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Cita's Blog – August 2009 Archive (16)

Haunting

Most men, me included, will think in terms of body parts when they think of a woman, at least in the darkest part of our minds where we are honest.

And I thought of Anna in pieces, but it was pieces like her eyes that could tell a whole story or absorb a whole story, her hair that never did exactly what she wanted it to, her hands that could soothe the devil’s toothache.

I thought of Anna as a laugh, a silly little jig when she was happy, and later, as the mole that rested… Continue

Added by Cita on August 31, 2009 at 8:33pm — 3 Comments

The Reality of Hope

Hope was one of those women who looked so promising, all curves and hair and sparkles, all shiny lips and helpless eyes and breathless little voice.

She was one of those women who smelled like a department store and who made a man think about ordering flowers, even though he knew he would regret it once he stepped through the door into the damp flourist shop.

When I was courting Hope, I never thought about if she had read a… Continue

Added by Cita on August 31, 2009 at 7:59pm — 6 Comments

That moment

At first I just loved Randy's voice, dancing with the plucked strings of his guitar, but now I love the look on his face right before he cums, and that’s weird because it isn’t a beautiful or sexy look.

Harold’s look doesn’t change much, no matter what is happening: thunder, lightening, spiders, sexual climax, cookies baking in the oven, phone ringing.

But Randy's face is like a pond that ripples with a breeze or a stray leaf or a thought fish that clears the surface,… Continue

Added by Cita on August 31, 2009 at 4:18pm — 4 Comments

The Worst Death

On a ranch this big, it seems silly to worry about one little steer who was a bull too long, but we went looking for him and found him in the thicket, sore, swollen and thirsty.

We moved him, slowly, onto water, left him there in the creek, hoping he'd heal and come looking for his friends, but I saw him two weeks later, still hanging around, his ribs showing, still recovering from a barbaric surgery, and left him a flake of hay by the water trough.

Yesterday, as we moved… Continue

Added by Cita on August 31, 2009 at 2:03pm — 3 Comments

Painting at the Bottom

When I am at the bottom of the sine wave, I paint with the blackest black found in the deepest caverns when the headlamps go out and only sterile water drips.

I paint with blue like the sound of Patsy Cline walking around at night, making your chest ache.

I paint with browns so rich and thick that your feet get stuck and you fall forward, buried up to your elbows in primordial ooze.

I splash on just a little bit of red to remind you of when you skinned your knee… Continue

Added by Cita on August 30, 2009 at 9:30pm — 6 Comments

Best Supporting Actress

I've never been the star because that was my dad's role, yelling HYAH! from the living room when I cried in my crib, a tactic guarenteed to gain the adults some peace.

I've never been the star because that was my sister's role, sitting in Daddy's lap and sobbing when she didn't get her way and then when she did I always wondered why I didn't try harder.

I've never been the star because that was my husband's role, the one who was always having the work crises and getting… Continue

Added by Cita on August 30, 2009 at 12:16am — 4 Comments

Cheetos

This is a poem that came from a six I wrote months ago....

He's only two years old

but he already knows what a Cheeto is.

Knows what orange powdered cheese-food corn puff is

but never has pulled a carrot from the dark earth,

washed it off in the waterhose,

crunched into tender sweetness.

The words "corporate culture"

make a scream in my soul;

I wish for more black dirt,

more rain,

more imperfect… Continue

Added by Cita on August 29, 2009 at 9:30pm — 4 Comments

Raspberries

Shakespeare said that all the world's a stage, but Carl Jung said that the whole world is a mirror.

While I am probably, like you, starring in my own movie (and its a drama), I have also been given the greatest gift, in the past year, of a mirror that has caused a change in the tone and script (can you say comedy?).

She lives across the nation, is the totally wrong age, and shows me myself so many years ago with all of my… Continue

Added by Cita on August 29, 2009 at 8:26pm — 4 Comments

To Where I Used to Be

How did I get here, from where I was, baking bread once a week, and a batch of tortillas, in a kitchen full of kids and a crockpot full of beans and too many condiments and boxes of cereal because everyone had a favorite?

