Sunrise to Sound by loi(s) consuel(o)(a)
johnson –stoessel-tzel-depierre (c.2004.Elmira,NY
Peter-to the musician in both you and me (me and you)
The debt
you owe me can never be paid. I lost the love we shared that late night,
Early
morning on the beach, watching the sunrise, we were startled apart,
by two
old people walking their dog. “What are people doing this early on the
boardwalk”, I ask. I felt as if we had lost our part of the beach, of the
ocean. You pulled me closer. “Coming down off of your high”? I didn’t want to be the troubled addicts’
girl. You whispered a song as we watched the waves. The old woman threw a stick
into the surf. We watched as it was
carried out to sea. We both abruptly
pulled apart. Why? You turned and faced
the direction to the center. I making my way sure of the sand. You, still unsure.
We
walked side by side the block and half to the meditation center. I walked up
the stairs. You opened the door. I placed my auto-harp (harp) on the bunk
hearing the music once again. I felt
the coldness of non-committal creep into you before I turned around. You walked out upon the balcony, house
guitar in hand. I heard you singing. I
felt you brush the sand away. I felt
the brushes away. The answers to if I had joined you on the balcony and
continued our explorations. It would have probably been a continuation of house
‘etiquette’ i.e. boys club ritual. Yet a brush off still, not that I wanted to
be one of the balcony babes or your fulfillment to/ of copying Patrick and his
‘expertise’ in your mind.
I
remembered the rest of the musicians that past through the walls of the house:
former roommates- your brother. Their
melodies entwined with your guitar strokes.
The song was not for me. I
touched my harp and placed it safely alongside the/my bed and fell asleep.
(c.2000.University
of New Mexico, Albuquerque)
Awakening
Sunrise to Sound- Part 1
Mornings light
Watching
and waiting
Moving……….closer
Closer…………rising
Moving
above
Above
You
And
Venice beach
Soft plays of sunshine
Riding past an oceans’ waters
edge
Cresting
above you
you
you
me
Me and
you
Startled
We
roll apart
A
presence moving
Moving
us apart
A
sound
Not
the one
Not
one sound but several
Sand
Steps
on the sand
More than one
A presence of two
Two people walking on the sand
Slowly coming into view
Two old people with a dog
We laugh
Relieved?
A gentle laugh
A laugh gentled by time and
presence
Is it ours or theirs?
laughter gentles their invasion
Arms close me within a sheltered
awakening warmth.
I stare into eyes
Grey blue cloudy as the morning
mist
And touch hair sun-bleached
Wet from more than just an ocean’s
kiss
fathoming lengths surrendering a
core
close to my
self.
Awakening: Sunrise
to Sound- Part II.
c.2004.Elmira,NY
We ascend stairs passing through open doors.
Abruptly standing on thresholds, pausing
Facing footprints forming
Falling……patterning
Molding sand
Two more footprints
Added to ours
Small tiny, reaching on tiptoes
Holding….waiting… risen above
Causing steady and sure sand to swirl
Risen droplets parcel down
Particling assurances in welcomed arms
Rest
ii.
Six arms surround one form—an anchor of strength
Circles entwined circles
Four grown and two blessed
All fall upon the sand
Arms, legs, bodies en mesh
Peels of laughter scent the air.
Awakening-
Portraits in Sound(sunrise to sound)---Part III
c.2004.Elmira.NY
I turn as coldness
Fills the air where you stood
A crisp non-committal slap
Announcing your departure
slotted time clocks, revolving doors, cellular phone meetings
assumed absence(d) resolute in playing ridicule to my soul
I hear singing from (a)the porch balcony
Your voice, your words
your hands on guitar strings brushes away the sand
the hours spent wandering and explaining each other
controlling tears coming
too easily to cover confusion
I see ghost slowly pass through the walls of your house
Other musicians, former roommates, your global family
They all join you on that balcony
Their songs trapped within the strings of a shared family
instrument
Guitar strokes melodically harmonize song chording rhythmic touch
Releasing all (chords) held within a common law communal form
Your song was not for me
I touch my heart -- my autoharp lays by my side
Placing it safely aside
I crawl (ed) into bed and fell(fall) asleep
Your rehearsed song cascades
drowning the music of my silent tears
I learned how to cry once again
Depth: a
watercolored distance c.2004.Elmira,NY
I.
