A poem, from me to you, with love

In morning's quiet solitude,
cold tile 'neath my feet,
I sit myself upon the toilet seat.
When suddenly, I hear a chirp
of a most unsettling beat.
It seems to be of a lurking nature
behind the bathroom door.
I rise and investigate the chirp
so rudely interrupting this morning chore.
But, alas, there is no source
behind my bathroom door.
I turn, and there,
in all it's grey-brown glory,
I spy a cricket placed
beneath the toilet seat.
"You cruel invasive thing
to attempt such a feat!"
I lunge, I flush you down
where you will never chirp,
for you have drowned.

tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies....

When I was 8 years old, my mother stared deeply into my eyes and told me she had written a song for me, to show how much she loved me on Valentine’s Day. I sat in the chair opposite her, folding my hands in my lap, I was ready. My mother had written a song about me! As she poured her heart out to me, a tear trickled down my cheek. She really loved me. Now I knew I was special.

Later on that same afternoon, Valentine’s Day, 1992, I was watching TV. When you’re 8 the day of love doesn’t hold much for you. Saved by the Bell was on, and I could sit 2 feet in front of that screen and dream about Zach Morris forever. Usually I used commercial breaks to rest my eyes from darting across the screen taking in every pixel of Zach’s face. That day, as I closed my eyes briefly, I started to hear something that sounded achingly familiar. “I love you... I honestly looooove you...” My eyes opened and there was Olivia Newton-John... singing my mother’s song! She didn’t even sing it the same way, Olivia’s voice slided along in a melodious way my mother’s most certainly had not. That bitch. I ran racing back to my mother in the kitchen, not sure whose side I was on. I had been unable to decide exactly who was to blame - had Olivia stolen my mother’s original work and passed it off as her own? Or had my mother, known for countless instances of lies she referred to as “jokes” throughout my childhood fooled me yet again?

As entered the kitchen, I decided to see if she cracked under the pressure. “So, I was just watching Saved by the Bell.”
“How is it?”
“Good, Zach just asked Kelly to the dance.”
“Think she’ll say yes?”
“Mm... probably, I’m pretty sure she likes him too. Slater might ask her before she gets a chance to say yes to Zach though.”
“That might be tricky.”
“Yeah.”
She wasn’t cracking yet, I’d have to really apply the pressure.
“So there was this commercial for Classic 70's love songs.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok.”
“Yeah.” This woman was unbelievable.

“So, did you know Olivia Newton-John sings a song called ‘I Honestly Love You’? Or is that just some sort of coincidence?” Coincidence! Coincidence!! At the obscenely inappropriate sound of my mother’s laughter, I knew. I knew that she was the bitch, not poor Ms. Newton-John. What I was most upset about was if my mother didn’t honestly love me, how was I to know she loved me at all.

Later that night I ran away. Again. Whenever my mother and I clashed I would solve my problems by running away. This constituted storming into the livingroom, yelling “I’m running away and I’m never coming back!” and slamming the door behind me. I’d usually find myself sitting out in the hallway of our apartment building barefoot in my pajamas. I’d wait for my mother to come bursting through the door in search of me. Inevitably I’d fall asleep if I was dedicated or storm back into the apartment minutes later to accuse disbelievingly, “You didn’t even come looking for me!” and slam the door to my bedroom where I fell asleep within minutes and promptly forgot all about it.

You might say I was a dramatic child. Thankfully I’ve outgrown that nonsense, as I’m sure you’ve noticed…

Writing Prompt

Trying something new. My new writing class started up last week and in an effort to deal with things I'm going to try writing about my mother some more. Or, more likely, just writing in general.

The following is a prompt where my teacher started with "I am..." and then said another phrase or let us fill in the blank.

Here you go...

I am an only daughter
I am a future wife
I am a reluctant parent
I am an anxious eater
I am a tardy friend
I am an emotionally needy girlfriend
I am defenive and humiliated when confronted with criticism
I am reluctant and suspicious when confronted with warmth and love
I am talented when it comes to filling my time and not being bored
I am a hippie but none of my friends know (except I think most of them have an idea)

that wasn't as fun here as in class. Maybe I'll try again in a few weeks and I'll write something scholarly and interesting. We'll see.

For your visual consideration, an image from the Chihuly exhibit I went to this past weekend. Enjoy
Nicole

jk, blogger is being dumb and won't let me add a picture. maybe next time!