Valentine's Day Card

I shopped and shopped for the PERFECT card

But alas-there was not one to be had!

So in despair there came an idea

What better than to write an original one!

So here I am-writing and writing

Many drafts are scattered about me on the floor

My frustration growing more-desperation stepping in

I close my eyes for a moment-taking a deep breath

Now my pen starts to flow

Words start to bleed from the pen tip

Stroke upon stroke-periods and commas

Capital letters and exclamation points

My heart-my love-my everything!

How many times can one say that?

How many different ways are there?

Poets of the ages have won me on this

After what seems hours

Finally I take a long look at what I have written

My eyes start to tear; my heart trembles

A realization hits home true

Taking a clean piece of parchment

With fluid and graceful hand I write

“I love You!”

Simple and sincere

My Valentine’s Day card

Sent to you with pure and simple love

Desire contained in that simple phrase

Sealed with a kiss

©2011 feb/cb

Valentine's Day

She missed the scent of the flowers that were delivered as a “surprise”; along with the small surprises of chocolates - and the cards.  Oh yes, those cards.  Cards filled with sentiments of “I love you!” or crazy comic messages hiding the blush of first love.  She had a box of memories somewhere – she just could not remember where. 

All around her there were the signs of the coming holiday-Valentine’s Day.  In years past there was no shortage of flowers and cards but those have slowly trickled down to nothing.  She did not begrudge those who sent nor those who received.  She was happy for them.

The sun felt good against her skin.  It made her drowsy.  She must have drifted off because when she woke there were strangers sitting with her.  They were all smiling and one was crying.  They brought her flowers – and chocolates!

Her daughter tried to hide her tears but could not.  The woman seated in front of her was not the woman she knew as Mom.  Alzheimer’s has slowly taken that woman away.  A small part of her was still seen in the pleasure she took when she saw the flowers and the chocolates.

©2011 feb/cb

Disconnect

“Damnit!!!”

Cursing out loud; she breathed in deeply. She thought she could handle it.  No wait, she was lying to herself.  She knew she could not.  When he had asked a few weeks back, she ignored the question hoping that maybe it was just rhetoric.  Sadly, it was not.

It has been such a great time.  The connection was awesome between them.  Normally she did not get attached so quickly but she found herself looking forward to talking with him.  Soon it turned into more but that damn statement of his.  He sure got through her walls.

“Damnit! Damnit!! Damnit!!!” 

Her eyes welled with tears.  She stubbornly wiped them away.   Good thing she held it together until he left.  Her heart was still pounding with pain.  She needed to disconnect somehow.  Unplug those feelings.  She bit her lower lip as she held back pain. 

Men!  But then it was her fault too.  She allowed herself to become involved knowing that there may be nothing there and he had a roving eye.

“Disconnect, need to disconnect” 

Those were her last thoughts as she drifted into troubled sleep.

©2011 feb/cb

Strait Jackets

I had just finished with the small rush moments before so I was taking a small breather when he walked into the shop.  A regular at the shop, I knew he wanted coffee and to be left alone.  I poured the coffee as he sat at the counter.  The town was preparing for the Polar Plunge – an event I think of as idiotic but it brings in business. 

Walking to end of the counter where the suggestion box was placed; each night I check it and each night there is nothing in it.  I wish this night was over – my feet are killing me!  I need to get better support in my shoes. 

I went back to him to refill his cup as he was pulling out his notepad and pen.  He wrote something down; mumbled something about a walk in this wind; paid and walked out…passing the suggestion box along the way.  He dropped that note he was writing into the box. 

As I finished closing; refilled the sugars, the salt and pepper shakers; I remembered the suggestion box.  Curiosity got the best of me – I had to read what he wrote.  My eyes opened wide and laughter spilled forth from inside me; he had written 

“I suggest weighted strait jackets for the crazy people”. 

I left the suggestion in the box for the promoters of the Polar Plunge to read. 

©2011 jan/cb

La Fea Mas Bella - Plain Jane

La Fea Mas Bella

Me quedé a tu lado incluso cuando no me veas
Me llevó todas tus preocupaciones sin que ni siquiera supieras

Mi belleza es muy anodino - incluso se puede decir fea
Sé que no soy un trofeo para mostrar y mucho menos quiere

Mi voz era un zumbido molesto - hasta que necesitas algo de mi
Entonces en ese momento - con una claridad – si escuchas mi voz

En algún lugar a lo largo de la línea, que finalmente te distes cuenta de que yo si estaba allí
Mi belleza interior finalmente estalló a través de ese escudo ciega tuyo

Sí, allí estaba yo ... pero demasiado tarde te das cuenta de esto
¿Cuándo empezaste a notar? ¿Cuándo comenzó ese momento de tener algún sentimiento por mí?

Ahora tu voz es el molesto zumbido en el oído
Un recuerdo lejano y un herido demasiado grande que obligadamente ha sido suprimida.

