petty wares and trivial objects

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

submerge

Water is two parts hydrogen one part oxygen. Cold on the surface scalding just below. Birthday cake bubbles, a bottle recalled then emptied into the cascading stream of a tub half full. I hate baths but enjoy being submerged, blending in to my background, inconspicuous. Watching the world from below. Frank flying, a glass of wine balanced precariously on the lip of the tub… I am here. This is now. I exist. Hold. Count. Never higher than seven. Seven seven two. Choke. Swallow. Hold.

Jumping the fence of the local pool, not my neighborhood, my fathers. Early morning. Maroon speedo, one piece. With the rising sun I avoid the stares and jeers of children I will never get to know through the long summer months to follow. Floating in the depths far from the surface watching the leaves skirt amongst the clouds.

Three four. A gasp swallowed. Five six. Exploding. Seven. Surface. Breath.

Legs up the wall, tiled and cleaner than I. Bubbles parting collapsing cresting. I stare at a black dot on the wall crowned by the shadowy remnants of a crucifix long since vanquished. Listening to the drip drip drip imaging the conversations in rooms next door.

“All the superheros listen to their mommies. ”
“No! ”
“Superman listens to his mommy.”
“No! ”
“Spiderman listens to his mommy. ”
“No! ”
“The Power Rangers listen to their mommies. ”
“No! ”
“Batman listens to his mommy. ”
“No! ”
“And do you know why all the superheroes listen to their mommies? ”
“Why? ”
“Because they're good boys.”
“No!”

My imagination sucks. Sip of wine. Submerge.

My heart reverberates with footfalls of a neighbor. One should never sleep with ones neighbor, not the case here, but it has been. Another street another corridor. Listening to the click clack clatter knowing that he is home but far out of reach once it has become clear that you are yet another’s 2 am call.

I wonder where frank is? Maybe he’s escaped through the crack I left him behind the succulents. I lick my spoons too clean and rinse my glasses when finished. What reason has he to stay?

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

H2O

bubble bath. I wish it was deeper. And claw footed. Not adhered to the wall with monocrome tile. Lying on my arms i submerge listening to the ping, splish, trickle of voices slittering through the pipes. I imaging them as a whisper against my bathroom door, "May I come in?"

But its only a fly who keeps me company though this bottle of wine. I've named him Frank., for no reason really, other than he will die here, in my home, so I thought he should have a name. Frank.

Interstate 510. Exit 1B. New Orleans. I have no tub. No shower. Just a bottle of water, a toothbrush and the sideview mirror. Objects are closer than they appear. "You have to leave tomorrow miss." I offer him a rocket dog, he’s on duty, parking attendant, but it is New Orleans, so he tosses the cap and takes a swig. "Tomorrow," he repeats as he walks down the ramp. In the morning the curtains will part in the windows of the hotel across the way... i'll lie here in the bed of my truck and watch them towel their hair, plant kisses on the nape of a neck, and stare blankly into the horizon. I am invisible to them. Have been for years.

I first discovered this power in preschool. But more on that later.