Only A Second Later

Listen, teenage girl, you can learn

from me. I've been there, done that,

a different place and time, only

yesterday. I know the screams,

giggles, toss of hair, that certain walk,

breathless gossip, endless phone call,

and oh, the crush of being crushed.

You don't know me, but I know you,

you don't see me, can't or won't

because I'm invisible, the wilted flower

you toss aside, a wrinkled sack you

discard in the food court, a pale wisp

passing in malls. Sometimes when

you're alone, you might hear my voice

from far away, wonder if it's deja vu,

pause a second, perplexed at the stickiness

beneath your shoe. Please listen then

before you hurry on. I have secrets,

so much to tell. I can save you a lifetime

of grief and trouble, spare you all the heartache,

help you soar. I know where you've been,

where you're going, and what's in store.

Listen now before it's too late. You'll be old,

probably tomorrow and wonder why

young girls never stop to listen

when you have secrets to tell.

Anybody Out There?

I hear the familiar sound of rain. It has a whoosh sound like rushing wind. I look out the window and see drops slathering over leaves. It gets harder and the tree bends. The rain is not pounding cold on my back. But I wonder if my horses are getting "cold backed" from the rain. (?) The filly and the old mare can go under the shed, and stand gazing at the sheets of rain creating a liquid curtain.
My stud horse is not a stud anymore, having been cut about a month ago now. Soon his anger will drain out of him, and I can put him in with the others. Already his pugnacity is diminished. He looks at me with almost kindly eyes. He seems not to remember his rage, his jealous passion for his favorite red mare "Ehulani", which means "beautiful red" in Hawaiian?
Today I must make a phone call. I am putting off that call. The call is to a woman whose filly (my ex-stud's daughter) broke its leg in the pasture and had to be put down last week. The filly was also a chestnut. Gorgeous. I am sad about this and there is a whole story that goes with it, but it feels like too much work to tell it. There is no consolation for such a devastating loss. Yet what can I do but try? To tender words uttered into my cell phone, such little things to stanch the hemmoraging abyss of sorrow. But little things can be miraculous. Little drops of water. Little flowers. Brave little things might be all we have right now.

A broken answering machine

I've had the same answering machine since 1987. The original cassette tapes were still in it, rewinding and playing for over 20 years, message on top of message, erased and forgotten. The machine finally played it's last message, refusing to rewind, little red lights stopped blinking, but I barely noticed, I have a cell phone now, no one calls on the land line anymore unless they want to sell me tickets to the Policeman's Ball or it might be a pre-recorded Al Gore enlisting my help with the environment.

I removed the cassette from my original machine, turned it over and popped into the tape player on my stereo (inherited from Grandpa Black, also circa 1987?) Soon my whole apartment was filled with a familiar voice. He was the love of my life in 1991. It was a fragment and barely a whisper. "... so call me back, like you promised. Don't worry about the time." And then another friend wishing me luck on the BAR exam, and then my mom speaking as if into a microphone, making an announcement "I just wanted to see how the BAR exam went", a bit of silence as if waiting for a reply, the sound of a phone (remember the solid phones we had?) being hung up, the beep... another fragment, my sister in law talking about the kids (who are all grown now) and then him again "... I know how you don't want to call me here and I understand... I just... I love you.. (silence, a sigh) that's all I have to say, I love you... the end." He hangs up.

Strangely enough further on the tape is a conversation with me and a friend that somehow got recorded. I sound young, but bored, I want to shake myself and yell "Wake up!" I won't ever be that young again and no one will ever call again just to say he loves me. I lost him and I lost myself somewhere along the way. But twenty years from now, I will probably feel the same way, and I will think I never had it so good.