N. Pham- Desperate Driving

N. PHAM
Desperate Driving


I stare blankly out the windows looking at scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul.  Their stories, their emotions and thoughts and whispers are there and present in each broken down house, slow moving train, well kept lawn and wide open field.  Yet none of their stories are known to me- just scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul. 


My bus is every minute driving further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so desperately want to hang on to.  As I head north I pray north is the same as up when you are at the bottom of a lake tangled in yards of seaweed disguised as arms and hands of all the people you wish would love you but don't. 


As I pass these scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul, I look back at my own reflection in the window.  My hang touches my eyelid and the face staring back mimics my movements but without knowing why the contact between the skin over my eyes and that of my index finger existed or why it was taken away so quickly.  That face in the window is practically a stranger whose mind and heart and soul are untouchable to me.  


With every minute this bus heads more north further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so desperately want to hang on to.  The road tips NW and slides a bit NE again and I stare at scenes I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul.


But as the road tips to the NW and slides to the NE, it still continues to drive more north further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so very desperately am trying to hang on to, I now see a different face in the reflection of the window. And when my forefinger touches my eye lid, the reflection stares back at me and blinks with a strong sense of boredom and bewilderment. 


I stare back. and just as my mind and heart and soul registers a connection in that face in the reflection as a scene that I've seen before, that might possibly mean something to me, that touches my mind and heart and soul as real as I touched my forefinger to my eyelid, that face in the reflection looks away.


And then disappears.  And I drive north. And I stare out the window, blinking with a strong sense of boredom and bewilderment at scenes that I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register in my mind and heart and soul. 


As the road tips NW and bends NE and continues to head more and more north, further and further away from you and Sweet Briar and the life I so very, very, desperately am trying to hang on to, I notice in the reflection of the window the disguise that was there all along.  Those arms and hands of all the people I so desperately wish would love me but don't, are not truly the arms and hands of you and Sweet Briar and the life I was so desperately trying to hang on to, but seaweed at the bottom of the lake.  


As I drive more and more north, further and further away from that life, that school, that love, I can't tell if I am going up or if I am tipping to the side or bending to the opposite diagonal.  


And as I stare at those scenes that I've never seen before, that don't necessarily mean anything to me, that don't register my mind and heart and soul, I touch my forefinger to my eye lid and wipe away a fresh water tear.


The reflection in the window does not mock my movements. It is not even there.  Instead it is at the bottom of the lake with that disguise, with that life, with that school. With that love. 


And I am driving north. 

The Velvet Underground- After Hours (lyrics)

THE VELVET UNDERGROUND
AFTER HOURS


If you close the door, the night could last forever
Keep the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again. 


If you close the door, the night could last forever, 
Leave the wineglass out and drink a toast to never
Oh, someday I know someone will look into my eyes
And say hello-- you're my very special one--
But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again. 


Dark cloudy bars
Shiny Cadillac cars
And the people on subways and trains
Looking gray in the rain as they stand disarrayed
All the people look well in the dark
And if you close the door, the night could last forever. 
Leave the sunshine out and say hello to never
All the people are dancing and they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
'Cause if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again
I'd never have to see the day again
(once more)
I'd never have to see the day again

PJ Harvey (lyrics)

PJ HARVEY

Pocket Knife

Please don't make my wedding dress
I'm too young to marry yet
Can you see my pocket knife?
You can't make me be a wife
How the world just turns and turns
How does anybody learn?


Mummy, put your needle down
How did you feel when you were young?
Cause I feel like I've just been born
Even though I'm getting on
How the world slips by so fast
How does anybody last?


As the world keeps coming
And the bees keep humming
And I'll keep running


Flowers I can do without
I don't wanna be tied down
White material will stain
My pocket knife's gotta shiny blade
I'm not trying to cause a fuss
I just wanna make my own fuck-ups
I'm not trying to break your heart 
I'm just trying not to fall apart

N. Pham- Queen Nova

Queen Nova

Goddess of those who hope without praying.

November, Nova

Granting wishes on first stars seen tonight

And in the eleventh moment of the second to last hour.

It is She who catches your pleads

In the mesh of thoughts and prayers and sun and stars

Up there with dreams and wind and memories and water.

It is She, Our Nova

Queen of the stars

Of desire

Of need

Of hope.

Bathed in light.

Peace of the night.

It is She

Queen Nova

N. Pham- White Envelopes

N. PHAM

White Envelopes

Her handwriting reveals a certain child-like,

youth. Mostly in her red sharpie letters

with that particularly cute dot above the "i"

in my name and the varying sizes between

the "R" and the "d" in my address.

The very same handwriting leaves a perfume trail

of mature elegance and wisdom. Each word

reveals a thought process and her breath and

voice linger between each line.

Handwritten letters in matching white envelopes

addressed with red or orange sharpie letters.

In reality they all say the same thing. On the

outside, at least, because I can't yet bring

myself to re-open them.

Her letters remind me of her child-like giggle and

beautiful young smile.

Her letters remind me of her brilliant mind and the

way her spoken words serve to take care of

me and ask me to take care of her at the same time.

Of course those are just her letters --no, the words those

letters form speak a language I do not breathe.

Those sentences describe a world full of situations

and realities I do not understand.

These letters say lots of things. So many things. All these

words and sentences and meanings and truths

and lies and words and words and words. No,

these letters don't really say anything.

Not to me. Not from her.

It is her handwriting alone that reveals her youthful glow

and it is her handwriting that whispers her voice

in my ear. I can hear it in that messy orange heart

that seals the white envelope and the way I imagine

her closing each letter and addressing it to me.

What I hold onto is the voice and the breath and that damn

messy heart. But her words have left me. Just as she

left me. And the envelopes are closed because I do not

breathe her language and I do not walk in her world.

Her handwriting is all I have left although I do not know why

I even hang onto these. Her words do not say anything.

Not to me. Not from her. These are just a bunch of

white sealed envelopes.

Sarah Kirsch

SARAH KIRSCH

Wintermusik

once a red vixen

with high leaps

I got what I wanted

grey I am now grey rain.

I travelled as far as Greenland

in my heart.

a stone shines on the coast

on it is written no one returns

the stone shortens my life,

the four corners of the world

are full of suffering. love

is like the breaking of the spine

Olga Broumas

Love Poems by Women, edited by Wendy Mulford

Today's favorite:

OLGA BROUMAS

Sleeping Beauty

I sleep, I sleep

too long, sheer hours

hound me, out

of bed and into clothes, I wake

still later, breathless, heart

racing, sleep

peeling off like a hairless

glutton, momentarily

slaked. Cold

water shocks me

back from the dream. I see

lovebites like fossils: something

that did exist

dreamlike, though

dreams have the perfect alibi, no

fingerprints, evidence

that a mirror could float

back in your own face, gleaming

its silver eye. Lovebites like fossils. Evidence.

strewn

round my neck like a ceremonial

necklace, suddenly

snapped apart.

O

Blood. Tears. The vital

salt of our body. Each

other's mouth.

Dreamlike

the taste of you

sharpens my tongue like a thousand shells,

bitter, metallic. I know

as I sleep

that my blood runs clear

as salt

in your mouth, my eyes.

O

City-center, mid -

traffic, I

wake to your public kiss. Your name

is Judith, your kiss a sign

to the shocked pedestrians, gathered

beneath the light that means

stop

in our culture

where red is a warning, and men

threaten each other with final violence. I will drink

your blood. Your kiss

is for them

a sign of betrayal, your red

lips suspect, unspeakable

liberties as

we cross the street, kissing

against the light, singing, This

is the woman I woke from sleep, the woman that woke

me sleeping.

O

O