the house was lit with nothing but xmas lights. i think it was supposed to be tonight, new years eve. i had people over: my mom, my friends, plus steve burns, tom waits and wayne coyne. we were drinking and having fun. my husband was entertaining the children in the rumpus room and i was playing at being the hostess with the mostest, flitting around the room refreshing drinks, offering h'ors d'eouvres made of phyllo pastry and telling entertaining stories. the celebrities in my midst seemed bored and i was running out of ways to stimulate them. finally i took off my apron, set down the tray of food, and said, "i can do amazing things. would you like to see?"

steve burns was the most enthusiastic. "yes, i know you can do amazing things, but i still would like to see them performed." he sat down on the couch and folded his hands in his lap. wayne coyne and tom waits stood together near the tree and sipped whiskey from highball glasses filled with ice. my mother and friends were looking at one another with confusion in their eyes. i smiled knowingly at everyone, and then, with an effortless leap, lifted myself into the air, my toes pointed, my arms outstretched, and began gliding around the room. my belly filled with warmth at the feeling of weightlessness. everyone started, aghast, as i drifted through the house, my pretty party dress dangling from my legs, my bracelets tingling on my arms as i used them to propel me through the air.

there was some incredulous laughter, and as i glided past tom waits, he reached up to touch me, as if to see if i were real. i smiled down at him and evaded his hands. wayne coyne joined in the game, trying to get a hold of me. steve burns got off the couch and started following me around, making small jumps up at me. everyone was following my gently floating form through the house, trying to reach up and grab a hold of me, maybe to hitch a aerial ride along with me, but their hands would slip off, they couldn't get a good grip, and i would roll over onto my back and kick my feet lazily, as if i were swimming, and i was laughing and laughing at them. it was the funniest joke in the world.

haunting

leon and i were sitting up in bed, in our jammies, playing cards and smoking and drinking wine, when i looked over at the corner at the end of the bed and saw bagheera. he was laying down but his head was up and looking beautiful and noble. i was shocked, and pointed at him and said, "leon! it's bagheera! he's back!"

bagheera stood up and strode across the covers, knocking our cards astray, and then gently leaped off the bed and wandered over towards the closet. we were watching him while we held hands, wondering if he was real or perhaps a visiting spirit. i started crying from relief that the whole ordeal had been a bad dream. leon was petting my hair and stunned into silence.

bagheera sat down on his haunches and the most amazing transformation took place. he slowly and gently morphed into two cats. they looked like him, but smaller, and where he was brown, they were peach coloured. where he had one eye, they had two. where his eye was an irridescent, almost supernatural violet hue, theirs were a clear, bright green, almost like pale glass. they looked like twins and sat side by side next to one another, watching us.

i don't know what we said, but we were shocked and surprised and a little awed at the mystical implications of what we'd just witnessed. we called them over to us and were petting them. if they were seperated by more than a few feet, they would both become disoriented and start stumbling, like bagheera had in the moments before his death. we decided that they were bagheera's reincarnation and that they each represented one part of his whole and that they should be kept together at any cost.

marvelling at this amazing development we introduced them as "bagheera" to the children who were confused. i didn't care. i was high. high on the fact that something divine had come down out of the heavens and touched a fingertip to our lives and given us a strange and inexplicable gift. i wanted to take the bagheera cats out with me, show them to people and explain the story, so that they might understand as i did there are marvelous forces at work in the universe that do magical and amazing things. i scooped the two cats up in my arms and carried them out to the car, plopped them in the passenger's seat and drove up towards liam's school where i knew there would be some parents i could amaze. i pulled up to the fence running alongside the schoolyard and called some parents i recognized over to see the magical cats. they came and were ooh'ing and awww'ing and some seemed skeptical about my story, but i didn't care. as i was talking to them, though, i got a strange, dark feeling in my chest. my eyes glanced up and in the rearview mirror i saw a woman, a very bland, plain looking woman, maybe in her 40s, with a beak nose and a lined face and a quiet expression of resignation, sitting in my back seat.

i stopped talking to the parents and they wandered away. i rolled up the window and turned to face the woman. she didn't speak. i said, "who are you? why are you here?" she looked me right in the eyes at that point and i could see infinite sadness in them, and determination. i suddenly realized who she was, this boring lunchlady-esque woman in my back seat all bundled up in a brown puffy parka. she was an angel of death, here to amend the fluke chance of bagheera coming back to us, even in an altered form. "no, no, please no," i begged her, quietly, wanting to pull the cats in close to me to keep them from her. she still did not speak, she only looked more sad. i started crying as she leaned forward, the vinyl of the seat squeaking underneath her, her arm extending over the passenger's side seat, her index finger extended loosely towards the cats. i cried and cried.

it was quick. she gently moved her finger along their jawlines, like a soft swoop or a friendly hook like you would do to a friend who is blue, as if to say, "chin up, you." the effect was immediate. the cats melded back into one another, became bagheera as i knew him in his first incarnation, with his one eye and his chocolate point markings, and then he turned into a very small human baby boy, who writhed in his death throes, in the front of my car.

blacking out in the patisserie

Hovering over the slick wood veneer, pen in
Quivering hand poised to sign a credit card slip
Packages exploding from out of bags
Handles cut into tender flesh
When I blacked out in the patisserie.
In that last moment before the vortex swirled up
Narrowed down and closed into pinpoints of light
I wondered
What do YOU write in cards to rock stars?
Is your handwriting spidery?
I was only wondering because
I bought chocolates for acquaintances today
And blacked out in the patisserie.

O, mall, mall, most dreaded of halls,
With your poisoned air and your fried fat stalls,
It's a wonder we ever go in you, mall.
It's a wonder we get out alive, at all.

miranda's cellar

rising from the cellar of miranda!
the spaces between the wooden slat steps, a void!
effecting
tendrils of contraband smoke willowing out the door strip
not foiled by the threadbare towel stuffings,
not foiled!
trailing up behind, sweet scented, food scented
the spaces between the wooden slat steps, a void!
miranda laughing
quietly below
you never know
would her mother and father be home up there?
would they know?
what we'd been doing?
what we'd been into?
eyes rimmed red and throats clasping for moisture?
and the spaces between the wooden slat steps, a void!
cricking!
cricking door at the summit
you know it opens on a hallway's olive green carpeting
and a sideboard made of 70's panelling
eyes rimmed red, and mouth dry like grit
cricking! cricking door at the summit!
and it opens as you approach
miranda!
laughing quietly at you,
she's done this every day for 18 years.

he's still there, affixed
"what is that, fiber glass? what?"
miranda, laughing quietly behind you
he's still there, you're transfixed
his visage so tortured and gory on prominent display
his eyes rolled back so far in his shining head
waxed head!
only whites show!
his skin white like snow!
his arms out wide in a "t"
only white shows
the red trickling of his pain
and the cricking door at the summit
and the spaces between the wooden slat steps, a void!
and the phantom parents who lurk, or not
and miranda!
miranda!
laughing quietly with you!
at the shame of her family's fervor
and the fiber glass reminder each morning she rises
when a man is left to die for days
with bolted hands and feet to wood in a "t"
white only shows
white only shows the red and the rimmed eyes, more brightly
as you rise from miranda's cellar.

my dream last night was so weird. i can only remember pieces of it. first, we were living in this huge, old, deserted ballroom with luscious thick red carpet and drapes and all the furniture (scores of empty tables and elegant chairs) were gold filigree. but it was cold and dark and weird. we just sort of kept to one end of the ballroom with our sleeping bags and propane stoves.

i had somehow managed to fundraise by offering to hold a fancy dance in the ballroom and the dance was all over and i was tallying up my profits, and my mom demanded a cut (even though she hadn't really done anything) and i was really mad at her and resentfully handed over the lion's share of the money and she left with her boyfriend.

and my daughter, all through the dream, kept choking on everything she tried to eat. (this isn't that far from the truth, my daughter DOES gag and choke a lot, which makes me crazy!)