Ruined;
whispered smoke lingers suspended
Encircling embraced arms; retreating,
turning
Inward, closing, sensing,
carefully watching
Purposely forgetting…………..lost
pleasures
Love unwanted, only, yet……..yet,
sighing
II.
Escaping this poet, swollen tears,
Zinnias of watercolors deflect a
piercing glance
Smoke filled prisms juxtaposed
mirroring redirected sunlight
Touching; sorrow will always be a
carefully fabricated mask
Embarrassed, love more than
misfortune
III.
Overshadowed; only you did not
see
The deadliest of persuasions,
retreating
Stalling for too many unrequited
times
Esse non est percipi
Dreams in half-mooned hotel rooms
sing silent memoirs of shimmered twilight
IV.
Nothing is but what is thought
Occasionally glancing at
retracted mirrored surfaces
Sunlit brushes, frozen views, newly
opened wounds
Noticing hostility with nothing
to say
Hangers blur into one
ceremoniously laying at the foot of our bed
V.
Opening more than windows,
illuminating shattered smoke laden thought
July’s heat softens fettuccine
stained sheets
“allegria is that sangria and
allegro”?
Laughing, silently watching you
dress
Escaping again? Does it seep
through your pores?
VI
yoUr usual equations broke this
balanced heart
Surfacing unsuccessfully aborted
approaches formulating swirls
Narcissus’, free float into
hushed Sevillane turns
Orchids of thought lightly
reverberate already subdued outburts
Conscience, I never meant to hurt
***************************************************
Institutionalized in higher
learning harbor bay lights reflect
Open seas responding to whispered
sighs
Laughter, you are the mother and
father of my rhythmic response
Summer in Venice
California-2000a.d.(july-aug)
(class
assignment University of New Mexico, Albuquerque c.2000)
You
singularly possessed are not the friends that you keep
Upon
this lifes’ needle turns
Of
laughter denied entered once
twice,
three
four
Through
a voice clouded by descensions
Grasping
within a mothers cry
Let me
go amongst the cliffs you have braced
Far
out beyond the rocks regally
Addressing
that partially open door
As the lick of a flame
Held in anticipatory hands
Signals greedy intakes of your breath
Yet
For me and our unborn child
We have felt and inhaled nothing
Even though our lips brush your extended field of mirror
Peter John
Stoessel~(summer in Venice California,2000)-One Act (siloquoy)
freewrite-10min in class assignment
I remember him standing there on the balcony with what I personally
felt was my crude self- portrait. He stood there with the ink wash in his
hands. At first, he did not notice me watching, and then, almost, an underlash-
hooded dismissed look in his eyes. Hhum! Maybe, he wanted me to see him, to
catch him holding, an image of me. A piece of myself, a hastily sketch insecure
crude piece of myself. Maybe, he wanted to be caught? Invading my privacy. He
sensed my presence? Maybe? There was no expression on his face, really. Not at
first. He stood holding the sketch and staring off towards the beach. I must
have made a sound. He looked at me. I
demanded my sketch back, amidst his laughter and holding it over the railing. I
demanded it again. The tension surrounding us, the uncertainty of whether he
was going to rip it up or throw it over the balcony left a questioning aura in
the air. I threatened him. “if you don’t give me my self back you will follow
it over the railing”. I continued with.” over that balcony”, when his laughing
eyes turned opaque.” His laughter stopped. He smirked. “Give it back”, I
demanded. Like children or two very
confused lovers, we stood on that balcony staring at each other. One hand held
over the railing, a sketch precariously blowing hitting the top of the railing.
We fought. I grabbed at my self-portrait while trying to push him off the
balcony. He grabbed me swinging me towards the balcony doors. I don’t remember
what happened next. I stared at him. With my mind and my eyes doubting he
understood either, I warned him, then with my voice I spoke the words which
explained his actions, ”Don’t be like Patrick.” Yes, it was him that I wanted,
not Patrick but him Peter being himself. I didn’t want the atmosphere around
us, the controlling nor the implied thoughts. I just wanted us. Two lovers on
the beach fucking ; just fucking then making love in the sand. The next day on
the way to class, I left the sketch on the back seat of the bus. I figured it
made its way into lower or upper Los Angeles or maybe UCLA campus or maybe
someone took it home with them. More likely it became feet fodder. An
impression of me, Thank God it looked
like someone else. (Note for sensors (censors): f…. g an action accune to
copulating/making love tersiary to unabashedness-dear god….)
