Indie Author

Finding & Creating Beauty in Unlikely Places

Month: October 2016

Poem: Recollect

This isn’t for the boy who’s gonna make it

Although I write about him too often

To fill that empty heart space with daffodil scented air

when he’s gone

This is for the one I forgot

A passing point of refracted light

in the peripheral

I read a poem today about a boy who stole things

and I remembered that night you called me and

offered to lift from Kmart anything I wanted.

Watches perfume…you laundry listed all the things

you’d liberated

Proud

Like a child with Crayola murals on the white living room

walls you wanted so badly to impress me

You showed up at the family reunion I hated to go to

the one where I felt as out of place as you cause why

acknowledge the moonshiners and molesters their

cans of cheap American beer and dirty mesh trucker caps

who threw your Pap away like graying meat? By the creek

you picked me up wedding threshold style like I weighed

nothing despite that you were slimmer than me the energy

beneath your skin like fire brimming in iron chambers with

no chimney raging to get out

And I was snow white fifteen. And I was afraid of you.

I couldn’t get you off the phone and wrote my dad a note for

once relishing those harsh tones reserved to make me quake

I said “say I have to go. Now!” It was the only cruelty I knew more

subtle than honesty Of why–at fifteen–animal wound open

I couldn’t save myself let alone you I was glad

when you stopped calling.

I feel like years later my mom said you’d been arrested

for drugs or assault or something of the like

the devil in me whispered to the angel in me

“see: I told you so”

the devil in me said “you could never have saved him.

He would’ve eaten your fear like sweet plum colored candy.”

“Like you,” the light in me asks?

Maybe it wasn’t the trembling or the cowering he wanted.

Maybe it was the snow white girl who took walks by the creek

and kissed all her stuffed animals at night

In a pink bedroom with clean sheets

and a mother who didn’t drink or scream

and a father not as badly broken beyond repair

in the picket fence house with non shuttered windows

That he found sweet.

Poem: Revival

Last week
On the drive home thru un-changed streets
was the first time I noticed the leaves had changed. Maple trees sport bursts of burnt gold and ocher rust like flame
Patches ignited from within like they know these dying days with waning light are beautiful
especially when we let ourselves be reminded that they’re leaving with it.
I can’t help but think of you.
Birthdays bear less than subtle needle pain loss why your heart chose two days before mine to stop I’ll never know but our birthdays and death days broke juxtaposed patterns like stillborn shutters those blind hands that cut threads saw a suture they could weave when you left.
And we stayed.
Reminded with our pastel candles that we are still here. Alive.
I didn’t keep the Cranberries CD or that pair of jeans nobody bothered to wrap gifts that year the idea of our birthdays too vulgar.
[I just looked up that album on amazon bc all I could remember was War Child how I couldn’t stop listening to it. To the Faithful Departed. Are you kidding me? God and His humor sometimes.]
But I remember that disc being plopped into my lap before or after your funeral I can’t remember. But my exact placement on the love seat and that numbness of life with no taste is photo album vivid.
I wonder if that is why I always feel undeserving of presents?
I passed those clusters of shivering colors and the number hit unexpected as the phone call that said “He was headed out on his tractor and hasn’t come back…”

Twenty years.
That number.
We’ve been taught to revere the accumulation of decade days to take notice of the solidity of zeros like stones when I was 20 I was engaged I was on the scabbed side of those fresh wounds and I was scrubbing salt out of the angry skin of others I’d outgrown childhood a lifetime in the solid round numbers and now…you’re 20 yrs gone.
More of my life spent without you than with but…you–permanent–.
So ingrained into the DNA of my days that I mourn the existence of that Oct 15th as it becomes the mountain that diminishes within its own horizon the farther away the road leads
To lose the potency of that day doesn’t stick and the hit of that number is a glimmer in the rear view In autumn especially on birthdays –I remember you– And we
Are the war torn past
The hope of that spirit world
And the fringe soul revivals
Of the present.

Guest Spotlight!

I’m honored to be featured on S.K. Thomas’ blog with my poem, “Home”.

https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/14008275-guest-spotlight-home-by-tabitha-vohn

Thanks S.K. for being so gracious and lovely!

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