and finally, our cat was wandering around all SLICED UP, like a loaf of bread, only not cut all the way through to the bottom, so that every time he jumped or walked the slices would spread apart and you could see the gooey pink and red of blood and flesh and the severed sections of spine. it freaked me out and i kept insisting we had to take him to the vet but no one else seemed worried and my husband told me we didn't have money for it anyway. and people were still holding the cat and petting the cat even though he was so injured. their hands were all covered in blood and ick and they didn't even care.

barely there

in my dream last night, leon and i were in this thrift shop looking at used sofas and armchairs and bookshelves. we found a pair of pristine overstuffed armchairs that matched. they were both off-white, tweedy material, with bright, colourful threads spattered throughout, almost like confetti. i loved them and asked him to find out how much they were. the lady at the counter said, "$1.50 a piece or $2.00 for both!" i was like, "OKAY! LEON GET THE ROOF RACKS OUT!" we gave her the money and leon ran outside to get the car all ready to transport them home on the roof, but he came back in a minute later saying that he'd forgotten the roof racks at home and that he'd be back shortly with them. he instructed me to stay behind so that no one else would take our precious arm chairs. i sat down in one of them and waited.

after a few minutes, my first love walked into the store. he took one look at me and knelt beside me. "i've been wandering around for TWO YEARS looking for you, lynn," he said, taking my hand in his, "and now i've found you and i'm not going to lose you again." and he pulled me up out of the chair and led me to a day bed that was also for sale. he stripped me down and we started making love in the middle of the store. after the first "round", he wanted to go again, and i was willing, except suddenly i remembered my husband! filled with guilt and anguish and mixed emotions i told first love that there was no way we could do that again, even though i wanted to, and that i was horrified i'd done it at all because i knew it would break leon's heart to find out. first love was crying, begging me to stay with him in this bed in the thrift shop, begging and pleading, but i knew i had to go. as i got dressed i saw that the whole shop full of people had been watching us. i was mortified and wished that i could disappear. then i noticed that as i put on each article of clothing, that part of my body would vanish. first my breasts, as i clipped on my bra. then my hips and crotch as i slipped on my panties. then my chest and belly and arms as i pulled a shirt on over my head, and then my legs and feet as i put on my skirt and shoes. finally i was just a disembodied head floating through the shop to the front door to wait for leon outside. first love yelled at me as i stepped out, "how can you be with him? how? you're barely there at all!"

a bathroom brawl while on a date with steve martin

i was dressed up swank. a long, tapered-fit, slinky, silk-type skirt in a deep orange-y red, with a matching high-collared, short-sleeved top in an asian sort of fashion. i held a cream coloured lightweight button up sweater folded against the crook of one arm, and in my other hand, a small, black vinyl pocketbook. we were standing in line, waiting for a train that would take us to a special, intimate performance of some modern existentialist play in downtown los angeles. i chatted with my friends (none of whom i recognize) in a very sophisticated way. i was first in line at the turnstile, but we were stuck waiting to get through for quite a while. at some point i turned and surveyed the crowd and was very surprised to see steve martin standing just a few people behind me. he looked dashing in a cream coloured linen suit and black shirt with no tie; and was smiling his big doofy smile and laughing with his date. she was small, short, with huge soft blonde curly hair and big blue doe eyes. i suddenly felt exceedingly self concious and when he made eye contact with me, i looked down and turned away rapidly.

finally the train arrived and we all stepped in and i lost sight of him. i sat very primly on the edge of my seat but was all too aware of my fat body. i felt i could not look dignified or beautiful no matter how hard i tried. i felt slouchy and ashamed.

when we arrived at the playhouse, we were all immediately seated because the train had been running late and the performers were anxious to get on with the show. you can imagine my surprise when i found myself in a seat with the aisle to my left and steve martin to my right. his date was next to him. i smiled self-conciously at him and he smiled back and i felt this instant warm rapport with him. the show started and the theatre fell silent while the actors began speaking and moving on the stage.

there were some very funny moments during the show, and i was laughing heartily, and so was steve martin, but no one else around us was. at one point when i giggled, a middle aged woman turned around and hissed at me! steve and i apologized quietly and gave each other a look, like we were in cahoots. his date was not impressed either and wouldn't look at him. i could feel the air between them shift and his affections were now focused on me. i felt suddenly flirty and happy and beautiful. until the stool i was sitting on began to bend and buckle under my weight. i started to topple backwards and grabbed steve martin's knee to try and remain upright. he was a little surpised at how forward i was being but did not try to remove my hand, he just smiled sideways at me. i tried to support most of my weight with my legs and sort of hover my ass over the stool, but that didn't work, i wasn't strong enough. to avoid the embarassment of the stool completely crumbling under my large ass, i gathered up my things, whispered to steve martin that i wasn't feeling well and i'd be back, and then found my way out of the theater to the bathroom.

somehow, my elegant sweater with the tiny pearlized buttons and shiny vinyl handbag had multiplied and i found myself carrying an armload of dirty laundry into the bathroom. i locked myself into a stall and dropped the stinky pile of clothes onto the floor while i squatted down onto the toilet. there were a few other people in there, and i peered out through the crack between the door and stall wall to see that two young men had come in, dressed like hippies, obviously stoned and laughing. for a moment, they paused in front of the mirrors and had a giggle. then one of them turned and noticed some of my dirty laundry on the floor. he bent over, picked up a pair of my underwear, and made an ugly face. "ew," he said. "oh fuckin' gross," the other one said.

"hey!" i shouted from behind the closed door, "put that down!"

"ewwww," the first one said, picking up a second pair of my panties, "ewww, lady, are these yours? your pussy stinks!"

"shut the fuck up!" i screamed, "put those down, you fucks!"

they continued laughing and mocking my dirty underwear and i was gripped with this blind rage. rage over the stool bending under my weight, rage over my shame and it's ability to make me abandon exciting prospects, rage over these boys mocking me. i burst out of the bathroom stall and tackled one of them. we fell to the floor and i began punching him in the face repeatedly. he didn't fight back very hard and was knocked out in just a few blows. the second one tried to run past us to get out the door but i tripped him by grabbing one of his legs and he fell and hit the tile hard. that wasn't enough for me, though. i picked him up by his ankles and swung him around and cracked his head against the line of mirrors. he fell silent against the floor next to his friend. two women who had been adjusting their make up in the mirrors just looked at me in shocked silence. i gathered up my dirty laundry, my purse, and my sweater, and went back into the theater to talk to steve martin.

"hey," he whispered as i approached him, "an usher came and replaced your stool...the top part was broken and the casters on the legs were faulty. he apologized profusely. have a seat." he patted the stool and helped me place my things on the floor. so the stool hadn't been bending under my weight. it had been broken to begin with. steve martin grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. "sharon left," he whispered into my ear, cocking his head at the empty seat next to him, "she wasn't having a good time."

