Grow S&*t, Write S*+t

Until the day I die, I’ll never forget those glassy, unblinking eyes. Sizing up my hips and breasts with the look of remembrance where his experienced hands had been hours before.

Each time had me tasting the bitter good-bye in his hello kiss. His tongue telegraphed the warning message and I ignored it. As in the beginning, he flashed me the smile that never reached his eyes–eyes that always said so much and so little at the same time.

For the countless time in the last two years, he let me walk away and followed up with a text message the following morning while I was weeding my garden.

I always have a hangover after being with you

His words triggered the itch even though I was determined to stop the cycle. He was like nettle and I was tired of the prick.

Me, too. I’m going to disappear for awhile

Me, too
We can’t keep doing this

Augh. Really, bastard? You’re gonna say it again? But I hardened and resolved.

I’m just going to grow shit and write shit. You won’t hear from me

The conversation continued like it typically did. Both of us confessing remorse and promising to be better. All the while, I weeded and snatched and pulled and plowed the earth to make it whole. I took off my gloves only long enough to reply to each and every last nail he put in the coffin.

He finally ended it with a promise to love me forever (rain or shine) and said he prayed that I’d have a beautiful garden. I prayed that he’d have a beautiful life and meant it. He could always pull that last bit of harshness away and find my soft truth.

The garden that summer was a complete disaster. I nurtured, teased and tried to tickle life to the surface. The result was lifeless, pale-green and lackluster. Storms demolished the heirloom tomatoes, drought sucked the nutrients from the soil, and over-zealous weeding plucked out seedlings before they had a chance to grow.

Typical me. Fluttering, fixing and fucking up. Making mountains while they were still mole-hills. His memory continued to plague me though the vision of his cruel eyes were buried deep in my darkest places.

Places that only he had been.

ALBREC~1

How different would life be had I not glanced his way? Had I not reached out when his eyes spoke to me. Had I recognized the emptiness behind his allure. He didn’t even see it himself until we were too far in.

I never meant to hurt you

You are my one true love

The view of my gardens both sickened and delighted me. Flower and vegetable beds each bore a tribute to our “last” times together. Roses for the first sweet good-bye and pink peonies for an encore the following week. Daisies for a resolve to do better and an entire bed of zinnias when I caved again. We were each consumed by cocaine-laced kisses that devoured us and left a path of pain and regret in its wake.

Grow shit. Write shit.

It was all shit.  No words to feed the craving in my body and nothing that would grow in the wasteland I’d created.

Except for one patch.

A small section in the woodland where I’d carelessly thrown seeds of peppermint. Neglected and forgotten, the mint spread and flourished filling the air with a faint scent of recognition. Just as Hades intended when he created the persistent little plant.

In a flurry, I yanked out stems by the root hoping to contain the infiltration and keep it out of my failing corn patch. Each morning, new life appeared with more vigor until I couldn’t kill it any longer. I surrendered and laid in its bed of invasion. Wisps of peppermint circled my halo of hair and the cool, sticky leaves clung to my thighs. It was then that the phone vibrated and rang the tone reserved just for him.

Are you growing shit?

My fingers sketched the same expanse that his hands had navigated on my body the months before. Lines of regret, scars of passion and the memory of being full right before he emptied me again.

 

Always a Hummingbird

“I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

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If you’re not a stranger and have visited my other blogs: MamaMick and Ps and Qs, thank you first and then a warning that this will be a little different than the sunshine and roses you’ve seen flourishing over there.

If we are just meeting for the first time–welcome and nice to see you! I’m not sure what it’s in store for us, but am always grateful to meet a new friend and never take your visits for granted.

Now for a standard list of side effects, warning and precautions (safety first!):

• This site is more private than public

• More cathartic than literate

• All fiction and poetry

And with that said…

• Flash Fiction has my fingers itchy as I already anticipate a future addiction

• Damn it–I’m gonna figure out how to write believable character dialogue

•It’s experimental, not practiced and it’ll be bad in the beginning

•I don’t know “how” to write poetry

What a hot mess this is going to be!

If you know my parents–please throw shiny objects at them so they will look the other way. Same goes for my husband–he worries enough about me the way it is. I can’t imagine I’ll get too far off the beaten path, but it’s nice to have that naughty option when I’m in a mood.

Your kind words are always welcome, but don’t be afraid to be honest and provide constructive criticism. My other blogs are for love and this space is for in the trenches learning. Be candid, not afraid to hurt my feelings and I’ll love and appreciate you even more than I already do. We’d never write anything worthwhile if we weren’t afraid to let it be horrible first.

That’s it for now. Eventually I’ll make this post my “about page.” But, that comes later…I have stories to feed and poems to set free.

xo

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The Hummingbird

by Harry Kemp

The sunlight speaks. And it’s voice is a bird:

It glitters half-guessed half seen half-heard

Above the flower bed. Over the lawn …

A flashing dip and it is gone.

And all it lends to the eye is this —

A sunbeam giving the air a kiss.

 

Sending heartfelt thanks across the universe to my fantastic and fearless friends Christy and Jennie. You ladies pushed me over the edge through your own brave examples and talented words. I don’t even have a scratch….yet. You Rock! XO