When Did You

Fall in love with me?

I asked you.

Recently.

I mean.

I know when.

Or whereabouts.

I remember.

Yet.

I needed to hear you say it.

The pause as you thought, all the memories of our first “I love you’s,” tumbled in between the breath of your response and the beat of my heart.

“When you started writing me poetry.”

My heart stopped.

I knew.

And yet.

I was not expecting quite that response.

For days now.

Poems, pieces and bits and images, meander through my head.

I must write him another poem.

I must.

I want him to still love me.

I know you do.

(please don’t fall out of love with me)

What do you want to do?

I asked.

You paused.

“Keep on kissing you and making you happy.”

My love.

You make me so happy.

It’s been such a journey and it’s not over yet.

Has just barely begun.

That first I love you an inscription.

A quote.

The beginning of the preface.

Let alone the first chapter of a book.

Our story.

Well.

The narrative, all pink and purple blush, like a Victorian house at sunset with newspaper hearts strung across the front porch, Valentine paper dolls hands entwined, it marches on.

I did not burn down the house.

Thank God.

No.

I did not.

Not at all.

Even when I tried to break up with you.

And I did try.

You just wouldn’t let me.

Or I wouldn’t let me.

Or God wouldn’t let me.

“You never really broke up with him.”

My therapist.

A wise woman with knowing eyes, told me recently.

I never really did.

I could not disentangle the threads of you in the woof of me.

I never wanted to.

I never want to.

I want to be touching noses with you like kittens do for always.

I want to be in the crook of your arm forever.

It is home.

And when you are away.

I am homesick.

I get homesick for you so fast.

I miss you now.

Even though we were just talking.

I was thinking about you as I drove home, down towards the gloaming sunset and grey blue haze hovering over the twilight ocean.

Thinking about you and the poem I wanted to write you.

The love beating in my heart an infinity bracelet of desire and longing that has no end.

Thinking about you so hard.

That.

You.

Call.

You felt it.

You knew.

You know me.

I am known by you.

This means everything.

I have known and know great love.

You are my greatest love.

My moon.

I will watch for you again through the back window of my studio tonight as I lay down to sleep.

Waiting.

For.

When you fall from the sky and shine your love light on my face.

I will lay dreaming.

Dreams about.

Serenading.

The mermaids to the beach.

Each to each.

Waiting.

Waiting again.

For you.

Your embrace, the dunes, the sea, the warm husk of your breath on my neck.

And the oft-repeated, as you wish, whispered into the shell of my ear.

My love I never could cut asunder.

My only wish to be now and always.

Your.

Babygirl.

 

 

 

 

Ta Douleur

Wake up – I’ve just decided

Let me replace you

I will take away your pain

Softly; no noise at all

Like rain wakes you up

I will take away your pain

Take away your pain

I will take away your pain

She is struggling and fighting

But don’t bother escaping

I will block the elevator

I will take away your pain

Sabotage the switch

I will take away your pain

But who is this hanger-on

Thunderstorm before the summer

Dirty little brat sister

I will take her everything

Her darts and her whistle

I will spank her little ass

I will take away your pain

Remove her from the playground

I will take away your pain.

But who is this little heiress

Who bathes and hides herself

In the warm water of your loins?

I will deprive her of dessert

Make her eat dirt

of those who aren’t hungry anymore

I will take away your pain

from those who don’t have any more

I will take away your pain

Tell me what science will do

when we have this bridge between our bellies?

If you are hurt where you are scared

You’re not hurt there I think

What does this bitch want?

Cake and eating it too?

Whether you live or whether you die?

She must crave happiness

or a new pair of shoes

She must collapse under the flowers

Change the colours

I will take away your pain

I will play doctor

I will take away your pain

Tell me what science will do

when we have this bridge between our bellies?

If you are hurt where you are scared

You’re not hurt there ooh I sing

Okay get up

Lève toi c’est décidé
Laisse-moi te remplacer
Je vais prendre ta douleur

Doucement sans faire de bruit
Comme on réveille la pluie
Je vais prendre ta douleur

Elle lutte elle se débat
Mais ne résistera pas
Je vais bloquer l’ascenseur
Saboter l’interrupteur

Mais c’est qui cette incrustée
Cet orage avant l’été
Sale chipie de petite sœur?

Je vais tout lui confisquer
Ses fléchettes et son sifflet
Je vais lui donner la fessée
La virer de la récrée

Mais c’est qui cette héritière
Qui se baigne qui se terre
Dans l’eau tiède de tes reins?

