties fit over my shoes, 
                          but only because I'm told to
held in place with elastic 
Cinched at the tops near the knots
in my laces 
my sister said I was stupid for not yet knowing how to tie
and it doesn’t feel fair that I got spanked when I pinched
her a little too hard, but everyone stayed quiet when she called me 
stupid.

---------

And I'm lingering on this, as

my daughter shifts in

in her sleep. Inched closer, so that

the street light

gives her face a glow

that shows a perfect

expression of carefree and pensive

I know it doesn't make sense,

and you'd have to be here

to see her to get it,

but let me try and explain it:

puckered lips like two

raspberries squeezed and then seamed

too tightly together, fixed on a face smooth

like a stamp licked on at the last second

and sent on time,

A brow furrowed like someone

trying to explain chess to a person they love

Patience

I kiss the dimple on her chin

and watch her eyelids carve

her dreams, I wonder about what she dreams

---------

I was pouting and moaning, because
ladybugs don't have any 
blue on them and they
covered the places 
where mom glued glowing
sticks on as antennas. 
my mom squeezed my
face hard between her 
fingers pulled me close enough
to her mouth to smell her cigarette breath and said, “if 
you're going
to act like a little 
bitch
we'll just go
home then,” so, I said I was 
sorry, please let go, it hurts
my cheeks, and as far as 
I knew 

know

ladybugs don't have 
red cheeks. “Or blue
feet,” I mumbled under 
my breath, and said “nothing” 
when she looked down 
angry at me through 
clenched teeth, “what 
Did you just say?”

----------

The lights were turned

off now, but the ambulance

was still parked under

the awning. I could see the Fire

truck’s blinker flashing in the

reflection of the puddle

stretching from the stop sign

down the street

to my window.

​

My dog pauses mid-yawn

and lets out a tired

^(I don't know the word for the sound)

Not a bark, but the start of one

that becomes more relaxed

and makes the noise of

^([Google: Do dogs have lips?])

Bottom lip and flew resting loosely together

as the air of her breath is forced through,

but slowly, as to cause this

flapping together sensation

creating

the sound of verberation

but she carries on,

licking her paws

Completely unphased by my

middle of the night

Existential Crisis

---------

Then these kids stood 
up and moved toward a
screen set up next to one 
of those soda machines 
we would make “suicide”
drinks by pouring bits from
each of the spigots.
They sang a song from Casper 
while a video showed 
Frankenstein and Shaggy from Scooby 
Doo doing the Monster Mash.
Just before the song ended
a man wearing a velvet robe
inside out, with a long slit fastened 
in the back, pulled 
the tablecloth from under
stacks of glasses 
and everyone jumped back, all at
once, except the people who
lived there didn't even flinch, or notice
what happened 
grownups laughed, weird like, not 
because it was funny.
They just didn't
know what else to do.

---------

The rhythm of their breathing

reminds me of wind-

shield wipers - forever out of sync -

I’ve been studying

her face for a while

looking for any clues to shared

characteristics and tracing the lines

so as to have the ability to draw her

from memory if ever need be.

​

There's a feeling that overwhelms me

from the most center of my being,

pulsating all around me and

outward into the universe,

being dispersed into little clusters of,

what the fucks.

And here's one:

if I could swallow her Whole, or ball her up

so small enough to stash her in my chest cavity,

I would

do it to keep her safe from all

the depravity in the world.

If someone told me, and could prove

true, that if I stuffed my mashed up self

into a locket

I could be her lucky

charm tucked down in

her pocket forever

protecting her from harm

and pain and worry

and shame and all the sad

things. sorry that was two

not one, my bad.

​

I fight hard not to trail into the

next thought,

far more persistent,

by nature

and the face of her's

is behind my eyelids

framed with smoke and eyebrows

flexed hard, but weirdly stretching

at the same time.

Desperate to kiss above her

nose, but the two creases between

them are like magnets pushing

against their force working to sever

their pull toward each other

and before I know it, I can’t coerce

myself out of my own mind, and my throat,

like a bullfrog's

doubles in size

and croaks

no

But I don’t chuckle this time

I cry

the same as you'd see

in a silent movie

muted.

no sound.

I answer the

Question in my head,

did she ever look at you

this way like

did she study your face

While you slept

no

She didn't,

ever.

​

I can smell the inside

of that lobby

it's strong and catches

me off guard, because

I haven’t been there

since that rainy or maybe

snowy day.

