Just a Little Bit

I like him just a little bit

And everytime he pushes it

With every smile brightly lit

And words like sugared candy

I'll let him stay a little time

And let his misty pupils shine

I'll let him tell me the world is mine

And that he will wrap it for me.

I like him just a little bit

Each word unspoken as we sit

And I'm wondering if I will fit

In the empty space beside him.

Sand

I can't believe

how dumb

I am

to mistake

him for

that other man

to think

I couldnt

when I can

to see him hold

with his

whole hand.

I find it strange

how fast

it goes

how black

the screen

I'll never know

the tears

like kites

look how high

they flow

how could I

swoop down

so very low?

I like to

have the

upper hand

to know which

platform that

I stand

to follow directions

the clouds

have planned

now I can't believe

how dumb

I am.

I can't believe

how dumb

I am

I've tried digging

my escape

deep through

the ground

but my shuffles

sweating,

blisters

on my hand

and in the waves

he still stands.

I dont see why

it's him

instead

but the need

inside has

to be fed

my blood

is poisoned

my mouth

full o'lead

nothing but

thoughts

inside my head

One thing

that I don't

understand

the lyric

dribbles from

the word of man

but I can't

think of

anything but sand

and how unbelievably

dumb I am.

Tell me when you've arrived

Tell me when you've arrived.
Everything will be alright.
Love will never seem so heavy.
Lies will never flow so smooth.

Meet me when you've arrive.
Everyone will be waiting.

Whisper to me when you've arrived.
Hold your suitcase to your ribs.
Every moment will seem too quiet.
Nobody will hear a thing.

Yell for me when you've arrived.
Out the window thrust wide open.
Ugly geese go squawking by.
Violins start sobbing.
Every creature waiting.

Ask for me when you've arrived.
Right behind you I'll be standing.
Rasping breathes like wisps of smoke.
It will sound like the whole world.
Varnished, cleaned and shining.
Everyone will be staring when you've arrived but,
Don't spare them any thought.

Silence

I look at her. And I'm worried.

Because I never say anything and she doesn't either.

My mouth is drooping off my face.

Dripping.

Slowly.

Slowly every silent second.

I smile at her. But I am still worried.

Because I never laugh at anything and she doesn't either.

My ears roaring like a train engine.

Shrieking. Yelling.

Yelling every giggle-less moment.

I nod at her. But I am still very worried.

Because I know I don't understand much and she doesn't either.

So my heart is pulsing through my head.

Thudding. Throbbing.

Throbbing every missunderstood minute.

My smile shows, though. Though I still remained, stabbed with worry.

Because I think I'm starting to realize.

I'm seeing. Looking. Learning

Learning that maybe all that's worthwhile

Are the words we do not say.

Sick

Smiles and nothing more

Splattered like blood on a frosting window.

Giggles like lead bullets

Thundering through the empty air.

Thank you's and you welcome's

lick and claw at the dusty table.

And am sick

Of the actions

Never taken.

Life's Minor Interuptions

I have this problem. I'm painting, it's midday, and I can't tell whether the yellow is my paint or the sunlight. I don't know whether the blue it my water color or the thin sheet of air in front of me.

My mother walks in often. Her hair is round like a balloon, not a hair out of place. That's what my mother's like. She does not like stray hairs or stray anything. She walks in and she is bathing in yellow paint.

“Lu! What are you still doing here? It's lunch time!”

I don't really make an attempt to argue, I dab at my painting, I say,

“I've had my lunch.” I point at a unfinished sandwich at the corner of the room. A paint-covered sandwich.

“What about the girl? I told her you'd meet her at lunch.”

I remember slowly who it is she is talking about. But I continue to dab the pink on my female apparitions that dance on my canvas. I think about how nice and quiet the canvas looks. I like quiet.

“I don't know what to do with you, I really don't. Do you want to stay in this studio all your life? Do you?”

I don't answer and my mother and that is the last straw. She leaves the room with a noise and the sunlight does not miss her when she is gone. I continue drawing pink apparitions on my canvas. Pink like the meat of juicy grapefruit. I do not look up from my canvas or my apparitions.

“Lucas.”

It's my younger brother and it's his tie-wearing day. Beside him is a women completely dressed in pink. Her face is pink, too. So are her slender arms and her bony ankles.

“What are you doing today?” He asks me. The women besides him merely swaying in the sun's gentle breath, as if she doesn't exist.

“This.” I say and turn back to my canvas. I dab some more. This time it is the blue of a pond, greenish-blue and the golden dot of sunlight is the goldfish.

“But what about the women!?” My younger brother cries.

I ignore him and give my goldfish an eye.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten! This afternoon! The party! Lucy will be there and you know how much we like Lucy!” I look slowly up at his pink lady friend standing beside him. I wonder if she minds what my brother is saying about Lucy. The pink lady seems to melt in the sun, like paint.

“You coming?”

There is a silence and it claws at my canvas.

“No.” I say.

My younger brother looks at me with the most ugly combination of frustration and sympathy.

“I don't understand you.” He says, and he walks out of the door, his quiet, pink lady friend follows him out. I continue to paint the orange scales of my goldfish, orange-peel-yellow and happiness-red. I think about how beautiful fish are.

The door opens again and this time the studio stinks of perfume.

“Lucas, honey. I thought you'd be at work!”

I do not look up from my canvas, or the golds and yellows, because it is only Anne and I wouldn't mind if the sun just inhaled her.

“You spend so much time over here. What about making a living? What about our money?” Her face is suffocating in yellow sunlight, so I can't see her expression, but I can hear the anger and desperation in her voice. I see the hems of her velvet, green dress. It looks expensive. I see that in her right hand she is holding a plastic bag full of water and inside the bag is a tiny goldfish. It's scales like yellow orange peel.

