poem: black hair and sapphire

You were cruel,  but not in ways

more measurable than our peers

and, well, cruelty was a code of

living anyway.

 

You were the only one then

I wished had seen past my

uncoolness, my non-cruelty,

an absence where a cigarette

should be,

 

legs too long and clothes nowhere

near anything resembling style,

and a mind too interested

in the content of books

for anyone's friends.

 

Would it have been different

had it been you, not the football

player my dad wanted me seen with,

that took my virginity?

I wanted you more.

 

How does an invisible girl speak,

even now?

 

You should have left that place, too.

Anger is too high a risk factor

for those of us drawn with too much

to fill the stingy space allotted

on a page that expectation has already

outlined for us in shades

of dull mining town

desolation gray. 

 

we bled outside of the lines.

 

when do those roles of "too good"

and "not good enough," reverse?

 

I smiled to learn that you

became a bodybuilder who loved ABBA.

Yes, I thought, that fits the f**k you world

Paulie I knew. 

 

I wished I had told you

the lead in my first novel, the one I

grew too ashamed to finish-

 

she had your black hair and sapphire

eyes. It was the only voice I ever knew

how to speak to you with.

 

 

for Paul, 1975-2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

4/26/13 a former childhood/ teenage friend was killed in an early morning car accident. He was always ond of the ones I never worked up the courage to talk to- genre crossing was not allowed. We were 2 of the four selected for gifted classes, and he had a sense of humor that could exasperate Mother Teresa. We had only recently reconnected, on Facebook. I learned of his death as it was being broadcast on police scanners. We came from that kind of small town.

Reviews

[Ken Simm.]

Personal and wistful. Unlike a lot of your work this shows rather more than hints of the author through her describing another. Someone who once meant more than she was willing to say then. Which makes the poem epitaph all the more tragic. Giving an extra layer of true pathos and what might have been to what was already a lovely write.
I so enjoy how always plural your work is.

[Marie Anzalone]

As always, Ken, your bright soul shines through in your words you write, down to the smnallest detail in the reviews you give. I appreciate your insight and heart. Yes, I stepped into this one completely; often, I hover more near the edges, like a caretakr throwing bread into the pond for the fish, maybe. I read something today about how we want physicists to speak at funerals, because they can speak with authority about energy being neither created nor destroyed; about how a person's energy reflectes and vibrates and warms the photons in other beings, structures- stardust imbued with life, interacting at a personal scale to literally change everything it touches. I can write with no authority on either physics or on my former friend's life- I can only write with authority on how his energy vibrated my insecure budding self at a crucial life juncture. To do that, I had to step in... way in.

I appreciate that you saw and appreciated that. Thank you.

[Angi]

I wonder if you ever think about finishing that novel. This one squeezed my heart. Soft and full of anguish, Marie. Lovely. Angi~

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for the thoughtful and compassionate review and message on this, Angi. I had thought about finishing it, but intervening circumstances changed my course. I am actaully now working on a new one- and yes, I plan to work Paul into it somehow. He deserves that. This poem was one that I wrote not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I appreciate your review, and I also your recognition with the contest win. Again, thank you.

[h d e rushin]

such life processes, natural or biological, that knowing is. when it happens at a time
when we are mature enough, or biographer enough, or saint enough or even poet
enough to capture the specifics of a compelling life, then we have to somehow
give it shape. and I think you have done just that. give shape and visual image
to someone worthy who you have summoned from your memory.great poem.
great ceremonial progression. even greater testament.

dana

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, dana. I find it fascinating how our lives can cross and impact each other so strongly, in so many ways, in so many instances. How does one untangle the web? If it had not been for my shyness, maybe I would have never started writing in the first place. Without it, I would be a very different person today. Some question the value of the observer, the bearing of witness. I say, "how else do we ever know how much we lived?" Life does compel, and it never did so, smally. Your words are very much appreciated, as always.

[Fernando Pessoa]

This was so heartbreaking for me, Marie. His death and your loss, with a poignant prayer for answers. I truly am so very sorry.

Mark Twain: "All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" - a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live."

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Paul, for your review and kind words. I am truly happy to see you back; I have so missed your insight and thoughtful quotes. Maybe the answer to Twain's observation is that we take the time, and make sure we are really living in the first place, before we worry about death?

[Fernando Pessoa]

Yes, it is rare to find people who are truly alive. So much mundane wandering in fiction and fabric. Let us learn to live.

[Marie Anzalone]

I will raise a toast to that any day.
Actually, the one I usually use is:

"here's to still being young enough to have lives we can consider, interesting"

a 74 year old former boss taught me that one

[Fernando Pessoa]

Now, there is someone who knew something about living. A beautiful lesson we do all need. Remind us every now and again, would you?

[Marie Anzalone]

I consider it my highest calling :-)
you were looking for read requests? here is one of mine you might enjoy, along that theme, written for a dear artist friend: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/hauntedfox/784585/

[ChemicalMadness]

this was really quite a fantastic piece...the emotion, of course, comes through...but the phrasing and depth of message are equally as strong. i lost a "friend" as well this week...never as close as we should have been, which made me wonder what if we were and how much more would i now feel that loss, knowing we'd colored outside the lines together....
nicely done
CM

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for for your words, CM. In one of my favorite novels, a woman's sister is killed by revolutionaries while working as an agricultural extension agent in Honduras in the 1980s. They cannot bring her body home to the US. A co-worker of the woman, who spoke English, wrote the family a note, in which she said, among other things, [paraphrased] "I cannot make your grief smaller, but perhaps knowing how many people loved her and were affected by her, helps make her presence in the world a little larger for you."

