Where You Run, 2007

I want to know where you run.
I want to know where you are.
This crazy maze of life.

Maze of life.
You’re sitting right next to me,
plane full. Empty seat for us to be
together.

As we have always been, side-by-side.

I doubt myself. I shake.
I am handsomer than I was before.
The wisdom, the time shows on my face,
now.

This body is a gift from my true-Mutti.
She left years ago. I think of her still.
I burst open—sometimes.

I cut it all off. It bounced up higher.
She sang and drove me wild. Her man’s smile
is like a shimmering lake.

He stays with the bitter girl. My lover’s friend
sat close to me. We laughed. He smelled like him.
He sits like him, slouched. He’s safe.

I bent over backwards as I pulled the scissors shut.
She was speaking into the microphone. I couldn’t
see, I’m not used to stage lights.

Many people in my life know stage lighting. And,
he’s gone. Permanently. I still miss him, his rudeness.

My heart is broken again. Miss. Taken. I’m ashamed again.
Ashamed of what I knew while I did it anyway. Again.

Maybe I can remember this time. That the sun shines strongly
in the south. And, dresses are gifts to my boys. Playing is a skill
that brings joy to their lips. Makes their bellies ache. And crack.

I want to run down the beach as fast as I can in the middle of
the night. And yell. I want to pull my hair so that it comes out
of my head—longer. I want to screatch & rant & run.

I want to bolt away from here. But, the artists can stay. They know
my insanity. What I am & always was, is a wife of a king. A Queen.
Queen bee.

I’m a wife of a man who is softest still. He came back to me from the first
year fresh. His voice makes my body melt into itself, repeatedly. I’m going
to him—please stay with me, here in the seat.

Watch me, hold me. Tightly. Softly. I’m just a child raised by wolves. Wild.
Teach me how to speak softly and tell them about being a woman. Let me be
there for the children for the rest of my days. For this is all for them.
Of course.
Of course.
Blindly.

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© 2010 by Felice Tebbe. All rights reserved.