"oh," i whispered back, thinking about my dirty laundry and the bleeding boys in the bathroom, "well. i'm having a great time." we smiled at one another and he left a kiss near my temple.

last night in my dreams i recieved a big box of brand new stuff in the mail. a set of beautiful blue ceramic dishes. brand new blue bedding. a pair of knee-high vinyl lace-up blue boots without much of a heel. i sat on my freshly made bed and did up the boots slowly, pulling the laces taut, making the vinyl creak and running my hands up and down their slick sides. i went downstairs naked but for the boots, and served myself a huge pile of vietnamese salad rolls stuffed with vermicelli and tofu and vegetables and dipped in hoison sauce, all off my thick blue plates.

it was such a good dream.

had one of those dreams, funny dreams, that don't feel important or symbolic but that are entertaining and just a smidge stressful. it started out that i was a part of some kind of ambassador team to north america, for a trip that the dali lama was making here. i had to fly to new york city to attend to him. we stayed in a very swanky hotel. the whole time i was there i was anxious to get away from the ambassador job because i wanted to explore the city and we were only going to be there two days and one night. i also had steve burns' phone number and wanted to hook up with him to grab a drink or something. but my duties kept me busy the entire time. the dali lama was nothing like i expected. he was a magician and would put people into a trance and force them to do his bidding. i tried to lay low, i was afraid of him. he seemed like a petulant, vengeful boy.

on the last day, the whole entourage went to the airport. i was supposed to get on the plane back home with them, but in an impulsive fit, while standing in line to check our baggage, i just started backing away from everyone. people were like, "er, lynn, where are you going?" and i said, "um, i'm not going home yet. i'll call you in a day or two." and they all stood there looking dumbfounded at me as i walked slowly away. we all knew i did not have the money to fly home at a later date, on my own. in fact, i had no money and only the clothes on my back.

i found myself standing on the shore of a big river, with a group of strange women. they had all finished a jog. it was nighttime. they were stretching and cooling down. i knew one of them from an internet bulletin board. i asked her if she knew how to get to brooklyn because i had to see my friend steve. she said yes and told me to follow her. we all started jogging. it was a strange feeling. i had a different body, i guess. i was leaping and running, feeling super free and light and running didn't wind me at all. i was convinced it was the shoes i was wearing. when we got to brooklyn all the jogging women left me standing alone in the street. a car pulled up beside me and inside were steve burns and paul ford. "jump in, lynn!" they cried, laughing and scootching over to make room for me. i climbed in the car and it carried us to steve's apartment. paul ford had some sort of medical emergency and had to go into steve's bedroom to use the phone to call the ER and ask for advice. he asked me if i had any personal lubricant he could use. i pointed at the huge tub of intime sitting on steve's dresser. he thanked me and shooed me out of the room.

i went into steve's living room where he was pouring us drinks and had the t.v. on. he was chatting incessantly about his upcoming tour. i asked him when he had to leave and he said, "oh man, just five days. or...maybe ten days? no! twenty days!" and handed me my drink. we watched t.v. and chatted for a while. he asked me why i was still in new york even though all my friends had left. i didn't want to tell him that i'd stayed behind, with no money or anywhere to stay or any clothes simply because i wanted to hang out with him. i just said, "oh, i have friends i want to visit before i go home again," and he nodded amicably. inside i was thinking, i have two hours or less to convince him to let me stay in his apartment, or else i'm on the streets in a huge, strange city. his phone rang and it was my mom. he put me on and my mom said, "lynn! what are you doing! your husband and kids need you! do you have one thousand dollars to pay your way home? do you? i am NOT paying for this! i am NOT bailing you out of this one!" and i was all quiet and said, "you don't have to, mom. i'm not asking you to." and she was silent for a long time and i could tell she was waiting for me to offer and explanation and when i didn't, (even though i considered lying and saying i had been too sick to get on the plane) she simply hung up on me.

so there i was, hanging out in steve burns' apartment and getting drunk and trying to think of a way to bring up the fact that i now wanted to be his charge, his ward, his friend that he was going to put up with for a few days and perhaps even pay for to go home again. but i couldn't find a way to bring it up. i was embarrassed and shy and i wanted him to think everything was cool and that i had all my ducks in a row. he showed me his set list and packed a suitcase in front of me. then, after a while, he said, "okay, well, i'm beat so i should head to bed. do you need me to call you a cab?"

i stood up, taking a breath, ready to spill my guts, and then deflated. "no," i said, "i can walk from here."

"okay then! it was great meeting you and hanging out. maybe i'll make it to vancouver some day!"

"yeah," i said, fake-cheerful, feeling a sick dread in my stomach, thinking about the long night i had ahead of me, "that'd be cool."

and then i was on the street.

i huddled in an alley and dumpster-dived for food. some homeless people stood a distance away from me, just staring at me while i scarfed down half-chewed cobs of corn and some kind of nearly-moldy curried chickpea dish. they were hungry, but i knew i was in this for the long haul, and i didn't want to share.

it starts as a family meeting in grandmother's house. she has passed on. we are solemn but know that her suffering is over. uncle carl offers to take us out to dinner, he is rich -- a lawyer -- he can afford it. we all go out. dinner is uneventful and afterwards i invite my entire family back to my home. i am unmarried with no children. i live in a mobile home in a mobile home park that is treeless and graveled. small, thin patches of grass grow there. i feel ashamed a little of my home. i buy two varieties of fritos to take back to the wake with me.

we arrive at the mobile home park. it is dark outside. no one wants to go in because there will not be enough space for us all. we sit at a picnic table in the blackness. no one is talking, but the chips are opened and eaten. one of my friends says to me, "come to the hotel, tonight, lynn. don't sleep here alone." i agree.

at the the hotel i lose my friend. the dream also becomes confusing. i am in a hotel room with strangers and friends. some of the strangers don't talk, they just watch, like policemen or prison guards. i am uncomfortable and my friends tell me to play it cool. my mother is in the room with me but she is drunk and incoherent. i am embarrassed by her behaviour, i don't like that it is drawing attention to us. my uncle waves me away from her and says she is allowed to mourn anyway she likes. i leave the room in frustration and decide to go back home. i see no one following me but i know that i am still being watched.

i get in the elevator. i cannot understand the buttons. the numbers seem to appear in random order. there is no "1" or "L" (for lobby). there is a "C", a "P" (which is where the 3rd floor should be), a "Q", and the name "Ann" printed on the lower buttons. since "Ann" is the lowest level button i push it. the elevator doors close and it goes up. i feel dizzy and get vertigo. the elevator is not going where i want it to. the doors open on a floor that looks exactly like the one i left but there is no one there. i stab a different number and the doors close. to my relief it goes down. the doors open on what looks to be a basement. i am about to climb off when a large man appears. he has straight white hair, is only an inch or two taller than me, and is barrel-chested. he looks friendly, an older man to give me advice about how to get out of the hotel, but he is flustered and seems afraid of me.

"how do i get to the lobby?" i ask politely, "i have been trying to understand the buttons..."

"you'll get to the lobby when they decide it's time for you to leave," he says, looking at me sadly.

"who's they?" i reply, feeling suddnely sick as the elevator shoots straight up again. it seems to hum for a long time.

"i'm not clear on that," he replies, not looking at me anymore, "but i've been here for months. i think i'm starting to get it. i wish i could help you. i'm lost, too." the elevator starts descending again. i notice for the first time that the elevator walls are alternately mirrors and then painted scarlet. the light above us is sickly and flourescent.

"what are you talking about?" i asked, incredulously, "i just want to go home. how do i get to the lobby?"

"the first time i figured out that something strange was happening, it was too late for me, just like it is for you," he said, looking down at his feet. "i was in my room and a girl appeared. she pressed me into the red. i never knew what it was like to move through complete silence. silence is red. we were stuck there a long time, like taffy. she can come back any time now. she has a line of sight into my heart. we were enveloped in red silence. like construction paper."

i felt a strange wave of fear move up my throat from my stomach. the elevator doors opened on yet another floor of rooms. "thank you," i said to him, walking out of the doors, "i will take the stairs, i think." he looked up at me as the doors shut and waved slowly.

it was the first time i noticed that the entire hotel was decorated in lurid reds and deep oranges and mirrors. it was a very disturbing theme of colours and textures. everything was so quiet. i still felt as though i were being watched, or worse, pursued by someone or something. i made my way towards what i thought to be the center of the building, where there would be stairs, i was sure. and i was right. there was a long, wide, carpeted set of spiral stairs leading down and out of sight. i could not tell how high up i was, but it had to have been high because i could not see the bottom floor from where i peeked over the thin iron railing.

a door opened across the way from me and another man appeared. he was tall and lanky and had on only a bathrobe. his had was completely bald on top and he had poofs of black curly hair springing out from the sides and back of his head. he wore a black moustache. "miss!" he said, "stop right there!"

