Doctor Appointment Today

I’m going back to see Doc Pace at 11 today.

I’m sort of disappointed. I’ve been back on the meds for almost a month, but I’m definitely not seeing improvement like I was last time.

How crappy for me.

I hope that changes. I feel like I “missed my chance” at getting somewhat functional again.

I didn’t think you were supposed to be depressed when you’re on anti-depressants, even if you’re taking the anti-depressants for pain management.

How doubly crappy for me.

The Labor

For five days,

and five nights,

I have toiled to the brink of exhaustion.

Sweat has poured

in buckets from my skin.

My mind has raced

and twisted and turned.

Blood has dripped

from my battered fingers.

And tears have flowed

from my bloodshot eyes.

My unseen foe,

myself,

has pushed me to the edge,

and I am weary to the bone.

My body shakes in fatigue,

and I feel I can continue no longer.

Were there a god

upon whom I could call

I believe I would be tempted

to pray for merciful Death.

I would be hard pressed

not to beg for her comfort,

her solace,

her rest.

But for now my race is over,

my work is done,

my toil now suspended.

I sit before my computer screen

and let escape a gasp of relief.

Thank God,

there is no school on weekends.

L.

10/13/95

Woman

“Why?”

you ask,

“do you write so much

about woman?

Her soft lips,

blazing eyes,

tender touch,

flaming spirit,

and burning soul?

Why her throat,

bared to your teeth?

Why her breast,

filled with passion?

Why her hips,

shaped to entice your lust?

Why her person,

wild as untamed horses?

Why her chin,

more high and noble than any king?

Why her kisses,

more honest and devious

than any manchild ever born?

And why her song,

the hypnotic song

of the siren?”

.

And I,

in humility,

must answer,

.

“My good friend,

It seems to me,

You have answered

your own question.

What more stunning creature,

could enchant such a man as I,

.

As Woman?”

L.

10/12/95

Rendezvous

Lit up by the shining full moon,

Enwrapped by the biting October wind,

Roofed by the clear bright stars,

Standing with the hard, cold concrete

beneath my feet of ice,

I wait.

Time passes in circles,

Each breath is hours from the last,

Each heartbeat stumbles before the next.

There is no traffic,

this time of night,

No passerby to break the silence,

No owl in this city

to keep me company.

My thoughts have traveled

a million light years and back,

and again,

they rest on you.

Reality swirls

and is an extension of imagination

From the dark alleyway

a stone rattles against a brick,

From the black shadow

your form explodes into the light.

Your passionate greeting

leaves me bonless

trembling,

aroused.

We walk to the river,

along the bank,

Saying much,

but nothing on our common mind.

L.

10/10/95

The Three Bears

Cute,

Funny,

Is how the exercise began.

She was reading from a book,

The Three Bears.

As I listened,

Amused,

I began to recall.

There was a day,

a time to be more precise,

when I told this story to my daughter,

Kayla,

Each and every night.

I spoke the parts,

Papa was gruff,

Mama was motherly,

and Baby was small.

Her eyes were wide,

Expectant,

Like each time

was the very first.

“Hot stuff will burn you, Daddy,”

“Porridge is like oatmeal,”

“She broke it on accident, Daddy,

That’s ok, isn’t it?”

Though I am not given

to public grief,

The tears flowed beyond my control.

Not that I attempted to control them,

That would have meant futile madness.

I make no apology,

for apparent melodrama,

I simply explain my loss,

my grief,

my pain.

L.

10/6/95

Jane

Her Cherokee blood,

Her dark hair and eyes,

Her wild intelligent spirit,

Fighting to break the chains

Shackled on her in childhood.

Knowing what freedom was,

Yet afraid to test the water,

Fearful of the mythology

and superstition of her youth.

In my haste and excitement,

I pushed her into freedoom,

And in terror,

in shame,

She huddled back into her prison,

and ran away from me.

L.

10/4/95

Untitled about my Father

I walked along the shore,

Thunderous crashing of surf,

against the rocky cliffs below,

Cold wet spray of water

against my face,

Salty smell of the mighty Atlantic

burning in my nose.

Out over the water

I could see the proud ships

of my homeland’s navy

Coursing through the waves.

I sat upon a rock

and thought a while,

Remembering times

when I was quite young

And my father brought me here.

I miss my father.

We were great friends,

He and I.

We still speak,

every few weeks.

I drive the many hours,

Once or twice a year,

to see him,

hoping to recapture that something

That doesn’t seem

to still be there.

L.

10/4/95