R. H. Mustard
VoicesThe wind is up tonight,
our patio chimes singing their lonely song, announcing another season in a refrain I've heard before. As we slide into fall, faint voices drift in from the pool: Labor Day visitors, here now the heat has broken, speaking in the dark. They'll awaken in a strange bed, unsure of where they are, how they got here. I will lose them in sleep, and tomorrow they will be gone forever, on their way back home, wondering why they came, at all. LessonI touched the keys
you left on the piano in plain sight, they sang your melody in broken chords I could not resolve, though the notes were clear enough, to hear just what you had in mind. Unlike you, I've never had a lesson in sharps and flats, never learned if my hand could contain an octave by itself, what pedal my foot might push to sustain the music longer than what I heard in the first lesson or two, nor would I know who to call should the keys fall out of tune, too soon. RiverYou said you'd meet me
behind the stadium, showing up in your boyfriend's car, unlocking the door to let me in, holding me closer than before. You drove in silence across the river, to a secluded place I'd never been, pulling me forever into your dark current, finally whispering, you had to get back. I barely managed to stumble away when you dropped me off, no longer knowing myself in the mirror. Driver's EdWhen I first taught you
how to drive, we both slipped in behind the wheel, hoping to learn quickly, but our bodies held us hostage, making unreasonable demands in a language we did not yet understand. We drove in this foreign land, without signs for Slow, Yield, and Stop, going way outside the lines, off-road, unlicensed, heavily under the influence, desperate to learn the driving art for the first big test in a driven world. How will I pass, you said, if we keep going like this You will pass because you have mastered the difficult and subtle part, I said. The man will see the strength in your eyes, the miles in your heart, the knowing way you hold the wheel.
|
Being in LineWhile I wait
to check out, my life slowly passes. Everyone here carries something to pay for somehow, money being the most familiar tender, though pain in any form is accepted. This is the only way to go, without attracting undue attention, being accused of leaving early, without paying anything, at all. EnoughYou've always wanted
this extra room, for your sister, you said, or anyone else who thinks they're a guest, an empty room waiting forever at the end of hall, as if it were enough, after all. So there it sits, the made-up bed, fresh linens listening, an old family portrait hung on the wall. So far as I know, no one's come so far, but now you're ready for the summer, or the fall. PhantomI awake in the night,
my tooth aching, even though it's no longer there. It's phantom pain, I tell myself, I should not even be aware. It will subside, only the empty space left behind will have any ghosts to bear. Soon it will heal, stop bleeding and close, finally go elsewhere. In time I'll forget the tooth is gone, won't remember when it was young and strong, won't need to sleep as if I didn't care. Do Not DisturbI took the sign
from the hotel door, knowing it wasn't needed there. I thought it might be useful again, if ever I went somewhere. I hung it in the room where we once slept, to remind me of what we had shared. Now I find it on my phone, knowing it's not really fair to turn the world off, as if I didn't care, to hide behind my little screen, pretending I'm not really there. A Pretty FaceA pretty face
still beckons me home, soft voice calling my name alone. A simple touch on my heart still, a forgotten memory years cannot kill. Each waking hour your hand's on mine, living now outside of time. In the waiting grove down by the sea, I'll find the place you saved for me. |
PrenatalI crave a deeper silence,
out of earshot from probing questions, loud voices. I've stopped answering the phone, listening to voicemail, silly names, pointless suggestions about my future. Better the phone rings on and on, until my being unavailable becomes normal. Kicking in the deep end of the pool, we swim past one another lost in thought. It's quiet with ear plugs and the bottom seems a long way down. Ceaseless talk, pretense, lies drop away; all I hear is the pounding of blood in my ears. MirageThe wind arrives
late at night, blowing sand across the highway of my dreams, like snow drifting in my headlights, beckoning even the most hesitant to follow. Some say it's a warning we will never quench our enormous thirst, will keep driving into the heart of the desert, forever searching, our parched lips, mouthing now only a hollow. meaningless sound. We drive for hours into nowhere, seeing billboards for newly built homes, available somewhere in the mirage ahead, disappearing as we draw near. White lizards scramble across the road, so supremely adapted, they know we're just an illusion, like all the others who came before. SoundingsThrough the window,
I hear voices muffled in rain, first sounding faint, then strong again. I can't make out what they're trying to say, hear what they've decided about me today. Sometimes they're nearer, then fading away, like they sounded only yesterday, or when I heard them, so long ago; they roll now in waves wherever I go, breaking forever on my own private sea, speaking as if they were meant just for me. A Perfect LifeI could have had
a perfect life, would have surely made you mine, if only there had been more time. I could have fixed what I did wrong, sent you flowers, played our song, pretended you wanted me, all along. We could've been happy, more than you'll ever know. I only wish now I'd made it so. ✥ |