something told me i must not stop. the story the man in the elevator has related to me made me convinced that this hotel, and it's inhabitants, were intent on trapping me within it's walls forever. the man in the bathrobe contined to shout at me but did not move from his spot outside his door. i stared at him for a full minute before i climbed onto the iron railing for the staircase -- straddled it --, and began to slowly slide down. when he saw what i was doing, he paused a moment, shouted, "hey there!" and then made a dash towards me. i let my grip loosen on the railing and began coasting more quickly. he was running fast on the stairs, just barely keeping a few steps behind me. i slid down, and round and round, faster and faster, the identical floors of the hotel swimming up past my vision. i lost sight of him, finally, but he appeared again suddenly on a floor i was just skimming past by leaping out of the one of the hotel room doors. "go away!" i shouted at him, "stop chasing me!" he was no longer speaking, only grunting in his effort to catch me. i slid and slid. i must have past 20 or 30 floors and still there was no lobby in sight. the air was rushing past my ears in a whisper. my hands were sweaty and squeaking on the railing. i tried to just barely touch the metal because i wanted to slide down as quickly as possible. it was while i was focusing intently on my grip that i realized he was no longer chasing me.

i slowed down. the hotel was completely silent. i climbed off the railing and began walking, at a good pace, down the stairs, ears perked for any sound at all. i finally made it to the bottom, where the lobby lay spread out before me in the same mirrored golds and reds and oranges as the rest of the hotel. it was completely deserted. there was no one at the front desk. i walked out the revolving doors, and was shocked to find that beyond the hotel's borders lay the mobile home park i lived in.

i turned around and looked back. the hotel loomed above me, 200 stories high or more. all the lights were on and it beamed in the blackness like a spaceship. it was so incongruous with it's landscape. i walked away from it, never turning my back on it, until i bumped into a trailer.

i turned around and looked at the fiberglass hobbithole i'd thumped against. it was dark inside, but a glowing white curtain flurried in one of the windows and a woman's small moon-like face appeared. she looked angry. i looked away quickly and started to crunch across the gravel. it was then i noticed that the light was coming, that dawn was coming, the sky was turning a pale grey. the bright electric lights from the hotel still cast a golden, ominous glow across the gravel and thin grass of the mobile home park and i still felt ill in my stomach. the woman that had peered out at me suddenly burst from her trailer. "HEY YOU!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, "HEY YOU GET BACK HERE!" i looked back and saw her standing on the metal steps of her trailer in a business suit, carrying a small gun and a notepad. i turned and began to run across the gravel. stones spit out from under my feet. i was using my arms to pull me through the air, that felt as though it had turned to water, it was slowing me down so much. the woman in the suit was pursuing me, shrieking at me. i could see an old house just beyond the next few trailers. it was something that had been built in the 1800s. there were no trees around it, no grass, it stood silent as if empty. i saw that i might be able to hide in some of it's corners if i could just get there before the woman caught me. i pushed myself as hard as i could and dashed between trailers and RVs. the sky was becoming more and more light, and rain began to fall, gentle at first, and then it turned to downpour. grey dawn downpour. i reach the big old house and move along it's exteriour, like a rat. my hair is plastered against my head and forehead. the woman, i can see, has dashed into a huge, expensive and modern looking RV. i see her inside it's sleek grey and white panels and windows. she is shouting at someone and motioning towards the house i am hiding outside of. i swallow hard and stay pressed against the walls. i don't know how i am going to get away from all this. there are no trees, there is nowhere to hid, really. the moment i decided to make a break for it, i will be spotted and captured. i don't know what they want from me, but i know it isn't good.

while thinking all of this, a girl appears, out of nowhere, in front of me. she is 18 or 19. she is slender and has pale red hair and freckled skin. she is smiling benignly at me. "do you want to get away from here?" she asks me. i nod silently at her. "you have to trust me," she says, and i watch as she raises a sheet of red construction paper up over my face. "you have to breathe right onto this, lynn," she says, pressing it into my face so that it covers my nose and mouth and eyes, "it will seem strange and hard at first but you can do it if you don't think about it too hard." i cannot see anything but red, and i hear the rain pattering down around the two of us. i feel her press her own face against the paper, too, so that we would be kissing if it wasn't there, and i suddenly remember the story the man in the elevator told me. about falling into complete silence. silence is red. red construction paper. i feel her breath pass through the paper and suddenly i get my breathing just right. magic breathing. we are breathing with one set of lungs. a hot, long, numbing tingle passes from her mouth on the one side of the paper into mine, and the tingle spreads from my mouth to my brain to my heart to my lungs, and i lose conciousness, and fall down into the gravel beside the house, while the rain continues to fall around me. the girl is gone. i don't know where i go, either, but i am gone a long time. a day? a week? a month? the man was right. complete silence is red. red construction paper.

there was more. but threads of it slipped away from me before i had even completely woken up.

i never knew what a bloodbath would look like. at first i wasn't entirely convinced i was dreaming. floating up to the surface of the swimming pool, long, wide ribbons of red viscous fluid drifting over my eyes and nose, my hands swirling through the lifeblood of the people that had been swimming there before me. and my children, unconcious, their limp bodies surfacing with me, and me not sure if they are still living, either.

it began as a normal afternoon, me taking my children, and mother, and old highschool friend, shaminder, to an indoor swimming pool. it was almost unbearably crowded. i felt panicked from the start, trying to keep an eye on my kids in seething mass of people. but everything soon took on a very disturbing tone. the light changed from bright, shiny sunlight beaming in on us through the skylights above the water to something sickly. the colour of dying flourescents. the colour of seeping urine. it became night instantaneously. my heart froze in my chest and although the rest of the pool's patrons continued to splash and play, i felt evil coming and knew there was only one way to escape it. i gathered my children to my damp chest, my heart thudding within, and told them to take deep breaths, because we had to hide under the water until whatever evil was coming, had passed. they both looked terrified. i cannot forget the look in their bright blue eyes as i swam down to the bottom of the deep end of the pool with them. we sank. i waited. i tried to convey calm and rationality to them but they quickly became panicked for air. it was heartbreaking, holding them down there as they struggled against me, as they tried to climb up through the suffocation to the surface. but i could look up and see how the water was roiling. i could look up and see body parts flying and sinking and spinning through the pool. great gouts of blood sprayed across my field of vision. i could not imagine what thing it was that had attacked the pool-goers. and soon my children were still in my arms, and soon i had lost conciousness as well.

i came to as we nearly broke the surface. my children would not wake and i shook them and screamed. the gore was painted evenly across the cement landscape that surrounded us. people lay, dead, across every inch of dry surface, and pieces of them floated around us. i screamed and shook my babies and tried to breathe life back into them. they began to stir. their faces were blue and smeared with other people's blood. i cried and cried and tried to pick our way out of the pool without touching too many pieces of corpses. on the stairs lay my friend, shaminder, her face nearly chewed off and her hands missing. she was awake and in shock. "help me," she said, pitifully. "i cannot lift your mother." she motioned to the side of the pool where my mother lay on her stomach. at first i thought she was half in the water because i could not see her legs. then it came to me: i could not see her legs because she no longer had legs. the stumps that once were her thighs were ripped and raw. blood was pumping from arteries into the pool. i did not scream out loud but my mind was reeling and i rushed to her. she did not move when i touched her and spoke to her. shaminder tried to pull herself up to a standing position, but she fell. my children were coughing up pool water tinged pink with the blood of a hundred strangers. i was ready to give up. too many loved ones needed me to save them.

