NOW SHOWING: MARYLAND, LATE MARCH

You have this show memorized, (you who live in this deciduous region,)

And you know this feeling well. A week ago, the back stage was bare naked,

Everything could be seen through the spindly tree branches - cold reality in harsh light.

There might have been snow, it was certainly wet and chill,

Definitely nothing much to look at.

But not anymore -

Now the play opens, (you’d miss it if you didn’t already know what happens,)

First sunlight lengthening, then warmer daytime highs, always some amount of rain,

The magic of a tilting Earth works – crocus and grass shoots appear in the foot lights, downstage,

And early bloomers under spot lights - the pale cherry, yellow forsythia, white fluffy pear.

All the blossoms that had been hard-tight buds at all the branch ends

Are not anymore -

Now the stage changes, (seen from your seat in the middle back row,)

It swells with suspense, with a pregnant haze. Through opera glasses you can see

Yellow green tendrils on willow hanging down, rust green clusters on maple like baby spiders,

Powdery green pollen, glossy green buds, fuzzy green orbs, and feathery green leafkins,

All about to burst like fireworks into the show’s monstrous scene of green,

But not yet -

Now, (on cue, like you always do,) you wonder whether or not

You really remember what it’s like to be the audience to Maryland in late March,

When the smother of green leaves is about to engulf everything, and you wonder how soon

You will forget the bare naked view of the back stage. Now,

This is the feeling you know. It was Winter, and Summer is coming,

But

Not

Yet.

BAT AND BOYFRIEND GOT TO GO

by Lori Martin, June 2019

image: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/109423465919646159/

Shutting all the windows and doors now is pointless.
The bat is inside, and flap-banging itself on the ceiling.
One half of my brain is occupied with trying not to kill it
While I am swinging a broom, shooing it toward the window.

The other half, as it is these days, is occupied with you.
You are just like this bat. I want to shut you out of my heart,
But you are trapped in here, flap-banging around, bruising me.
Breaking things. I know that no broom can sweep you out.

The bat has found a spot on the ceiling out of my reach
And rests, claws like Velcro, holding on tight. Its sides heave
Rapidly, breath and heartbeat. But it is still. I put the broom away
And admire the tiny furry winged thing. Little head. Little ears.

Maybe this will happen with my memories of you, too. They will rest,
Find a safe spot to stick and stay. Will I be able then to study you,
Remember your beauty and brilliance and let go of what should have been?
I am angry. I miss you. You were wrong. I was wrong. Flap-bang.

Half my brain is thinking I might need to call someone to rescue the bat.
It really does need to go, no matter how many mosquitoes it eats. If it stays,
it will fly at my head and tangle in my hair, I just know it. But just as I
type, “bat removal” in the search bar, it lets go its clutch, and flies out.

The half of my brain not clinging to you knows to close the window now.

WHAT DID I EXPECT?

I did not expect a co-worker to flee this morning, spitting “I QUIT” at the one person who looked her in the eye.

But that's what I did.

I did not expect there to be a privileged, middle aged, empowered, underemployed, independent, lonely white woman sobbing at the McDonald’s.

But that's who I am.

I did not expect people’s brain chemistry to be such a confusing black hole of questioned motivations, reactions, decisions.

But, that's what I deal with.

Is this hypermanic Lori? Hypoglycemic Lori? Broken Lori. Get back to me when I’m not me anymore. Me is broken.

SIGH.

Well, I guess if I’m writing this, I am not broken YET.

I did not expect super heroes to have powers like NOT slapping people, and NOT getting wasted, instead of strength or flying.

But that's what I am...

 

A fucking super hero,. Up, up, and away I go, NOT slapping you. NOT getting drunk. NOT doing any harm. This is super hard.

Actually, I’m amazing at it. (Most of the time.)

I would expect to feel amazing,

But that shows what I know.

(https://www.reddit.com/r/photoshopbattles/comments/2053oy/a_defeated_superhero/)

SPRING HAIKU

Birds hop with stringy
Scraps, and flap up awkwardly
Like always, to nest.