​

suddenly

​

I miss the red

lights singing

with blue,

on my ceiling,

and feel like a tool,

to consider what would

lure them back

make me feel

secure

​

I asked my mom once

what it smelled like

that for

and she said it

was the cleaner

they used

on the floor

as a disinfectant,

and at the time

I believed

her,

but I'm not

sure I do

anymore. Seems oddly

specific an answer to conceive

on the spot

But,

she lied

about a lot of things

cancer wasn't the only malignancy

eating up her insides.

---------

When I asked mom 
if that meant we could go
get candy now, she nodded,

nudged forward
feeling a little 
nervous she didn't 
follow, but I’m used to it 
and pushed my way 
through to find 
the end of the line.

A lady sat 
shaky in her chair covered 
by a black blanket that had
bright red and yellow
flowers painted on it. 

---------

I still see

that blanket everywhere

I go

and, no,

not in an ironic

sort of way,

but literally,

the

universal

crocheted old

folks home throw.

​

Who the hell knows, and

I am not fucking trying

to Google “sowed and flowered

black death

blanket all old people

cover up and die in,” at this hour

Okay

I’m lying, I totally

did, but it only resulted in

a band of articles

about the Black

Plague, and now I'm

learning all about pandemics, because

sleep is for the weak, and

sick. I am just a little bit of

each, but mostly just hard to handle

and understand all the in’s and out’s of

------

I remember I didn't want to 
wait for her
anymore, because I'd been
standing awkwardly 
there for probably 6 minutes or
more with her staring right
above my head,
nothing there, 
a blank wall, 
perhaps 
a 
dusty 
painting 
of a sinking canoe

---------

I check and see if I can find that painting online.

I think it would be neat to have

something like that

in my office

to hang above

the bookshelf

instead, I order

the supplies I would

need to paint it myself.

​

In this moment I will stop at nothing to paint

that sinking canoe painting, and vow

from here on out

I will be authentic-

ally me. it’s very important,

right now

at 3

a.

m.

---------

She struggled to find
the opening of the bag and 
couldn’t quite maneuver her
stiff-stick fingers 
or hands in the way she needed to, and I'm 
not sure if she was
trying, or if she even knew 
what she was supposed to be 
doing. I've been 
warned by mom’s eyes, scolded,
from across the room not to 
help. 
Patience is learned, behavior
Molded, and I wasn't quite 
there yet. The saliva that 
packed in the corners 
of her mouth mixed and 
had collected 
with the chocolate snacked on
earlier, and all was starting
to lose its grip. like brown bubble
gum stretched out but 
wet and gross instead 
not by effort but by a lack
thereof to keep it inside or swallow it
down, it had created a lopsided frown 
colored on by a toddler with a crayon
blissfully unaware, or not bothered to care,
slurred blurred line
I watched it intently, drip like paint
down on both sides, in a slug race
toward the bottom 
of her chin, and I was made a fan
cheering on the left side, the underdog,
started with less momentum 
but gained on the right after a
sudden onset of tremors set off
by Batman's grappling hook
that had tagged her shoulder blade
An audible sigh released in
me as I watched in amazement 
her hand fish through and slowly descend
When I saw what she pulled out 
from the bottom, my body twitched
and loud on the inside 
I screamed, and
held back tears,
destroyed 
no one would, or ever will know 
what it took, or ever
be proud of me. 
She wasn't 
Coherent and was fidgeting with
the box it hit
me. The shell before me wasn't 
ever aware of me
there standing or that I was even a 
lady- 
bug, or that it was
Halloween
and she's supposed to be 
handing out candy. And, now
 I am mad 
all over again. 
Her frail self doesn't understand
she's alive or where
she is
 or where she's been. 

She's the 
oldest lady I've ever seen in my life,
 but she's a baby.
Needed care and cradled 
And watched and kept safe 
From her own self's
mistakes.

No one takes notice, 

I know this

feeling,

lived it

she shoves 
the whole box, 
still sealed
into her stained 
chocolate mouth, silently gagging
-
and right there 
across from me 

the memory seared into the depths

of my being

she started to choke 

to death

on my Halloween 
raisins
I would have never eaten 

I often find myself questioning

if in that moment, if, she

she saw me

felt

fit, and......well.......

​

well enough

then

to

just

fucking

end it.

​

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