Premature death was a fact of life wehere we grew up. Accidents, alcohol, drugs, guns, knives- and other angry or desperate combinations thereof; all contributed. We have lost so much. I would need 3 hands, easily, to count everyone we lost who I went to Junior High with. The school had less than 200 people.

Coloring outside of the lines... maybe that is the only way we know to make our mark known? I empathize with your loss, as well. I wonder how much we could ever know how much anyone's presence affects our lives until there is no longer a potential of them being in it?

[Emily B]

oh . . . i wondered the other day . . . i have one or two of those myself, sometimes they reappear briefly before hiding in the shadows again

i have a feeling that sense of humor served him well, he lived a full life

[Marie Anzalone]

thanks, Emily... make sure you remember to tell them, ok? I am trying to reach out to some of mine, both here and otherwise.

It did, and he did.

[Emily B]

I still go back to Dale Morris page sometimes, I miss him.

[Marie Anzalone]

Dan would have liked this community, I think. I am sure Dale appreciates you going back, too.

[Horizon K.]

Wow very touching... These people from the past always come back to haunt you... Make you question who has changed and how... The perception of who is better, too good, and whoever this was in high school seems to always change as the shy girl grows up and draws self confidence and achievements around her shoulders. But still those early definitions may hold the tongue in its earlier place. And it can break our hearts when we do look back and find the person we shared something special with or only a dream of love in our heads, had a tragic ending... Could any admissions have changed this...

[Marie Anzalone]

Wrapping that cloak of self-confidence around our shoulders- how I love that image. The thing about broken hearts is this: it is only by them that we examine those limitations we place on our own speech, our own censorship of our tongue. Looking at death has a way of stripping us of pride, I think. Is it the words you said that matter more, at the end; or the ones you did not say? Does it depend on what types of words?

[gombeggar]

haugie would be proud to be remembered by u so well...but only if u like abba 2

[Marie Anzalone]

I DO actually like ABBA. Yes, I know, my name is now on some watch list for crimes against musical decency for that admission. I discovered them in Guatemala, where they are very popular still. There is room in my world for small joys, I guess.

It is a comfort to my heart that you, who knew him far better than I ever could, think that he would have liked to know how much I thought of him. Thank you for that gift today. de corazon, gracias.

[gombeggar]

i am disconcerted over the abba thing, but pleased that u and he had that and i allow(as if it's my right or sumpthin) u any joy u can get fer yerself 10 fold over...i dunno how well i really knew him but he confided in me now and again and digging back in mah memories i know he held u in high regard which says alot cuz he didn't think highly of too many and he spoke his true mind even less so

[Marie Anzalone]

Never, in 37 years of knowing you, can I remember claiming that either of was ever right in the head.

What you say means more than you could possibly know. Yes, he would not BS about something like that. Probably why I never got up the courage to talk to him much.

[gombeggar]

don't feel bad...he (as u know) was not the easiest of pesons to converse with...but he had a bigger heart then most knew

[Marie Anzalone]

I know... saw that too. I remember sitting in those classes woth him, thinking, "if we don't make it out of here, we are both so fucked. This place will eat us alive."

[Mike Emil]

not enough brandy

[Marie Anzalone]

was there ever, though?

[Mike Emil]

there is a brandy i've not had any of, but she keeps herself locked up so tight she might as well be a jinn in a bottle too! arrrgh!

[Marie Anzalone]

sounds like to need to try that key in a different lock, LOL.. before she puts out a restraining order

[Mike Emil]

i would never put a restraining order against her
what's wrong with you???

[Tree]

When tragedy becomes the muse you have no choice but to write great poetry, you and her (tragedy) looking over your shoulder would have it no other way. The powerful and quiet brevity, and that finish ... this poem will stick with me for a long long time.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Diego, for your thoughtful consideration of this. I never really even considered what you said about the muse; just responded as I often do when heavy emotional stuff hits... work it through in writing, try to turn it into art. It was about 8th or 9th grade, when this guy and I were still in classes together, that I started realizing how much more comfortable I felt writing, than speaking. Afraid to speak then, and ask for anything I wanted or needed- acceptance, love, punishments that fit my various assumed crimes. Patterns we learn as children have a way of coming full circle as adults. I STILL have trouble with all of these things, but maybe slightly more perspective. Thinking about my friend, pulling up these sweet and painful memories- I realized how much I still do struggle with all of those things. I wish I'd had the guts to tell him, even when we reconnected. I always felt he outclassed me, like he was not approachable, for someone like me. I understand now his last few years were lonely and filled with anxiety and bottles. I would have wished so much more for him. Not that I think I could have changed anything- but maybe it would have meant something to him, had he known how much I admired him from a distance?

I wonder how many others struggle in this same way.

[Tree]

I think many quietly stuggle this way. We should all be more forthright to those we might admire and respect, like you say, who knows you might make a difference. Change an outcome.