I came across a beat up and coffee stained yellow folder in all the packing, moving, and unpacking. My writing folder. What are the chances? It was full of things I wrote when I could remember how to turn a word. I read some sheets over coffee; laughing at the piece on me yelling at my inhibitions and smiling difficultly at the ones about the playground. I fell quiet over the one's about the all-nighters I pulled trying to get him to love me. And then there's one about my mother. Which, is just...well just Roxy, because it's impossible to write her as anything but that. And since many of you have had the hilarity of meeting her, I thought I'd try to get myself back into a more eloquent word by posting some of the old things. Hope you're entertained aaand, don't forget to comment!
On A Sunny Day I Think of Her
Sometimes I wished I could stop you from talking
when I heard all the silly things you said.
"But I'm so funny!" you remarked as that cackle cascaded from your face
and fell in slippery pools of sarcasm at my feet.
I remember thinking you'd always have those young girl's eyes,
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
"I'll do it Monday," my teacher did reply
and sunk into her Adirondack chair on that same old summer vacation morning.
She snuck me sips from her bottle of lessons and when it was time,
I heard her say, "Hey, the city's alright."
So I moved on to carry Rummy cards for everyone to see and took
a shallow dive in the lake while humming, "Sugar, We're Going Down,"
trying to follow in her perfect feet
and leaving gratitudes in countless matinee programs.
But from time to time I can feel the distance getting close
with the scent of Home Sweet Home candles
that you left burning because somebody had to leave the light on
for a stubborn girl's restitution
on those same old summer vacation mornings
where I will find you
blending margaritas and causing little earthquakes in your daughter's seriousness.
...Ricky.
"These Eyes" by: The Guess Who
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aww i remember this. =)
ReplyDelete"The mornings hot and harsh, my notebook fills itself. The words come thick with sweat but it feels like someone else is writing all of this."
ReplyDeleteCaught up on the blogs and listening to a song on repeat. I just wanna text you hugs.