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Some Kisses Are Best Forgotten

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It’s Prosery Monday on dVerse.  This week, Mish is hosting and she pulled me in with the request we use the line “Lips forget what they have kissed” from the wonderful Toni Morrison’s poem, Eve Remembering. The line must be used in prose, not poetry, and we must use it in the order it is written, no inserting of any words within the phrase.  The punctuation can chance but nothing more. Oh, and we have 144 words at our disposal!

After three long-term relationships, spanning a good thirty years, I suddenly found myself without a partner.  Very unusual for me to go solo for any length of time, to be honest.  Of course, the last one ended in death so there was a period of mourning involved.  I won’t lie.  I didn’t wait years and years.  Life must move forward and staying home and crying wasn’t going to bring him back and since I wasn’t dead yet, I had some living to do. Lots of it, it turns out.

But oh man.  Meeting someone at the age of 50?  All gung-ho, I signed up for various dating apps.

Jesus.

Chatting with friends about the various experiences, one said “Thankfully, lips forget what they have kissed… Right?”

The number of frogs out there is staggering.  The worst ones are those who think they’re wonderful.  So not.

Set me Free

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Good Tuesday morning.  I had this all planned in my head yesterday but then didn’t know how to get this going.  So I used my late husband Mick’s technique and slept on it.  It works wonders!  Lisa or Li is the host of this week’s dVerse Prosery challenge.  She has asked us to use the line:  Bury me with the lies I told from Alejandro Escovedo’s song “Bury Me”  in our 144-word story.  The rules are to use the lines of this song, a form of poetry, right? in a non-poetic way.  We cannot change the order of the line, nor add any words but we can change the punctuation.  I so love this challenge and, once again, Mick was my muse.  Words are different, but the story is the same 🙂

I remember our conversation like it was yesterday.  We were watching some TV show, and you turned to me all serious – as serious as you can be, which was rare because you brought levity to everything, and you said to me, “I don’t want you to bury me with the lies I told, my truths, my failures.  No,  I want you to take my ashes and set them free.  Set all the lies – they were the ones I told myself, you know – the pain, the sorrow, everything bad I carry inside me, free.  Let them go so they can disperse and cause none what I had had to bear.  Try to keep the happy, the good, funny. … Oh, while I am at it, have sexy waitresses serve wings and beer at my funeral.”

Sorry love, I had to draw the line.  No sexy waitresses…

Rocks and Splits

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On Monday, Merril hosted dVerse prosery.  I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this one but felt I had to wait until today.  We were to use the following lines:

“The granites and schists
Of my dark and stubborn country.”

from Nan Shepherd’s, “The Hill Burns”
from In the Cairngorms (Edinburgh: The Moray Press, 1934)
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/hill-burns/

We must use the lines of poetry in a non-poetic prose piece of 144 words.  This is where it let me.

Today, this eleventh day of December, is a regular day to most, but for me?  It marks the eleventh anniversary of the day when the world I knew changed.  Forever. Where things suddenly shifted like the granites and schists of my dark and stubborn country, or, to me, my world.  No matter how much your mind can travel to thoughts you have no reason for having, you can never be prepared for the reality when it comes.  I cannot explain the why of my thoughts. Premonition, maybe?  A sense of knowing that things would not be forever, or at the very least, for another thirty years?  Maybe it’s simply self-preservation to expect (or prepare) for the worst, so there are no surprises.  So you can be strong. It worked twenty-nine years ago, to help me not lose my mind.  It could help again.  Right?

When November Bares Herself

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On November 10th, Kim  hosted the prosery challenge on dVerse.  We were to use part of Robert Frost’s poem November Guest.  With prosery, we must use the lines of poetry provided exactly, in prose of not more than 144 words, not poetry.  No inserting any words within.  We can, however, change punctuation, which can make things much more interesting.  I, of course, am to late to join officially but I still wanted to write this one.  These are the lines:

“Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow”

Mémère and me

When November Bares Herself

November can be the most depressing of months; it was especially so for my grandmother.  I think her difficulty  bled onto me.  It’s the dreary, rain-filled, grey-skied, leafless time of year inserted between our Thanksgiving and Christmas ~ two holidays when family piled into cars and gathered around her.  November?  Dead.  No visitors, no colour, no joy.  I felt myself falling into that trap of woe-is-me-ness for the longest time.

But at some point, not yesterday, I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow, when it blankets the world in brilliant white, brightening up the darkest of days.  Some years, like this one, the leaves hang on a bit longer and the snow comes a bit earlier.  Some would say a mess of leaves and snow is awful.  I say it’s a beautiful joining of two seasons.

The Light is There

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It’s prosery Monday on dVerse. I think this my favourite of the prompts. Merril is hostess this week and has most appropriately chosen the following line from Amanda Gorman’s wonderful poem, entitled “The Hill We Climb”, recited for President Biden’s inauguration:

“where can we find light in this never-ending shade?”

The task is to use this line from the poem in prose, not poetry. We cannot insert any words within the line but we can punctuate it as we see fit. A lovely challenge. While I have heard/read the poem a few times, I did not do so before writing this as I didn’t want to be influence. I do urge you, if you haven’t already, to read or watch it.

“Please call me.” No longer asleep, I immediately call and your quivering voice breaks my heart. I can feel your despair viscerally and wish I were there, not here. You never want your child to feel so sad, lonely and unhappy. You want to do everything in your power to help even if you don’t know where to start.