 (photo: Kaarina Dillabough)

LESSON ONE

(https://www.whoa.in/gallery/alone-girl-sitting-on-a-railway-track)

I am an experiential learner,

Also known as learning the hard way.

I must put my hand in flame

To believe it burns.

I am a poetic teacher.

Those more sensible than I

Find truth in my words and learn

From my burnt-first-hand accounts.

LESSON 1

Matthew said she had bled for twelve years

Before she reached his hem,

Where Jesus called her “daughter,”

And healed her right away.

My blood sheds from the time I was raped,

And bad psychological handling of said event,

And my own foolish tries at love and healing

For the last thirty-two years.

But I have known, (most of that time)

That all along Jesus’ healing hem has hung

Just beside me, close enough to touch,

If only I would reach out my bloody hand.

Now and then I have managed to act,

Desperately, throwing myself on his robes,

Clutching at the cloth, and his flesh,

And muscle, and bone within.

Jesus - a man, with a body wounded,

Having bled, and cried, and loved like me -

With strong hands supports my crumpled frame

And calls me “daughter.”

I learned the hard way that love is pain,

That life is not fair, that innocents suffer,

And that risk and caution, trust and doubt,

Are vicious Catch 22’s.

But grasping at this healing hem,

Enfolded in his rough, warm robe,

-I can give no rational explanation -

My bleeding stops.

Why don’t I stay here? Also irrational.

I don’t know why it heals, and I don’t know why I wander.

I let go, I forget, I try to find love by myself again

And bleed from old wounds reopened.

Matthew tells of a moment’s intersection

In the life of the bleeding woman and Jesus’ hem.

Do we assume that before that moment, she only ever suffered,

And was only happy ever after?

Rather than her whole story,

Matthew, and the whole Bible, acquaints us

With God’s curious character of drastic love

And ongoing creation.

Unlike the woman who found him

One moment in a pressing, anonymous crowd,

I have known Jesus in me, with me, beside me

All my life. Let me instruct you,

You will experience many things.

Of course you will make mistakes,

Or suffer from the mistakes of others.

You will not always feel healed.

But I know Jesus is real, and always healing,

And always full of fierce love for you,

And always heart-rendingly compassionate,

And always shining bright-light truth,

And always that kind of good with a capital G.

Lesson One: Whenever you think of it, grab on to his hem.

SNOW DAY

On a day they did not predict overnight precipitation,

Three inches covered everything outside the house.

I got up early and kept to my routine, unsuspecting -

Unconscious - on autopilot, my mind anywhere but here.

I opened the door to head out and FROZE (pause three beats...)

Surprised by SNOW – and that way it transforms everyTHING.

The view startled me awake from my sleep-walk.

I came to with a gasp in the land of the living – this living land:

There are no footprints yet, there has been no shovel or plow -

The road, the sidewalk, the cars in mounds  - all covered –

Bare trees stand out in black lines on the snow’s gentle light –

And the house across the invisible street now appears nearer.

With a guileless grin I can’t wipe off my face (and don’t want to)

I step out, crunching like a kid off from school, into the different day.

Court Date

 

On our 21^st wedding anniversary

I stood in the empty stone lobby of the courthouse – alone,

Reading the digital board that lists, like airport departures,

The cases to be decided today.

There we are - Martin vs. Martin.

We have signed all the requisite slips of paper.

They were served by that oddly fractious third party we had to hire,

Sworn to, and all submitted in duplicate months ago.

This one is cut and dried.

I have not seen you in five years.

It is longer still since we touched with affection or kindness.

But you remain familiar - I fight you and love you when I’m dreaming.

In the daylight, I awake to reality. You are distant. It is cut and dried.

The judge meets my eyes and rules this divorce absolute.

There are Milky Way minis in a paper cup on the plaintiff’s table.

I wonder if these are for me.

Perhaps people need chocolate when this happens?

I didn’t expect tears in this empty stone place.

But the word “absolute,” and you still in my dreams,

and the mundane humanity of candies in the courtroom

fall on me heavily.

I say thank you, ma'am, and go out of the court to find a tissue.