cut to several days later. still there is no understanding on my behalf of what exactly happened at the pool, but all the survivors had been moved into an abandoned high school. i was wandering the halls, looking for the room where my mother and shaminder were being cared for. i found shaminder first. she was reclining on a couch. she would not speak to me. she was angry that i had not forced her to the bottom of the pool with the children and that she had ended up with a mutilated face and no hands as a result. i wept, kneeling at her feet, begging her forgiveness. she would not look at me. i was dead to her. i crawled out of the room on all fours, wishing i could go back in time. in the next room my mother reclined on a sofa. a blanket covered up her lack of legs. she was pale but not angry. i tried to curl up against her but the lack of form beneath the blanket horrified me and i ended up in the same position i had been in with shaminder, on the floor, kneeling. i grasped my mother's hands and poured tears onto it. she did not ignore me. she placed her hand on my head and said that she forgave me for not warning everyone. that it was understandable that i was focused on saving my babies. that she would never blame her loss of limbs on me. that i could not be held responsible for the actions of demons. none of this consoled me. i sobbed until i thought i would throw up.

night time swimming with a whale

be pacific beat specifics cold salt up between your breasts
you float naked in symbiosis with her
great white muzzle great cold nuzzle bumps you up into the air
gooseflesh forms as mother storms
all around you
she could pull you down to be pacific cold salt up between your nostrils
but you're nudged instead by a behemoth head into the sky
a tiny eye as mother blinks
all around you
orchestra to be pacific rushing roar of waves specific cold salt bath floods your eyes
they call her gentle giant: a willing client in the blubber trade
but the nuzzle of her wide rubber muzzle
resignation as mother rages
all around you

we were talking about the distances between things

we were talking about the distances between things:
god and buddha
(next door as the crow flies)
paper and wind
(eleven stories high)
bedsheets and the gloaming
(this remains undetermined)
monet and joey skaggs
(something like ochre and naked rats)


new york and la
(4500 kilometers)
my breath and the stars
(more than a million heartbeats)
your heart and the canadian shield
(eons of evolution)
our voices and electricity
(14 steps to the telephone)
we were talking about the distances between things.

cheshire girl

Ow! The way she strides across an ocean in paralyzing beauty!
The way she digs a thick hip into each of her steps
I’m gonna fall over myself following her.
Woo, mama! Her stunning gaze is a binding contract!
Lids rimmed in dark black coal and languid blinks
I’m ripped apart by her backwards glance.
Shee-it! Look at the way she leans across the sidewalk!
The hollow under her arm is shady, smooth, cool
She’s perfected the art of infatuation.
There! See how the city pauses around her; her body wades
Through a sea of malcontents, a Cheshire Girl
Her grin…oh! The state I’m in.
The state I’m in.
OH.
The state I’m in.

i dreamed last night that i woke up this morning and decided to just drive down to LA for the last day of the gathering.

i got there in a few hours, and it was being held in this big old ramshackle house. it was literally filled with mamas, inside and out, and i couldn't recognize anyone and no one recognized me, until i walked into a sitting room and spotted three mamas eating some food and talking on a couch, and one of them was [info]ubershti! we recognized each other right away and she jumped off her seat and ran up to me and we hugged and started crying, we were so excited to see each other. suddenly, though, she recoiled from me, with her nose wrinkled up, and i realized that my breath smelled really bad! i was mortified and excused myself to the bathroom where i was going to brush my teeth. she had her nostrils pinched shut and was waving me off.

i got to the bathroom and peered into the mirror and opened my mouth. suddenly i remembered that several months beforehand, when i'd been visiting friends on a remote island, i'd developed tooth pain and a pseudo-dentist had given me a pair of dentures to wear so that chewing wouldn't be too painful (and he told me to go see a real dentist as soon as i got back into the city), and i'd forgotten completely that i'd been wearing them this whole time-months and months--without taking them out and cleaning them. so while this big mama party is going on outside the bathroom door, i very slowly and carefully pop the dentures out of my mouth and discover, to my horror, that the inside of them is literally filled with fuzzy black and blue mold, and that my real teeth are all rotting and falling out and my gums are bleeding and oozing pus everywhere. three of my top front-ish teeth are completely gone, and only big deep dark, smelly holes are left. i quickly rinse out the dentures and i have to pry some of the mold out with my fingers, and i slip them back in, but now they feel uncomfortable and make me talk funny. i go through the rest of the party like this, and i can't find ubershti again, anywhere.

tyger tyger

i was stirring soup. the children were climbing on the couch, laughing. i hear keys in the lock and leon opens the front door. "hello, dear," he says, "i brought home something kind of interesting." i hear an odd noise, like a small, deep engine with a little snort at the end and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up immediately. i hold my hands to my breast, and peek my head around the corner to where leon is standing, with a fifteen foot long bengal tiger by his side. its head is the size of jupiter, its yellow eyes roll around to look at me curiously. its huge pink noise wrinkles up and i see teeth; big, long, tawny-coloured teeth, as long as my index finger.

i back away slowly, out towards the diningroom, calling the children to me. but they are too excited, they have seen the tiger. they want to pet it, kiss it, ride it. leon is laughing, and pushing them away gently. the tiger looks hungrily at them and i beg leon to keep the big cat away from them, but he waves his hand at me scornfully, like i am being irrational.

frustrated and frightened and not willing to take responsibility for his recklessness, i storm up the stairs to our bedroom. he calls after me, "i had to bring him home, honey! the zoo closed! they were going to put him to sleep! this is the only way he can live!" i feel heartless and angry at him. how could this tiger's life mean more to him than the safety and sanctity of our family? i slam the bedroom door and curl up under the blankets, the pillows over my head. i don't want to hear the tiger anymore. it's rumbling voice, it's occasionally snarling, all of it, terrifies me.

i wake up in the morning, and leon is fixing breakfast for the children. i ask him where the tiger is, worried it is running free in the backyard. he says he came to his senses and realized it was a bad idea to keep him in our home, and that he went up to the wooded parkland a short distance from our house before dawn, and released him into the trees. i tell him that although his heart is in the right place, he did a stupid thing. the authorities know he adopted the tiger, and if there is an attack on another person or their dog as they walk the wooded trails, we'll be held responsible. he seems unaffected by this news. he doesn't think the tiger is potentially harmful. i wake up worrying.

moth queen

there's something different about the humidity in the forest. in the forest, humidity hovers around you at eye-level, smothering your nose and mouth, filling the air with the dark, dank, sexy smells of mulch and rainforest and mud and puddles seething with breeding mosquitos. the sweet, slightly astringent perfumes from gaultheria shallon and cedar tree fronds hanging down into your eyes; the daisies bobbing along the sides of the almost-overgrown logging road looking so bright and playful but letting off their fecund stench, all of this, filling the damp air. you sweat as you trudge up through the brush. fallen trees litter the ex-road; sometimes you are forced to go over them, and sometimes under, and the whole way the boy is ahead of you. he doesn't notice things like humidity or the beautiful sylvan entropy or mosquito bites. his eyes are on the prize: the glimmering meadow.

it's like the forest spits you out. you skid/tumble down the final stretch of trail and its salmagundi of scents, and there you are, blinking in the sudden and wickedly clear sunlight of the meadow. as far as your eye can see is waist-to-armpit high grass. you rub your eyes, maybe. it looks like the last five miles to avalon would, with the sun beaming down, and the breeze pushing the rushy stalks over on themselves in waves that make the whole landscape look sentient, look like it's breathing. there's no describing this without at least admitting that the wildness of the place, while overwhelmingly beautiful, cradles some intimidating undertones in it's hay-scented reality. what lurks in those grasses? snakes and mice and spiders and wasps' nests, no doubt. here there is no path, no overgrown logging road to simultaneously loathe and feel grateful for. here you must move through the grasses, unguided except by your own nose, which tells you the sea is only over the next rise or two.

the boy has no trepidation. he plunges into the grass, his head nearly disappearing from view in the golden shield it provides, and you have no choice but to follow. the ground is uneven, and you stumble, but still, the breeze, and still, the humidity, this makes it all a tiny paradise. and then, while he is calling out to you from a few yards ahead and to the right, completely unseen, you notice.

