How long can I hold in the tears?
I let them build on the edge
Of my eyelids.
I let them threaten to fall
Down my cheeks.
I feel them burn my eyes
With their salt.
But how long can I keep them there?
How long did I imaging he would stay?
I let him suffer alone
With abrasion.
I let him question me
Without answering.
I gave him so much space
And he walked away.
But how long did I think he would stay?
How long has it taken me to be fine?
I grew in jolts
Against brick walls.
I hurt myself worse
Then he ever could.
I turned aside comfort
For the sake of nostalgia.
How long has it taken me to be fine?
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
The Basement
I wake up and it's dark. It's dusty. It's dank. There is dog hair, cat hair and dust bunnies floating across the floor, and spiderwebs dress the bare ceiling. It is dark and the concrete under me is cold. Everything is dirty and I fear it. Rather, I fear what lives in the dirt. I watch ants and spiders crawl and dart across the walls. It smells like dust and paint and dirt. Dirt is everywhere. The dust is everywhere.
My old snake cage is in the corner. Dust and grime coats the bottom of the rectangular glass box. It hasn't been cleaned since I last used it, and there are rat turds, snake skin, substrate and what I can only guess is evaporated piss. Piles of dust gather in the corners and a cellar spider has made one her home. Touching the inside of the glass feels like licking unbrushed teeth.
I remember buying the cage when I first bought the snake. It was heavier than I expected and the reptile expert had to help carry it out to my car, along with all the other supplies I needed. There was substrate, lamps, heating pads, rocky hiding places, a rocky water dish, humidifier, thermometer, and all the other accouterments a limbless serpent needs for comfort. I filled an entire shopping cart with junk before I even picked out which snake I wanted. But eventually, I was nose-against-the-glass, staring at my newest pet as he lay coiled in the back of the Petsmart cage. I was thrilled and nonchalant at the cost of it all.
The cage as I see it now reminds me of the house I let fade into ruin. Dusty floors, broken appliances, a dead and further dying yard; the consequence of trusting people and situations to remain the same. I abandoned the house as its owner abandoned me, and I easily gave it up as it was ripped away from me. The rose bushes which blossomed huge, colorful and heavy-scented flowers became a nest of dead thorny twigs. The grass grew green and then decayed by neglect. The house smelled of cat and human indecency. I gave it up and it fell apart.
To rectify that memory, I call my brother the realtor. I grab the phone wedged into my back pocket, because my jeans are too tight, and I slam my fingertip against the buttons. With the phone pressed against my face, I try to think of the kind of house I like. I try not to dwell on the slime of sweat mixing with dust on my cheek as the phone warms it into a sticky coating. I move the phone from cheek to cheek, and wipe away the grit with the back of my hand. I've been in the basement long enough for the dust to form a grey paste on my skin. I'm going to buy a house without a basement. The ringing is loud and irritating to my ears. I tap my foot as I wait for an answer.
But then an idea hits me and I slam the phone shut. I grab a nearby paper towel and scare away the cellar spider. I scratch away some dust from the cage glass and realize there is clean glass under the filth. The cage is still a cage. I test the durability of the sides and they stand strong. There are no cracks as my fingers feel the glass and push away the bigger clumps of dust. The cage is strong, sturdy and dependable. It only needs some care.
With that, I scrub. I scrape dust and grime off the glass. I tilt the cage so it all falls out to the floor. I then run to the tables in the room and dust them off. I dust the window sills, the bookshelves; the dust off the walls. I wipe the sweat from my face and I reach up and untangle the webs in the ceiling. There is not much of a difference in the room, but it's a start. All the dirt in the world just needs a start. All that's needed to clean it is care. I have begun caring.
My old snake cage is in the corner. Dust and grime coats the bottom of the rectangular glass box. It hasn't been cleaned since I last used it, and there are rat turds, snake skin, substrate and what I can only guess is evaporated piss. Piles of dust gather in the corners and a cellar spider has made one her home. Touching the inside of the glass feels like licking unbrushed teeth.
I remember buying the cage when I first bought the snake. It was heavier than I expected and the reptile expert had to help carry it out to my car, along with all the other supplies I needed. There was substrate, lamps, heating pads, rocky hiding places, a rocky water dish, humidifier, thermometer, and all the other accouterments a limbless serpent needs for comfort. I filled an entire shopping cart with junk before I even picked out which snake I wanted. But eventually, I was nose-against-the-glass, staring at my newest pet as he lay coiled in the back of the Petsmart cage. I was thrilled and nonchalant at the cost of it all.
The cage as I see it now reminds me of the house I let fade into ruin. Dusty floors, broken appliances, a dead and further dying yard; the consequence of trusting people and situations to remain the same. I abandoned the house as its owner abandoned me, and I easily gave it up as it was ripped away from me. The rose bushes which blossomed huge, colorful and heavy-scented flowers became a nest of dead thorny twigs. The grass grew green and then decayed by neglect. The house smelled of cat and human indecency. I gave it up and it fell apart.
To rectify that memory, I call my brother the realtor. I grab the phone wedged into my back pocket, because my jeans are too tight, and I slam my fingertip against the buttons. With the phone pressed against my face, I try to think of the kind of house I like. I try not to dwell on the slime of sweat mixing with dust on my cheek as the phone warms it into a sticky coating. I move the phone from cheek to cheek, and wipe away the grit with the back of my hand. I've been in the basement long enough for the dust to form a grey paste on my skin. I'm going to buy a house without a basement. The ringing is loud and irritating to my ears. I tap my foot as I wait for an answer.
But then an idea hits me and I slam the phone shut. I grab a nearby paper towel and scare away the cellar spider. I scratch away some dust from the cage glass and realize there is clean glass under the filth. The cage is still a cage. I test the durability of the sides and they stand strong. There are no cracks as my fingers feel the glass and push away the bigger clumps of dust. The cage is strong, sturdy and dependable. It only needs some care.
With that, I scrub. I scrape dust and grime off the glass. I tilt the cage so it all falls out to the floor. I then run to the tables in the room and dust them off. I dust the window sills, the bookshelves; the dust off the walls. I wipe the sweat from my face and I reach up and untangle the webs in the ceiling. There is not much of a difference in the room, but it's a start. All the dirt in the world just needs a start. All that's needed to clean it is care. I have begun caring.
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