Monday…December 7th…Pearl Harbor day…..writings….and nothing to do with Hawaii…bags of stolen loot…..

“Brighter Days” 2009

“The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.” — Anonymous

seemed a “Yep”…”Nope”…sort of a day…a little cloudy…with a little sun at the same time…like how a sad feeling sort of feels…good…almost …in a way…to hot of water…feels ice cold…never going to figure all of the stuff out…so…maybe making the bed everyday makes the day begin…complete…sort of that first..step…that first breath….that first…beat…of a deep heart….I never will know…never will not know…there will always be that mist when those days surface…can’t see across the valley….but can see straight up….for miles…when fingertips could be an inch from my cheek….caressing thin air….and I still wouldn’t know……

there was no more…time left in that day….it had rung its bell…saying it was all over….we could scurry or we could crawl….depending on what stories resided in our brains…what fables…we had heard….did we…..sit by the fire pit…and hear the old sounds….or pray deep long prayers….for the days when they could come back to life…pull themselves from the water soaked earth….and scream their rebirth announcement…across the silent desert canyons…I wondered what’d be first….a blind eye…a speechless mouth…the shape of an ear with no sound….I could only think of those young days…the brown paper bag lunch days of my youth…they were the night time winds…that howled me to sleep…the sun drenched days…when I could watch the water dry on the hot red tiles….crisp  walks along the boulavard…holding your hand…while your fingernails dug deep into my skin….begging me to cry out….so it all seemed wrapped up nicely….put away in a way that was perfect for the world I lived in then…but still the gray skies…stayed…..they pull my eyelids open at night….3:21….3:38… 3:31…3:19…..to stare at the little islands on the plaster ceiling…the one’s I’d color in black….or dark gray…depending on how long the room stayed …the way it was….until it shifted…made oranges into tangerines…like all of everything else in those hollow wood days…like everything else…..

I’ll cry you a tune…with my tears she’d say to me…I’ll make you a river…. from my hair….a wound from my soul…and a sound from my heart…put them all into this silk bag…forever and ever….and when you need to cry….use my tears….and when you need to sail a way….float down my river…when you need to feel pain…hold my wounded soul….and when you need love….put your ear to my heart….don’t be there…to die…be here…nestled deep in the caverns…where all of the noise stops….where the world doesn’t work anymore like it did….and a breath is a thousand years….long….the blink of an eye…becomes centuries….a sound takes milinium to travel an inch…….and your skin will stay a piggy pink….smooth like the river stones….soft like a moth’s wing…..rich like treasure……when you close your eyes to go….it will only be a second…..but seem like a lifetime……

there it went…there under the plywood….he picked up the curled gray sheet of wood…splintered…with those strange ovals in the wood….the bottom was damp…sort of a camel color…like the live camels at the cheap Mexican circus…that they kept chained really close to the metal railing….so as they wouldn’t bite you….there at Chelmont …in that shopping center …that had the pet store with big red parrot….in the window…and the “All you could eat”…buffet…a scorpion scurried past my foot….pinchers open…tail high….his transparent body…looked already dead…filled with black stuff….it looked like an ordinary coffee can lid….our pursuit had evaded us….propped the plywood up on  a stick for shade and sat….it was the low desert…a place where millions of things had just turned to dust…baked bone dry by the sun…swept away by the winds in spring….I reached for the coffee can lid…it didn’t move…it was stuck to a coffee can buried…in the damp earth…..I pulled it off….slid over to it and looked into the can…there was a white…”El Paso Savings and Loan” zipper bag….it was going to be something…we didn’t want to know about…..that I knew…even at 9 years old…..let’s go….I dropped the plywood…headed to “Dead Pete’s Cave”……..I’d put the bag in my pants…they’d seen nothing….take your shirt off…lay it flat….here look…I pulled the bag from my pants….unzipped the white vinyl bag…and dumped it on his light blue shirt…..there were   at least a hundred diamond rings….Rolex watches….jewelry….things we didn’t know what they were….other than trouble…..it was about 3 hours before dark…..we sat in the back of the cave…replaced all of the jewelry in the bag…covered it with dirt and rocks….waited……just waited until the sun was gone…and for the first time…ever….the night was safe……..

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2 thoughts on “Monday…December 7th…Pearl Harbor day…..writings….and nothing to do with Hawaii…bags of stolen loot…..

  1. Thanks Elaine, I like the photo because of the one bench and the brilliant wall color….I think I’ll get that quote tattooed on me to keep reminding me…I need to get busy….

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