with every step each of you takes, a cloud of tiny white moths explodes from the grass, rising up around you and above you like silvery smoke, like glittering diamonds in the sunshine, like feathery flowers startled off their stalks. the boy is still ahead of you, laughing now, his voice becoming more distant, and you can keep track of where he's moving by the clouds of moths bursting up from the ground and fluttering desperately away from the noise and movement you've created. you feel like a lady, a magical lady, as you move through the whispering grass and flickering white air. your cloak is made of tiny, soft, white moths. they rest in your hair. they kiss your cheeks with their wings. they breathe away the humidity from your neck and backs of your knees. they love you, because you are their gentle moth queen.

last night i was single because i had suffered the devastating loss of my husband to a bus accident. i was crying a lot. i sat out in the backyard, on the muddy ground, with my back resting against the deck and the wake was going on around me. people were milling everywhere but nobody was really talking to me. i think i had rejected everyone. my neighbour came up to me and said he was also mourning because his wife had died that morning. we cried and cried. our children were crying. we were in no state to comfort them. other people had to do it.

someone handed me the phone, and it was steve burns. he said he couldn't talk long but that he was very sorry for my loss and that he thought it would be a good idea for me to take a trip to visit him when i was feeling a bit better. i said thank you, and hung up.

mickey rourke showed up at the funeral. he didn't want to hang around being melancholy, though. he told me that it would be in my best interests to get up off the ground and go for a walk with him. it was twilight. we snuck away from the wake together. we were walking through downtown. he wanted to take me into a bar, but i wasn't in the mood. he put his arms around me and kissed me on a street corner. he said that if i wasn't in the right frame of mind now, he knew that i would be soon, and that he would come back to me and love me forever when i gave him the signal that it was alright to do so. my stomach was in knots and i couldn't imagine ever loving anyone but leon ever again. as he walked away from me to go drinking on his own, i was left alone on the street corner in the dark, surrounding by hundreds of people having fun, and i vomited into the gutter, puking out misery. i couldn't remember how to get home. i wanted everything to be different.

thankfully when i woke up, everything was.

why do you love me?

you love me because i sweated through, grunted through, hollared through, moaned through
labour pains and yawning cervix and yes, you saw me tear
you love me because when it's time and money runs out i make meal after meal
from grated potatoes and weeping onions and i'll keep going
until all the dried beans have been soaked
all the tomato paste we bought on sale
all of it is digested and resting sleepily in the ocean
you love me because i cry when someone hurts my feelings,
you love me because i'll let my hair hang down over your face
and you love me because i like to bite your chin
you'll rub my feet
you'll tease my button
you'll hold our babies in your deep, dark loving
and you love me because i'll let you
touch my belly.

bits of fluff blown in

the tiny seam of my existance, that seals me up against the world
popped
and now my stuffings are coming out in clumps
puffy, they smell like sawdust and hayseed
and freshly mown meadows

the needle and thread are lost, i can't repair the rip, i'm wilting
stop!
don't collect the fluff and hide it in your pocket
matted, they'll compress like cheap pillow fillings
and begin to reek of your body

the frayed edges of my seam have spider-threads, twisting against the wind
chopped
i use my teeth to rip them out; i'm tired of looking worn
cram the stuffings back in, if you really love me, dear
or i'll float away

major tom

I had moved the day I first met him so my muscles ached and my head was stuffed with the indignity of dust,
And even not on drugs he looked skull-cracked, you know? That kind of hollow head gaze.
But he had a glamour that shone past the silver metal buckle on his leather cap
"Yeah," he said, when we were introduced,
Slippery eyes gliding down my body, head cocked back like a trigger
And the ubiquitous cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

"Tom's crashing a party in the West End," they said, laughing and nudging me,
I felt adolescent and unsure because my friends from before weren't like this;
This rockstar experience these people were bent on having every night
"Yeah," he said, which I took to be an invitation,
His skull-cracked face bland and filled with electricity at the same time
With the ubiquitous cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

They had a van, a minivan, that they rode in, rattling and careening through narrow downtown streets
And nobody seemed to care where the gas money came from or how many beers he'd had;
Glittering, hollow-head Tom always drove, though I don't think it was his, really.
"Yeah," he said, when I asked if he liked girls,
Because in 2 hours after four beers he'd taken on a silent shine, appealing to me,
That ubiquitous cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

When the party was cancelled, we drove to the woods, the van shaking and creaking, everyone silent in their seats,
He drove hunched over, his hat nearly in his eyes, concentrating hard on the dim beams of our headlights,
And the ground underneath rolled past rocky and jounced me against the window, screeching against branches.
"Yeah," he said, whatever small talk I made as his co-pilot,
And it was that feeling you that you have when you are small next to someone, one who has
An ubiquitous cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

Being young and ridiculous I enjoyed my smallness next to him, his monosyllabic answers to my proddings, his
Deep eyes always shaded by his shiny leather cap, his lazy shifting and consistent blindspot checks,
And pulled over at a cliff with a black mirror ocean crashing beneath, we found ouselves alone in the van.
"Yeah," he said, when I leaned in close to his shoulder.
He never kissed me, not until after we'd been doing it for 5 weeks--I shit you not--and all because of
That ubiquitous cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

btvs dream

i was on patrol with buffy, who was also babysitting a 9 or 10 year old little girl. suddenly we were ambushed by werewolves, who snatched the little girl and dragged her off into the woods. buffy and i followed, kicked some werewolf ass, and took the girl home. buffy told me to stay there and watch her while she slept while she finished her nightwatch.

spike showed up at the front door sometime later. i invited him in and we started drinking wine. i said, "so, you wanna have sex?" and he said, "sure". we kissed passionately and he felt me up. i said, "wait here," very huskily, and i went upstairs to make sure the little girl was still asleep and to change into something "more comfortable", and he waited downstairs for me. we were going to do it on the couch. it was very very exciting for me. boy, was i disappointed when the little girl was sitting up in bed, wide awake. i said, "can't you sleep?" and she shook her head no. i sighed and said, "okay, then, come downstairs and i'll fix you a snack, maybe that will help you relax." she started down the stairs a little ahead of me. i was still carrying my wine glass and feeling a little drunk. suddenly she bent over, still on the staircase, and grabbed one of my ankles, and pulled my leg out from under me so that i started to tumble down the stairs. i yelled, "what the fuck?!" as my head contacted the staircase and wine splashed everywhere. at that same moment i heard spike in the livingroom, fighting with someone or something, and glass breaking. the little girl snarled and attacked me and i broke the wine glass against her head. she yelped and started to run away. i stood up and ran after her, and in the livingroom i saw spike fighting with a dark haired woman. "do you need help?" i asked, and he shook his head no and yelled, "go after the girl!" she had run out the front door. i dashed after her, and found her cowering under the bushes outside the house. i could hear that inside, spike had subdued the dark haired woman. i grabbed the girl by the arms and dragged her back inside. "what did you do that for? we are trying to help you," i said. in the living room, spike had tied the woman up and left her sitting on the couch. she looked supremely pissed off. "that is my daughter you are mishandling there," she said to me, "and you took her from me earlier tonight, too. i just want her back."

at that moment, as spike came to stand beside me and hold my hand, both the little girl and the woman turned into werewolves. i looked into spike's eyes as he said, "baby, we're screwed."

and then i woke up.

my strange life with you, cloistered and vapid, became a part of my identity.
i didn't notice til it was gone.
i didn't notice til it was gone.
vague anticipation; each moment it seemed something stranger would become real.
i felt so sad when it went away.
i felt so sad when it went away.
each day i slip into worn-out shoes and wander further from our connections.
i just can't stand the silence.
i just can't stand the silence.
like a child i believed things would never change, like cycles and seasons.
forever waxing, but never wane.
forever waxing, but never wane.
loss is something i've experienced before, but repetition doesn't make it easy.
the hole takes a while to fill.
the hole takes a while to fill.

fair maiden

both knees are bloody
my heart is rendered silent;
steal me from here, love.

left: indecision
right: wounded choices i have made;
steal me from here, love.

muscles pulled weeping
eyes swollen, tears overflow ears;
steal me from here, love.

what's saddest of all?
there is no hero for me;
i'm left to drift, love.

i was in someone's basement. it was filled with sealed cardboard boxes, scattered everywhere, no clear path through the jumble. other people were with me, carrying flashlights to light our way through the dark. we were looking for someone or something. there was a sense of urgency. i was talking to one of my companions, and i became aware of the fact she was a cop. we were talking about christianity in hushed tones.