Yo soy la mujer fea que te quido con ternura y sin recriminación
ahora ... quien me dara socorro cuando yo lo necesito mas?

~~~

Plain Jane

I stood by your side even when you don't see me

I bore all your worries without you even knowing

My beauty is very nondescript - you can even say ugly

I know that I am not a trophy for you to display and much less want

My voice was an annoying buzz - until you wanted something

Then at that moment, with clarity you hear my voice

Somewhere along the line, you finally realized that I was there

My inner beauty finally burst through that blind shield of yours

Yes, I was there...but too late do you realize this

When did you start to notice? When did you start to have any feeling for me?

Now your voice is the annoying buzz in my ear

A distant memory; a grievous hurt; which has been forced to be suppressed.

I am the ugly woman who nursed you

Now...who will nurse me?

©2011 jan/cb

The Scar

It was 9:00am and she was running late.  What a day for traffic to be dense!  Her appointment with the surgeon was at 10am and she still needed to find parking.  This day had been planned for a few weeks but it seemed like it was just that…a plan.  Reality was starting to hit her as she maneuvered through the heavy traffic.  In the distance she saw the outline of the hospital through the treetops.  Her heart started to pound just a little harder. 

She argued with her Mother this morning before leaving the house.  She wanted to come along but then…what would she be able to do in the event of a problem?  Her Mom could not drive and the thought of her just sitting in the waiting room for her…made her more nervous.  Besides, she was in a place where if she needed medical help; well it was a hospital after all.

Refocusing on her driving, she honked her car horn at an idiot who cut her off.  There was the parking structure ahead.  The lot had some construction that needed to be done so she had to go slow.  A spot opened up on the second floor which she promptly took.  The sound of the engine died with the turn of her key.  The silence in the car filled her inside.  It made her tremble.  Taking a deep breath, making sure that only the essentials were in her purse, she opened the car door and stepped outside. 

As she walked, her thoughts touched on many things; her work, her friends, her family, her fiancé and the scar that will soon be on her face.  Yes, that scar is really what was weighing her down.  She had a career in modeling which was fun and earned her a financial reward.  Her face was always her calling card-and now.  With a deep sigh, she walked into the doctors’ waiting room. 

The receptionist greeted her with a smile, took her information and directed her to a chair.  All was quiet.  There were patients with bandaged faces, arms-hands.  A few had casts.  Nervous looks were on new patients.  She smiled to herself as she knew how they certainly felt!  She had not been sitting for too long before her name was called.  She was not ready but she followed the nurse.

The day surgery room was clean-sterile certainly had meaning here.  Her vitals were taken-blood pressure.  She supposed that it was the right thing to do and yes, her blood pressure was fine.  As instructed she disrobed and put on the fashionable medical gown.  You would think that through the years these things would get better somehow.  They were certainly functional.  The nurse was polite and professional yet she took the time to make her less nervous.  Still, those lights above her and the sterile operating bed did nothing to relieve her anxiety.  The surgeon came in, as always, a professional yet she gentle while she examined the area to be operated upon.  She promised not to make the cut too long; though she was a plastic surgeon she could only promise that the scar would not be too long. 

As she lay on the bed, the nurse swabbed her with sterile chemical and then covered her face with sterile towels.  The nurse made sure that her eyes were protected from the bright surgical lights. Her face now covered and hidden from the lights, she started to feel a detachment; maybe this would not be so bad. Soon enough, the surgeon was injecting the area with local anesthetics.  One, two, three…needle pinpricks into the skin.  Four, five, six…the numbing sensation started to kick in; seven, eight injections…with that, it that was enough.  The surgeon asked if she could feel anything.  There was no feeling, maybe a pressure but that was it.  Throughout the procedure, the surgeon spoke to her nurse and spoke with her.  She felt the pulling and the tugging as the surgeon did her work on her face.  She felt confidence in the surgeon’s skills.  Still there was a nagging fear of a scarred appearance.  Next, the cauterization of the wound on her face; the surgeon warned her that she might smell something but that would be it.  Unfortunately, there was a little pain on the edge of the wound. The surgeon quickly gave her another prick or two of anesthesia-no more pain.  A final tug, the surgeon pulled out the mass that had been growing under her skin.  The surgeon asked if she had had this for awhile as there was a great deal of scarring under the skin and around the mass.  She could tell that it had been a problem for longer than just a short time.  She did not want to tell the surgeon that it had been awhile and she was afraid to come in to have it removed.

Throughout the procedure, she clearly hear the initial cut on her skin, the tugs and the pulls, the sizzle of her skin as the wound was sealed with heat, the cutting of the silk as it was cut when the sutures were completed.  It was an experience and a worry.

All she thought about was how bad would the scar really be.

©2011 jan/cb

The Light

She walked alone through the silent streets.  She was not in a hurry-there was nowhere for her to be.  She gazed at the houses with their merry lights-she thought maybe they would spark something inside her.  She felt nothing.  Even the cold of the night did nothing to move her inside.

She had done all she could-she tried-really tried.  She thought that fences could be mended-that she could forget the past and maybe they could too.  A few nights ago she found out many truths.  A memory was destroyed; something sacred to her.  It toppled like the tower in those tarot cards she always played with.   She was so tired-mentally-emotionally. 

The fog was starting to creep in.  The streets were not as friendly anymore.  The house lights in all their bright colors were dimmed with the fog.  She wrapped her light coat tighter about her body.  She should have worn a heavier one.  Still, she walked on.  There was no place for her to go.  What used to be a safe haven has now the feel of a tomb.  Belief has been slowly dying inside her.  A few nights ago, it took its last breath-without fanfare-it just-disappeared.  Since then she has been a walking zombie.  No feelings.

In the distance she saw a bright light.  She ran towards it-a woman with a glimmer of hope.  Maybe-just maybe-a small miracle was going to happen.  She neared it and through the fog-the light bravely cut through the fog.  She stopped and stared as a small tear ran down her face.  It was only a street light-only a street light.

© 2010 24 dec/cb