Becoming Him

I exude comfort and happiness now, after nearly 44 years. I have been disemboweled, dismembered, disheartened and deflowered enough in this life to know I have been ring side with the count shouted at my head, swollen, used up, blood and drool puffing out from under me. Somehow I got to my feet before the bell? My life has meaning, but what that meaning is, is still unclear. I was crushed from the moment I was born. Not literally, it seems plenty of us where the second child that was supposed to save the marriage, the ones that were supposed to be a boy. Many of us were greeted as disappointments, burdened souls, our arrival was announced and our fathers never showed up. I knew even though I was barely two, the moment he left…the moment I didn’t have a daddy anymore. It wriggled in deep underneath my blue satin trimmed blankie, cause of course I was supposed to be a boy. Pain doesn’t discriminate by age either. It hurt like my heart was dislocated and popped back into place. My sister fared worse. She had been old enough to love him, to call him Daddy and wait for him to come home at night; drunk or not, she knew his smell and his touch. She was also old enough to have a babysitter break her leg in the same place twice. Turns out I was the lucky one.

To be continued……..

Timing is everything

Surge forth, oxygenated, full throttle,

Nary a drop of misplaced doubt

Leftover from a childhood of wishing,

You’ve arrived, despite being parched

Glacial waters free of silt

Powered, pure but impure all the while,

As if you’ve dusted off the record player

And heard the voice of Maria Callas singing to you

On a rainy Saturday in November, windows steamed

Tempting your finger to clear away the dew

Softening the harsh outside world

En pointe, harmonious, the residue of perfection

The way a perfect cup of French Roast leaves a trace

Fully realized, as satiating as the final curtain call

No audience needed,

Defying the odds and timed more perfectly

than a first kiss.