"all cops are holy," she said.

"not all," i argued. "and what do you call an unholy cop?"

she shone the flashlight in my eyes and said, "a traitor."

something about being blinded by the light's glare, and the tone of her voice, and our setting, frightened me beyond measure. i tried to wake myself up. then i was awake, but completely unable to move, open my eyes, or make a sound.

suddenly, a roaring din crushed my ears. it sounded like thousands and thousands of women's voices, all screaming and crying at once, crashing and bruising against one another, shaking every last fibre of my soul. one of them grabbed my spirit, and started violently shaking it around in my body. "helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehel

pmehelpmehelpme!" she screamed. i saw blinding light and a white face with hollow eyes, the mouth contorted in pain. i still could not move or open my eyes or make a sound. i felt my breathing become torn and jagged in my chest. i started to panic. then the noise subsided. i relaxed for a moment, thinking i would be able to roll over, to open my eyes and see the calm darkness of my room again, to touch my sleeping man. but still my body would not move. everything was silent.

then she grabbed me again and started shaking my spirit. the din rose up in a terrible chorus, like a ravaging ocean of horror. i felt my soul being knocked around inside my body. her voice was even more urgent, and again, her deathmask flashed in and out of my vision, and she cried again, "helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme!" this time it didn't stop of it's own accord. i tried to move, to call out for leon to stop this awful experience, but i could only succeed in making short, violent bursts of air jerk from between my lips. her screaming, the shaking, the blinding visions and the sense of terror all made me feel as though i was going to be pulled from my body and flung into the tide of whatever horror she was drowning in. "HELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPME!"

leons hand stroked my back, and silence fell around me.

i opened my eyes slowly, and rolled onto my back.

"what did you dream about?" he asked me, "you were breathing very fast, and you made a small moaning sound."

"they came back," i said, sadly. "they came back and wouldn't let me leave them."

lupercalia

lupercus called on the goat
he rose from a fire of blood and skin
"laugh, boys," they cried,
wiping alabaster clean,
"and choose the name of the girl!"
faunus hung back from the feast
he rose from the soil of lust and birth
"open yourselves, girls," they cried,
gently prodding thighs,
"and from maiden to mother you'll go!"
claudius raged from his throne
he rose on a mantle of char and war
"avoid the union, citizens," he cried,
suiting them in armour,
"for battle is no place for the lovesick!"
valentine sneaked from the heather
he rose on the love and chastity of christ
"pure is matrimony, children," he cried,
marrying them all in shadow,
"your heart will be hardy with family!"
but claudius struck valentine down
and his heart pumped blood on the flowers
lupercus and faunus trembled in fear
watching their time so fade
but love never stopped beating it's goatskin drum
love never stopped drawing a crowd
the lotto has ended, the names are all picked
and scattered over this valentine's shroud.

bio-dad

we were visiting leon's parents. it was the day before we had to go home, to make sure liam got back to school on time. leon dropped a bomb on me by telling me that he was going to stay on an extra two weeks while i took the kids home alone. it is a long drive, and two weeks is a long time to parent alone. i was furious. i demanded that he come back with us. he refused. i became certain that he was intending to cheat on me with a girl from the town. i tried to keep my calm while we talked but my inlaws were obviously on his side and treated me as though i were being completely unreasonable. in a fury, i stormed out of the house and began walking through the quiet streets of the small town, muttering to myself.

it was twilight, the sky was light blue and pink. as i walked, i slowly became aware of other people walking quietly along the streets with me. they were all dressed in strange suits and costumes; most of them had a santa-theme or easter bunny-theme, or sometimes a combination of the two. i asked a young man in a pink santa suit what was going on, and he told me it was the night of an annual festival, a sort of combination of pagan holidays, where you knocked on neighbour's doors and if your costume pleased them, they would give you gifts.

"but not candy," he said. "real gifts."

i was amazed. i asked how i could get a costume, too, and he pulled a pair of plush bunny ears from his bag and gave them to me. "these will have to do, though i doubt you'll get much from anyone."

i picked the first house i came to after donning the ears. it was an old brownstone with a big front porch. the front door was mostly bleary coloured glass, and i could see lights on inside. i knocked.

my biological father, looking not a day older than he was when he left us, answered the door. i was shocked, disbelieving. i didn't know what to say; but i could see he recognized me, too. "hello there," he said quietly.

"hello," i replied.

he handed me a yellow bag, made of filmy plastic. i opened it up and slipped a book out of it. it was a thick, worn out paperback, with a creamy white cover, decorated with beautiful line drawings of naked women. i opened the book up as he watched me. pages were falling out in clumps, but i became aware of the fact that this was a very valuable old book, one that had been out of print for decades. i flipped through the tattered pages, carefully, reading the words, and coming to understand that this book was a secret teaching of women's rites and powers. stunned by his awesome generosity, i looked up at him again.

"thank you," i said.

"you're welcome," he replied, and the tone of his voice implied that he had been waiting my whole life to give this to me. to see me again. how he had known i would appear on his door this night, i had no idea.

i nodded and turned and walked off the porch as he shut the door behind me. i stuffed the book back into it's bag, stuffed the bag inside my jacket, on my heart-side, and walked further up the street as the sky darkened further. my head was racing. i couldn't decide what to do next. the plush bunny ears were sliding off my head; an ill-fit. i stopped at the top of a low, sloping hill, lit a cigarette, and watched as the rest of the silent, surreal trick-or-treaters moved from house to house, knocking on doors and giving whispered thanks to their neighbours. i wondered if they were recieving gifts like mine from people they had questions about, their whole lives.

i realized it had gotten quite late and that i needed to get back to my inlaws, so i turned around and walked back from where i had come. i passed my biological father's house, hunched over, cigarette dangling from my lips, and he glanced up just as i walked by. i could see him sitting in a dimly lit room, at an empty dining room table. we looked at each other as i walked past, but made no motions. i turned my head, and went on.

brown eyed man

he come steppin, shady-foot and sharp
optic nerve hangin from an angle off the stars
he come walkin, feather-finger and sneak
past all the frontline "D" fences i can strewed 'round my bare racks
so he come lookin, all flightless and debeaked
check me out when i go bloody-foot down
he come seein across vista and view
he got a good eyeball though i didn't flick open all the lights
he think he gots something, a jewel or a rock
it could fit in my mouth if i wasn't full of cotton bats
he think he gots a joy gem he can shove all down in me
but olafactory and taste, i don't let nothin fill me when i'm full
tell him he gotta get lost. just tell him he gotta go
his choco-macular orb and empty thoughts
make a dark world slow.

this is a bad one, could be triggering to ppl with histories of sexual abuse, don't read it.

this dream left me feeling sick and disgusted and shaking. don't read it if you have a weak stomach or are super sensitive, okay? i just had to get it out of me.

i was on a day cruise around the gulf islands with another mama and her baby girl (i don't know them in real life). we were having so much fun. the sky was blue, the water green, the sun, so warm it felt as though it was penetrating my flesh it heat my bones. our babies were about the same age; maybe her girl was two? they had fun playing on the boat and their little life jackets made them glimmer like beacons signalling to outerspace.

once the cruise was over, we got into the van we had driven there and i was going to drop my friend and her baby back home. she invited me to stay for dinner. she said she felt nervous about going home to her husband and two older boys. i didn't ask her why, but i soon found out.