I listen to you, forcing myself to not interrupt, because I want you to know I am listening. When you pause long enough, I tell you I will help you figure it out and you will see things will be much better but you cut me off: “Where can we find light? In this never-ending shade there is nothing.” I try to assure you there is light amongst the shadows, even if you cannot see it right now.

I hide that I feel so helpless.

Stars and Scars

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Monday was Prosery Monday on dVerse where the host (Björn, in this case) chooses a line of poetry that we must then include in our 144-word prose – not poetry!  I think he might have surprised himself by choosing a song by Taylor Swift.  Let’s face it, songs are poetry set to music.  And Taylor is a very prolific young lady!  The line chosen:

“You drew stars around my scars”

comes from her song “Cardigan” – a song I know rather well and particularly like.  Was hard to not think of it when I wrote my bit.

Life is good now.  A shitty childhood that lead to making bad choices culminated in a do-or-die situation.  I had created my hellhole and had had to dig myself out, alone, which was no easy feat, I can now acknowledge.  I got clean.  Separated myself from toxic people.  Lived off bologna, rice, and pasta.  Paid back every single cent I owed.  Worked hard, and I rebuilt myself.

I didn’t realise how battle-weary I had become, doing it all on my own until I met you.  No matter what, I’m a naturally happy-go-lucky person, living life to the fullest and when you came along, I was ready.  With your gentle prodding, I shared it all.  You listened and saw me and loved me for all that I was and you drew stars around my scars, just to prove it.  Our love was real and true.

I forgot to add the song!

Mom Knew Most, Not All

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Yesterday was Prosery Monday on dVerse, hosted by Melissa Lemay.  We are to use the following line from Tina Chang’s Poem Love:

“I am haunted by how much our mothers do not know.”

The rules are to use every word in the line, in their exact order, but we can change the punctuation.  A prose of no longer than 144 words is to be created.  I love this challenge and thank you, Melissa!

 

I’ve witnessed people cripple themselves, torture even, with beliefs they’ve created, focusing on what they did or didn’t do.  A self-haunting, if you will.  To be fair to them, they were probably brought up in an environment which favoured this type of thing.

Not me.  If I’m honest with myself, there are not many things I am haunted by.  How much our mothers do not know is not something I think about – probably because my mother was never one of those “Oh my child would never do that” type of mother.  She remembered her own youth and knew damn well what we were capable of.  Hell, she did most of them herself once.

There’s nothing better than seeing her look of surprise today, when we tell her stories of certain things we did.  To think, somehow we managed to fool her.  Once or twice.

Scrapbook

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For Monday’s dVerse prosery, Kim asked us to use the following lines from Leonard Cohen’s poem, Take this Waltz:

“And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.”

We must use the line in its entirety, without inserting any additional words.  We can, however, change the punctuation as we wish.

Scrapbook

You loved to tease me about taking so many pictures, yet you gifted me a camera for one Valentines Day.  You knew how much I loved to capture things we did, places we went, nature, the kids, everything.  I told you you’d thank me for it one day.  Isn’t that the way life goes?  You just never know who will be around to enjoy those memories.  I didn’t count on it being just for me.  And maybe the kids.  If ever they want to look at them.

I’ll continue capturing moments and I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there.  And the moss will serve as a cushioned seat any time I or anyone comes to visit, wanting to reminisce about all the stories that make up who I am.  Because it’s all good when put together in my life scrapbook.

 

What is True

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Monday was Prosery Monday on dVerse, hosted by Dora.  She wants us to use the following line from Amy Woolard’s poem, Laura Palmer Graduates:

“…What does it matter.
That the stars we see are already dead.”

Gazing up at the starry sky, I can’t help but think of our conversation earlier today.  I worry about you, you know. I wonder what happened to you for your view of life and the world to have become so dark. Was it always so?  I don’t think so, but you cannot seem to see any of the beauty all around you. It shouldn’t be so damn difficult. What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead?  They don’t sparkle any less, do they?  Those flowers in that vase will wilt, shrivel, and die but are they not beautiful now?  I felt I was arguing into a black hole that sucked all reason through it.

I wish I could go back in time and remove whatever snuffed out your ability to find happiness in the ordinary because I am not enough.

Possibly Alaska

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Yesterday was Prosery Monday on dVerse, where host, Björn, asked us to use the following line:

“all of the names swallowed up by the cold”

from Swedish poet, Tomas Tranströmer’s poem, After Someone’s Death. I never read the poem first because I don’t want to be influenced by it for my 144-word story.  (I do read it after, of course.  It is a wonderful poem, do have a read!)  However, I have been obsessed with Canadian singer Maddison Krebs’ wonderful song Possibly Alaska (shared below) and when I saw the line to use for this challenge, I knew I had to incorporate it somehow.

I can’t find my centre.  For so long I was pulled in various directions for everyone else, that I lost my own.  It’s my fault, of course.  I could have insisted.  But I didn’t and now?  I’m wondering what that centre even is.

I’m drained.  Sometimes, the best way to refuel is to step away.  Far away.  Hop in a cab and just go (no, I don’t even want to have to drive thank you).  Just grab a flight.  Where to go?  Maybe Honolulu, possibly Alaska.  Oh yes, Alaska.  Where all of the names swallowed up by the cold will release me to find it.

Besides, no way in hell anyone would think to look for me there.  They would automatically believe I would hide in a villa in Tuscany.  And much as I want to go there?  I don’t want to be found.