esperanza (from taos)

i am not well acquainted with love.
i dont know where it comes from,
or where it goes when it leaves.
and once it chooses you,
i dont know how long it intends to stay.
but i have heard its voice
coming
from deep within.
it was a voice that knew of things
my eyes have not seen.
it knows of a path
my feet have not yet walked,
a path still before me.

"i was there because suddenly life had presented me
with Life"

i heard it
whispering softly
behind a held breath
when your hand
held mine
that night.
i heard the words
almost
inaudible
behind two decades
of the Other
two decades of bitterness,

"i could love you"

these are words my insides have said
for no other.
these are words that have been with me,
growing in intensity,
pacing between my collar bones and my pelvis,
like a caged animal,
so that i can not ignore it,
that are with me still,
these hours and days and weeks
later.
"i could love you"

you pushed against me
that night
with your own decades,
but you heard it.
in the hold
your eye had on mine,
you heard my voice,
and i heard yours.
you could love me.


(the above quote cited from
by the river piedra, i sat down and wept
by paulo coelho
i read it last night,
and started it again today.
i love it.)

nostalgia

ive been in the place of my birth
for only a couple of days
and already it is setting in.
my brand of nostalgia is not the type
written about in books.
mine is sticky, and weighted.
it is sadness, old sadness.
a sadness that is like an old friend,
outgrown,
but still comfortable.
its the comfort that scares me.
i know how i am drawn in by it.
and then i am lost in a little girl
i know only too well.

i have heard myself say the words,
"i think i get that from you"
already several times.
all to my father.
i am slow to understand my own feelings
and quick to give attention to everyone elses.
i get that from him.
i weigh the pros and cons religiously.
i learned that from him.
i am too hard on myself, and too easy on others.
he does that too.

sadness is my bedfellow.
as it has been his.
and still i see it in him.

the eyes show more of the years than any wrinkle could.
his light blue eyes
say more than his words are willing to.
and they, his eyes, are more honest.
they give away more than he wants.
more than he knows.
but i can see it.
it lives in my eyes, too.

i have prayed since i was a little girl.
more for him than any other.
i have nightly prayed that he would find
happiness.
and still his eyes have seen too much,
and im afraid he has been loved too little.

i will continue to pray for him.
as much for him as for me.
because im afraid
my fate is tied to his.

what he finds in this life,
so will i.

crushed on you

i went to the party the other night
to see this guy
that i keep trying to convince myself
i want to date.
certainly not expecting to see you.

i hugged your date hello.
you held my hand
and my eye
a little longer.
i knew i knew you.
but i didnt know you.
i wanted to know you.

im new to some of these things
so i fumbled through
trying to sit in such a way that
your knee would touch mine
under the table.
i wanted to touch you.

i sat on your dates lap
because it was close to you
and i talked to her
because you would hear

i bumbled a
rough & vague
image of my recent proclivities
a lame attempt to hit on you,
through her.

you looked up at me
dismissively
"said just like a straight girl."
well, yeah, maybe

but that doesnt define who i am
who i am
is crushed on you.

perceptions...are different sometimes

i try to have no preconceived notions when i come in
to write you
and then
i dont
without ever trying
and i still think. . .
im more honest than you.

im still, and will be for some time,
more honest than you.
not because youre not, but because you are asking.
and i know something here.

creepy, but real.
the smartest woman i know
said that.
she said it was smarter, and creepier.
i dont think its the same,
but i feel that.
its smarter and creepier.
im both smarter, and creepier.

thats how it is,
when i know something...that i shouldnt,
that i should not know.
i see things.
and theyre not like real pictures
but more like things i imagine
that may or may not
but sometimes in a very real way
come true.

and these people
trusting me
look at me
as if i am to know... to really know
for real knowing.
can you guarantee that?
i make no guarantees.

but apparently they are insinuated.
and i dont know it.
apparently i say things all the time,
that are blatant to other poeple.
but you were just somebody that i used to know.

sometimes i want you to be someone i just used to know.

but, bug, ask me now
what do i feel?