How did I get here, from where I was, the one who hosted the holidays, the one who gathered eggs and watered the garden, and smoothed all of the wrinkles for everyone, and held all of the hands, and cleaned all of the dusty corners even if they weren't… Continue

Added by Cita on August 28, 2009 at 9:30pm — 14 Comments

Ruby

My mama named me Ruby, but I think she made a mistake.

"Ruby" sounds like a soiled dove who followed the old West mining camps, or like a woman whose man begs her not to take her love to town, or like a white-haired waitress in a small town Texas cafe, pouring coffee and joking with her regulars.

They all love her, that Ruby.

And I am nothing like the sedate red jewel with hidden fire within its darkness.

I am plain and boring and uncreative and… Continue

Added by Cita on August 23, 2009 at 1:25pm — 3 Comments

Ovarios

In her sleep, her ovarios begin to twitch, those Mexican jumping beans--tie-died--luminescent--swirling with color--nestled in her belly in their bean-shaped beds, giggling and telling stories to themselves, occasionally sending out sparklers so that she won't forget they are there.

They get stirred up by art or surprise her with their reactions to the chemicals in another human being or cause poetry and beauty to fly out of her fingers, bouncing up out of her belly to bump their… Continue

Added by Cita on August 21, 2009 at 6:30pm — 3 Comments

A Black Witch

A butterfly can fly even when her wings are tattered, even when wind and time have torn the delicate edges.

You hear bits and pieces and slices of my story, of my past, and wonder aloud how I got away, how I moved two states over and began, again, afresh, with hope.

I can't let the past define me even though it does make me who I am and when you said, "I'll show you mine if you will show me your's," you didn't know what you were… Continue

Added by Cita on August 21, 2009 at 5:30pm — 5 Comments

The Heron

Yesterday a blue heron sat on the edge of the horse trough and ate the vivid goldfish while his toes rested in the water until around noon I took his picture, getting as close as I dared while he pretended to ignore me, reminding me of that perfect boy in high school, the one who placed himself strategically beside the busiest bank of lockers at that critical intersection of hallways across from the math pod, a very visible spot, pretending he… Continue

Added by Cita on August 21, 2009 at 1:30pm — 4 Comments

That Cold Lantern

Old men aren't supposed to fall in love.

Katy is tan, soft, smart, full of youth that shines like a light, unblemished and ready for a tasty life.

I wake up every morning and for a few brief moments I am still in my dreams, strong, virile, and ready to take on the toughest greenest colt, the ringiest smartest old cow, the sassiest prettiest girl, the loudest fastest fiddle, and a plate of the biggest spiciest chili rellenos from Hatch, New Mexico.

If l lie there… Continue

Added by Cita on August 20, 2009 at 9:20pm — 7 Comments

Anthropomorphism

Scientists studying the whales say that more and more they are realizing that animals have cultures, societies, families, and emotions, but I could have told them that.

The mother cow over there in the corner hasn't kicked her yearling off, though she has a new baby and now is nursing both.

Yesterday we stripped the cows off of the calves so we could brand with less hassle, and some of the cows watched through the slats of the pens with wet eyes and pain in their bawls as… Continue

Added by Cita on August 1, 2009 at 12:17am — 3 Comments

Wet Shirts

I have been wearing the same shirt for five days in a row... and the same jeans... pockets stuffed with necessities like Jolly Rancher candies, flat camera, tally book, pencil, knife, barn door key, and lip balm.

The shirt goes through cycles... covered with horse hair, blood, sweat, a little bit of manure... and then miraculously gets clean.

I take it off, unsnapping in one swift motion, leather reins looped over my arm, revealing my "mash-em flat," otherwise known as… Continue

Added by Cita on August 1, 2009 at 12:00am — 4 Comments