For the roses I had to buy myself throughout the years and the ones
never received either stolen or given or claimed by another even though someone
swore up and down that they sent me flowers (roses)(couldn’t remember my name?)
Rose Petals
(class assignment University of New Mexico,Albuquerque c.2000)
petals
they fall
Fall!
falling rose petals fall
…….fallen petals of roses
Well,
they fall
fall……………………,falling
Slowly
Slowly
Alacrity swirls
Swirling
Falling
Yes
fall
Fall down?
The rose petals fall
Cascading down a non-built stair
A thousand showers descending upon the touch of one
A scented haven amidst the rancor of eternity
Forced upon and apart as fields of feet storm through
Crushed
A hand reaches down swirling a mass
Gently tracing lines of forming petals
Thunderous voices bombard my ear
I deafen all but what grows beautifully comforted
Nestled safe within silken linen cloths of time
Do you (softly) hear the words themselves?
(class assignment University of New Mexico, Albuquerque c.2000)
Rose Petals II.
(class assignment University of New Mexico, Albuquerque c.2000)
Flower petals descended upon the masquerade ball floor.
Electronic music vibrated the shadowed lights and costumed figures
dancing, writhing in and out of time to the music.
She stood at the top of the stairway, masked like all the rest
In a shrouded abusive sneer, she glided down the stairway.
Air and music seemed transfixed, one man danced as if lost,
Dressed in black, unaware of the stillness in the air,
He continued to move around the dance floor. His eyes
No longer focusing on his partner. They no longer focused on the crowd. The music seemed to taunt and engulf him. A heady scent of roses and something he could not quite put his finger on aroused more than curiosity in him. Stilling the audience, unaware of their stares, she moved in time with him. He looked into the eyes behind the mask. The eyes searched the blue of his. Glazed. The spell was it his or the forefathers. She moved closer to his body. Not touching, moving with him, he turbulently grabbed her within his arms. Feeling each others breath gracing but not surrendering to each others lips. Alive. Yes, both were alive. He held her tighter, recognition on his breath. Smiling, he brought her deeper within his soul. Arms, eyes, lips and body whispered her name
Untitled I- Aftermath, Venice California Memoirs
(c.2000.University of New Mexico, Albuquerque)
…Oh, where – Oh, where….
I saw him today standing, stooped shouldered
no
longer proud and arrogant. The pointed lines of his face more pronounced.
The cold
stare, easy (easily) glazed over, sharpened acutely. He wasn’t alone.
Swimming-, my mind , my mind is
swimming . Does where, really matter?
Alone
Yes
No
Maybe
No, it
wasn’t to be him; Not him with someone else. Okay, somewhere else, maybe
Where
ocean’s, natural causes, days and nights of transportation keep emotions apart.
Somewhere,
where I cannot see, hear, or feel him.
Sweden was
who I suggested. A reported and recorded longer history. America has
only admonish and embarrassed both of us.
One hand reaches out softly caressing a cheek. Another grabs a newspaper lying importantly beside, opening,
giving cover to my face and our baby. Heads turn and stare looking in two
directions, my mind, my eyes avert from the scene unfolding.
Words
softly whisper
Circling
‘round,
Enveloping
“you are
like the urges and cravings for the cigarettes that I no longer smoke”
….uh hum
“still
wanting?”
“walk
away when one’s lit”
returning?
staying?
“Never run away!”
Sit
,…..waiting, smoke fumes signal warnings
of their second hand effect.
Contact?
No
contact?
Cigarettes
extinguished
The
smell of the happy couple’s leaving
Release
A relief
of clean crisp air lowers a newspaper
Eyes
notice how the sun still smiles through your hair…..