and you might get a differenet answer than you
bargained for.

knitting you a clear picture of me...

i need to unwind the yarn in my head
i want to wind it into yours
can you hear me?

you werent listening to me.
you werent even there when you came.
you say you want to know me,
but you dont even see me.
you all have images
called by my name
so many now i cant keep them straight.
i would normally blame myself, for giving you the image,
instead of me.
for not being real. for not being whole.
but not this time.
i did not give you this image.
you stole it from my past, from my pasts words.
but she doesnt see me either.

they say that people only see what they want to see.
more than that, they see only who they want to see.
i am too much for you.
i am too much for most.
and so you see nothing.
too much = nothing.
and i let you imagine who i am.
project your favorite movie onto my screen.
but what will you do now...
now that i have rolled up the screen.
and there is just me.
i dont fit into your movie now
do i?
i wont be type cast into anyones drama

so who am i?
i am tired, every time i stop to check.
i am scared more than angry, more than that and happy together.
i am still, because i cant hear myself when i move.
i only feel beautiful while in motion, or in words, never while still.
i am confused, often, but i hide it well.
i want to love, but something stops me, more from receiving than giving.
its my past that stops me.
its my past that has owned me.
i become a scared 7 yr old girl when people yell.
i am consumed by my passions.
so much so that i have to withdraw into my solitude to recover.
i understand joy. it is my central tenet.
i am awed by life. and i chase that awe, regardless of penalty.
the Met is my church.
it is where i worship art; it is where i can always find my awe.
there is nothing worse that i could do than let you see me cry.
i cry a lot. quietly. alone.
usually in the shower.
i pretty much have my shit together, even when i dont, its never out of control.
but my greatest fear is going crazy. like her.
no my greatest fear is dying without ever really loving or being loved. like her.
but not dying. i have no fear of that.
you say i am too eloquent, but you should see me
when i wear no words.
i am most open then. like a wound. a wound that never scabbed.
without my words, i am an open wound.
but it is my control that you crave,
and i would gladly give it to you if i knew
who i am without it.
i am learning. and i am close.
i will give my control as a gift,
but not to you.
i will give it to the one who knows me.
only she will have earned it.

im not playing with images anymore.
i want to play with reality.
this is me. as i know it today.

horticultural success

success is a strange thing.
you work for something, something very particular,
for a long time, a very long time.
and then you get it.

or lets go back a step.
you start to get it.
all the little seeds that you had planted
and tended to
for months, or years or decades,
they start to sprout.
they are pushing up through the soil.
and they are in that stage
where their heads are all bent and unfolding and
you can watch and predict what they will look like when they are
grown.
and you cant help but be excited for them.
but then you start to think
can i really do this?
am i ready for this?
what if i fail?

and your breath stops under your collar bones
your teeth hurt and
your insides curl into an aqueduct

thats what fear feels like to me.

all the false starts are falling away.
there are just two plants
left viable.
and they are beautiful plants.
really beautiful.
and im really falling into stride with their care.
and it feels. . .
(i dont want to say it, but) meant to be.
and now im terrified.

can i really do this?
am i ready for this?
what if i fail?

what if i succeed?

sink or swim.

the past few days have been
a whirlwind.
a whirlwind over the pacific.
if that exists.
i said to my nearest and dearest just a couple of weeks ago that
major change was aloft
for me.
they hate when i say shit like that
all prophetic and shit
tough to deal with im sure.
all the same i said it.
and so.

my therapist says its what happens when a
near critical mass
occurs
and all that honesty shit
that ive been working at,
in one area of my life or another,
or all,
starts to. . .
reap.

my nearest said tonight
to warn me
against honesty
she said they dont always understand it.
i knew that, but i dont all the way know it,
not like i will.

foreshadowing.

the other night with my dearest
she warned me too
not as much with what she said
as what she looked at me with
i know that look
thats the,
"i know you believe what you just said, but i know its not true, and wont tell you"
and what had i said to deserve that?
-"she's the one that stands to get hurt here."

and so honesty
momentous honesty
sink or swim.