“Why Lucas?” She walks over to me and she sits down on a stool. I see her and her slits of green eyes, she places the goldfish at her side. “Don't you want me to be happy?”

It's a long answer and I don't want to waste her precious time, so I say,

“Where did you get that goldfish from?”

She looks at me like I am crazy.

“I worry about you a lot, Lucas. Always painting. I barely talk to you anymore.” She holds her face in her green hands, and the water in the goldfish's bag quivers, “Do you know how that feels, Lucas? Do you know how it feels to have the man you love never speak to you?”

I grunt. I swirl a blob of sun light on my pallet and I draw a pineapple on the edge of my canvas.

“Okay Lucas.” She says, “Okay. I understand. It's clear to me now. We've kept this relationship a secret, but now –“

The air rustles as she stands up.

“Now we're over.”

She leaves the room and she takes the golden goldfish with her. It takes a while for the room to be quiet again. The dust particles nestle back down on the floorboards, beams of light slowly stop shaking. It's quiet and still again and I continue painting my pineapple. Big and happy and yellow. That's how I want it. Something that gives people something to talk about, something to dream about, breath.

“Lu.” The door opens, Sam is in the room, absorbing the yellow paint. “We've got to talk.”

I look at him. I nod. But I notice something odd about him. On his head he is not wearing a hat but a pineapple. Big and yellow and happy. I smile. Sam's wrinkled sagging face gives me a quizzical look and I curse that I do not have a camera to capture one of life's most beautiful moments.

“It's the money, Lu.” He says, he sits down on the stool in front of me and the pineapple on his head wobbles slightly. I continue to smile, “I love your paintings, you know I do. But I've got a job...and a family. I don't know how long I can support you, Lu.”

I look at him as the sunlight reveals the ugly silliness of his face and his chubby, round body.

“I want to support you but the truth is I don't have enough money...”I watch the pineapple jiggle as he speaks and it makes me laugh slightly. Sam frowns. “Why you staring at my head for Lu? I'm serious! I feel terrible. I know how you love your art but...”

I see him, his pineapple and his wrinkled face and suddenly I see the goldfish swimming in the yellow paint behind him.

“You can't make a living from it anymore, Lu....I'm sorry...”

Suddenly the pink women appears beside him. She's swimming in the sunlight, too. They are all swimming. The pineapple bobs like it would if it were on a swaying branch.

“Lu! Aren't you paying attention!”

The pink women's face is soft and gentle, and I see her mouth curl into a beautiful smile. She strokes the pineapple and she laughs.

“Don't you care, Lu?! Lu!”

The yellow paint washes her face and even the goldfish seems to be smiling. A wet, sneaky smile.

“Oh! I don't know! A man tries to be generous and then...”

Sam gets up from his stool and so does the pink women and the pineapple and the goldfish. They are all laughing now. I am laughing too because I understand the inside joke.

“Lu! Why are you laughing!? I am serious!”

The pink lady dusts off her skirt and smiles again.

“Well...okay...if you think this a joke then I will too!”

The pink lady blows me a kiss from the depth of the yellow sunlight that caresses her pink skin.

“Goodbye!”

The door slams close. It is deadly silent. Sam is gone and so are the others, the goldfish, the pink lady, the pineapple, everything. I wait, patiently. Soon the dust has settled and the beams of light have stopped shaking. There is no noise. I look at my painting bathed in this new silence. I admire the yellows and reds. I decide to call it, “A Warm Collage of Life's Minor Interruptions.”

The Shiniest Star

“That's her.” She says and she points up at the shiniest star, “I know it.”

I laugh at her and I tell her she sounds like a Disney movie. She looks at me, her eyes wide, big and droopy, ponds dripping down her cheeks. She shakes her head.

“I don't care.” She says, “I don't care what kind of movie I am. I like Disney movies. That's her. It has to be.”

I shake my head, smiling because I know she hurts easy and the past few days have been hard for her.

“Okay.” I say, “Whatever.”

There is a long silence. The ground beneath us is like sand, the concrete pokes at the flesh on my back. We lay staring at the sky. Her fingers are still pointing at the shiniest star, like big fat twigs, big round dogs howling at the moon. I watch her childish arms wave about in the milky air.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asks me.

I look at her. Her hair stroking her face like slender fingers. Her eyebrows sitting on her forehead like logs.

“I have.” I say. “I know.”

There is a silence that confirms she knows what I mean. Although I barely know what I mean. It just seems like the right thing to say. In the thick air and the cold breeze it is hard to know what to say.

“I did.” She says, she puts her fingers down to her sides and she stares up at the sky, sticky like pudding. “But then she's gone so...”

I look up at the shiniest star. It twinkles and it hurts my eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with Disney movies.” I say.

She doesn't look at me, her eyes are pasted to the bowl of sky and the millions of missing children that shine through it.

“It's just that I don't think it is fair to call her that star.” I look up at the sky, “Not everybody knew her. She wasn't the most popular. That doesn't mean she wasn't special. She was amazing...but...”

I struggle to find the right words. Thoughts that have piled themselves in the back of my head appear in m mouth and I lick them and speak them and regret them. I smile again because smiles are warm.

“Think of all the small stars.” I say, “Everybody always talks about the shiniest...but what about those that aren't so shiny? They are wonderful too, aren't they? They deserve to be remembered. They deserve to be loved.”

I pause. I look at her face and I see tears. Silver fish in the ponds of her eyes. I smile again because it hurts to do anything else. I reach for her childish hand and her chubby fingers. I hold her tight because I don't know how she feels but I can imagine.

“That's why I think that star is her,” I say, and I point to a small star in the corner of the universe, “I know it.”