the husband was terrible. a true tyrant. from the moment we walked in the door he was yelling at her and berating her. her two older boys weren't much better; they were maybe 8 and 10 years old, or so, and had obviously learned how to treat their mother from watching their father's behaviour. she was immediately set to work in the kitchen, chopping, frying, boiling, baking. i stayed with her to help; my baby girl was asleep in her carrier on the kitchen table, and her baby girl had wandered off into the livingroom where the father was watching television.

we cooked for a while, and chatted quietly, and i was asking her if she was happy in her marriage. she said, no, that she wasn't really, but that she saw no other safe course of passage through life. "i have no marketable skills, i only know how to manage a family, i haven't worked since i had a part time job in highschool." i nodded in understanding and stirred the food in the pot. the two boys had gone outside and we could see them through the kitchen window, rough housing on the lawn.

she excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom while the food cooked. i stirred and hummed and looked at my little girl sleeping, when suddenly i heard strange noises coming from the living room. grunts and moans and tiny muffled cries. with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, i slowly approached the saloon-style swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the living room and peeked in.

what i saw made my entire body clench up in revulsion and rage.

the father was molesting the two year old baby girl. he was penetrating her and groaning and he had his huge awful hand pressed over her face so that the sounds she was making were quiet. she was crying, tears spilling over her cheeks, but her eyes were glazed over.

"STOP THAT!" i shrieked.

he looked over at me but didn't stop what he was doing. he grinned at me. "fuck off," he said.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" i screamed. i blasted through the doors, my stomach in knots, puke rising in my gullet. the baby was limp on the sofa. he withdrew from her and stood up to his full height to confront me.

"who are you?" he smirked, "and what the FUCK do you think you're going to do about this? huh?" he was mocking me.

"i am going to kill you," i said, my voice suddenly calm.

on the end table, next to the sofa where the tiny girl was laying silently, was a large, heavy ceramic dog. i picked it up, an ugly thing, and shattered it against the wall. a hefty sharp chunk remained in my hand. with my other hand, i grabbed the disgusting man by his hair and began dragging him down a hallway to a bedroom. he was yelping in pain but he seemed weak, he couldn't fight me off. i threw him into the master bedroom, and leapt on him, smashing the jagged chunk of ceramic into his face, gouging out his eyes, crushing his skull beneath the power of my blows. blood, hair, flesh flew all around me, hit me in the face, soaked my clothes, and he struggled and burbled beneath me but could not fend me off. i smashed him and pulverized him and did not stop bludgeoning him until he lay silent beneath me.

i killed him.

the bed was soaked with gore. i could hear one of the baby's crying in the other rooms. it suddenly hit me, what i had just done. when i climbed off the bed, completely repulsed by my own actions, i turned to face the doorway. the other mama, and her two boys, were standing there, watching me.

"oh my god," i said. "oh my god. i....i'm sorry."

the mama didn't say anything. but the two boys both shrieked in rage and grief and flew at me. the mama just watched, silently. i threw the boys off of me and they collapsed in a heap in the corner, sobbing. i walked to the mama.

"mama," i said, "mama. i saw him. i saw what he does to your baby girl. i...i had to stop him him."

she nodded mutely, but her face was white and i wasn't sure she was following me.

"i didn't want to kill him. but i had to," i said.

she nodded again.

"what should i do?" i asked.

"i will help you," she said, finally. "he was a monster. i am glad he's dead." she walked into the ensuite bathroom and i heard her ripping down the shower curtain. she came out and handed it to me. "pull," she said, and we pulled, and the plastic curtain ripped down the middle. "the boys won't let this go," she said, "we have to kill them too."

in horror i watched her approach the oldest boy with the clear plastic curtain wrapped around her hands and stretched taut. he was crying and moaning and pushing himself against the wall, away from her. "mama, no," the boys said, in terror, "mama, no."

"i'm sorry," she said, and tears were pouring out of her eyes. she gently placed the clear plastic over the oldest boy's head, wrapped it tight around his neck, and then held him down. "come on," she said to me, urgently, tears still streaming out of her eyes, "you have to help. they'll never let you get away with my husband's death. we have to do this."

"i...i can't."

"you can. and you will. now HELP ME. i have a plan."

the younger boy was paralyzed by his fear. he watched in horror as his older brother struggled under the plastic, as his mother kneeled on him and wept, as the plastic was sucked into his gaping black mouth whole. as he cried beneath it, and made condensation. i approached him slowly, feeling as though i was going to vomit from fear and confusion. "please don't," he said, sobbing, "please. i won't tell. please stop it. please. my mama's crazy. don't listen to her."

but i did it.

it took a long time.

and i threw up on the carpet.

the mama looked annoyed with me. "you'll have to clean that up real well," she said. "or they'll catch you."

"i...i...i...can't believe we did that."

"shush up," she said, angrily. "there's one more thing you have to do, to make this right."

she walked out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with the three bodies. it was so silent and terrifying. the windows of the room were high up, almost near the ceiling, and the light of day was fading into a pale blue that cast the room in deep grey shadows. the bodies were still. the bed was soaked in blood. the piece of ceramic i'd used to smash the father's head in lay on the white carpet, gory with hair and blood and skin. i started to cry.

the mama returned, with a large kitchen knife in her hand.

"now you have to cut my throat," she said, matter-of-factly. "i won't die, but it will make it look more convincing, okay? you cut my throat, then you get your baby, and you leave. i will call 911 and tell them some gangsters broke into our house and attacked us. i already buried the money and jewlery in the back so it will look like a robbery. but you have to do this. i can't cut my own throat."

"oh my god, no," i said, sobbing. "i can't."

"you HAVE to. if you don't, you'll get caught and go to jail for murdering two people. do it." she shoved the knife at me. "DO IT."

she climbed up on the bed next to her dead husband. her hand strayed into a deep pool of his blood and she convulsed away from him, but lay down with her head next to the mess that used to me his face. "go on," she said. "it's okay. you'll be too scared to cut too deep. i'm not worried. just do it."

crying and shaking, i moved in towards her. i made a weak-handed slash at her throat but didn't stroke hard enough to break the skin.

"DO IT," she yelled at me, "are you fucking stupid? just DO IT. i told you everything would be okay if you just did what i said. now just FUCKING DO IT!"

i screamed and closed my eyes and thrust forward with the knife, slashing downwards as hard as my rubbery muscles would allow. i opened my eyes immediately and she was looking back at me. for a moment she looked shocked. i watched as red blood welled quickly up to the surface of her skin and began pouring out onto her shirt. "good," she burbled, "good. now get your things and RUN. i am going to call 911 and you have to be gone."

i dropped the knife and bolted out of the bedroom. in the livingroom, the baby girl had fallen asleep on the couch, blissful. my own baby girl was still sound asleep in the kitchen, where the only noises were the pot of boiling soup burbling away and the drip of the leaking faucet. i tried to gather up my things, tried to dash out of the house, but i saw suddenly how bloody i was. my shirt, my hands, my shoes. tracking blood everywhere.

i dashed back into the bedroom to tell my friend to not call 911, because i had to do a quick clean up first. she hadn't even made it to the phone. her body was slumped over that of her husband's, and her eyes were open and glazed over, staring into the unknowable. my knife slash had killed her, after all.

panic rose in my gullet. the proof of my killing spree was everywhere in their house. there was no getting away. there was nothing i could do.

i picked up the knife and chunk of porceline, took them to the kitchen, and washed them in hot sudsy water.

then i waited at the kitchen table for the babies to wake up. the soup boiled. outside, it started to rain. my girl woke up first. i kissed her and cuddled her and left bloody fingerprints on her yellow jumper. the second baby woke up immediately afterwards and wandered into the kitchen saying, "mumma? mumma?" i kissed her too. i put them in their chairs. then i called the police, and woke up sobbing.