Je vais la priver de dessert
Lui faire mordre la poussière
De tous ceux qui n’ont plus rien
De tous ceux qui n’ont plus faim

Dites moi que fout la science
A quand ce pont entre nos panses?
Si tu as mal là où t’as peur….

My new favorite song.

Oh my gosh.

So good.

My dear Parisian friend made me a playlist on Spotify.

I have been listening to it pretty nonstop.

The above is one of my favorite songs on the the playlist.

Ta Doleur.

By Camille.

I immediately put the album Le Fil on my favorites.

I love finding new music and new French music?

So lovely.

Then.

I am at work and I am listening to music blasting quite loud and it comes on the sound system.

Except.

It’s not Camille.

It’s Mike Doughty.

Holy shit.

I had no idea that he had done a cover of the song and he did it in French on his album The Flip is Another Honey.

I don’t think he actually speaks French, I could be wrong, I would guess that he’s doing it phonetically.  However, it was nice to hear coming out from the speakers in the kitchen while I was cooking up a storm for my absent family.

I got it all done too.

And was able to get out a little early, get some personal shit taken care of and even meet a friend for tea.

While we were sitting there catching up I had a deja vu to the first time we had sat at that same cafe, other table, in the front, one night after doing the deal and had coffees and talked and I think it was a sort of let’s investigate whether or not we want to date.

We did off and on.

The best I can say is that I had a friend/lover/friend.

I was moving to Paris and it was fun to share some of that juju with him.

He sent me a few mixed cds to me in Paris.

They came at the worst possible time, I was so homesick that week I had burst into tears in my French class over a “futbol” exercise.

Football.

Thanksgiving.

And I’m in Paris where there is not Thanksgiving and they just go about their days ambivalent to your football, it’s soccer anyhow, you heathen.

I didn’t watch football when I was in the states, it was just something that said Thanksgiving to me, family, playing eucher at the table after dinner was done and the girls, my aunts, and me and maybe one other cousin, were washing dishes in the kitchen.

I hadn’t even been to a family Thanksgiving in years, five, six, seven, more, maybe a decade since the last time I had been to a Thanksgiving meal at my grandparents, but there I was losing it in Paris in my French class in a border line neighborhood at the end of the line 7 Metro train.

It was rainy.

The rain fell in heavy splatters against the windows.

The room was overheated.

The French, mostly bad, except for the teacher.

And me, I was the best speaker in class.

Not because I am the best French speaker, oh no, it was more like I had taken a class below my skill set because I am stupid on computers and when I took the skills test on the school’s system I fucked up, so I was assigned a beginning class.

Which was actually really helpful, it was a great way for me to refresh my French.

The teacher was going to move me into a different slot after she heard me speak, but I told her I was just fine and I was.

It was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

The rain.

The homesick.

The culture shock that I didn’t realize I was going through, but was absolutely going through, was taking a toll on me.

The paltry Thanksgiving dinner that I could barely eat anything from at the English speaking pub a friend worked at, the cold Metro ride home, the rain, the rain, the rain.

An instant message from my friend/lover/friend.

Did you get my package?

I hadn’t.

And then.

I knew where it was.

I had known, you know, sometimes you just know, and it was like a homing device.

I ran back out into the rain, crossed the courtyard, and there, I found it.

Henry Miller Tropic of Cancer.

50 Euro note.

Two mixed cds.

One which was “Something To Write To.”

The other “Something to Dance To.”

He knew me well.

I burst into tears listening.

He knew me.

But not well enough.

And.

That is another story.

We’re both fans of Mike Doughty and there was a song on the “Something To Write To” mix from the album “Yes and Also Yes.”

I immediately downloaded that album.

It became my Paris soundtrack.

I don’t know why, it just did.

And there is this curious serendipity as I talked to my now strictly friend/friend, as we’ll be going with mutual friends and his girlfriend to see Doughty play and I think of my French friend from Paris and it’s odd, or God, or both.

And there is just this deep beauty in it.

The song, when it came on, the cover by Doughty, made my arms break out in goose bumps.

I don’t have to find meaning.

There is just sometimes magic in the world and when I open my heart to it.

It burns.

Rare.

Pure.

Bright.

Smitten to my core.

With.

Love.

Yes.

Love.

And more than a little forgiveness.

But most.

Simple.

And.

Most.

Just.

Love.