-----Bleached
---- “Newspapers cover a lot”
(Poetry486/586-university
of new mexico-prof, sagans class sept.2000)
[class work for other professors-lost/stolenyears1986/7-2000 due to
auction Dec.2000 in california, santa monica of items in storage-
brit.levels486-grad586-600]
I could not stay within times even grasp
Of seamless holds mirroring this extended reach
While processional turns(ed) upon my hours breath
Signaling Christ, his apostles and the cock which crows his urgings
Of seamless holds mirroring this extended reach
A multifunctional heart punctuates lives
Which signals Christ, his apostles and the cock which crows his
urgings
To the surrounding inhabitants of my Gothic walls
A multifuntional heart punctuates lives
Devoid- Romantically detached opening melancholys’ bitterness
To the surrounding inhabitants of my Gothic walls
I stand delivered upon your throne
Devoid—Romantically detached opening melancholy’s bitterness
While procession turns upon this hours breath
I stand delivered upon your throne
I could not stay within times even grasp
(class assignment
University of New Mexico,Albuquerque c.2000)
----{necessity
and beauty of language(writing poetry)}
Bitterness
permeates the house
The walls
The womb
The bed in
which I lay
It
stands invisible
Following
closely behind
Laying around
Coupling in my bed
Walking
into each room
Eating
the food out of my mouth
Food
needed to nourish the child growing within my womb
It grabs
within the womb
Claiming
a father and mother hood not of its own making
I hear
another’s voice
Encouraging
Sneering
Acknowledging
the woman it cannot be
It
invokes jealous surroundings
Yet no
rise is given
As it
rattles off names of women
Claiming
ownership---the spoils of life and of death
Nothing
was of their own making
Breathing foul
breaths
They
laugh sardonic laughs
Smearing
delicate features
Hardening
Disfiguring
Shadowing
the view of perfect and true form
They
demand pedestals of lies
Thrones
of deceit
Hearts
no longer worthy of love
He
becomes it
She
becomes him
A foundation
an
order
An
organization of lives (lies)
It is
the cross I rest upon their chests
At
(upon) the hour of their deaths.
(Class assignment-Albuquerque,
New Mexico; 2000-prose/ritual poem)
Getting
through the day
Open
drawers long since closed
Touch
forgotten memories
Of times
now gone
Hope is
a little boys smile
Even is a
little girls
Laughing
eyes of forgotten tears
Last
longer than their tomorrows
Achieving
more than a critics rudimentary goals
Societies
outcast formulate non-linear tendencies
Sexual
aversions surmount even your spiritual counsel
Harboring
old resentments of vendettas sold
Oscillating
outcomes divide natural forces
Literally
translating N.A.T.O.S spine
Existentialistic
blue crosses shield your true home
(Class
assignment Oct. 2000 New Mexico-Albuquerque-acrostic/letter poem)
I shall never see a sunset quite like
me.
(class
assignment Albuquerque, New Mexico; 2000 a prose/free verse poem)
She
hides in the backyards
Of once
famous and pure beliefs
He
stands as if summoned
A
predator of the streets
Gods,
both from eras past
Assured
of their footholds
Slowly
spinning, she looks among the falling petals
More
aware of his bitter cold
A
darkness only allowing
Glimpses
of like not light
Total
obliteration- she watches each form and languishes
Against
too many starless nights
Knowing
the shadows will be given honor
A duty,
they were not selected for
He
laughs superiority assumed
A
laugh-- the humor , he stole from her.
(class
assignment University of New Mexico, Albuquerque c.2000)
Pneumonic Calming of
Braxton-Hicks Contractions
(c.2000.University of New Mexico, Albuquerque)
Slowly, fading
amongst the pillows
Ravaged
by turmoiled (turmitten) palpitating emotions
Wrenching
to and fro across endless streams
Succumbed
to the pulsating rhythms
Tumulting
sounds press upon wombed walls
I
surrendered
Standing,
stilling, the precipice, you surrendered
The hope
has become the tears staining my pillows
Delicately
detailed images of dancing princes blaze across her walls
Luminescent
blue-violets, lavender glows of captured emotions
Blown
glass absently stroking away languid rhythms
Once
again floating freely, spinning their reclined sea foam green streams.
My
tears, huge rose petals still fall from that long forgotten stream.
Slowly
moving, shining bright upon each moment of surrender.
Star
laden tributes, unworthy of this sunsets’ rhythm
Call
forth seductions ritual retreat from my well-made pillows
Too
immense, my possibilities, her emotions concealed disparaging onlookers
I walk
each step as an upright wall
Coccooning
butterflies within these self- supported walls
Azure
bright eyes tempt streamless words through receptacle binoculars of undying
emotion surrenders surrendered only to surrender surrendering
A
thousand trillion feathers to pillow the lies bosomed within their darkest
rhyme
Nocturnal
firelights cast rhythmic advances of perpetual need
My rooms
once walled, hold forever the severed
paint-chipped mirrors of religious icons
Empty
pillows buffeting overflowing banked streams
I cannot
surrender her swelling bundle of emotion
Nor do I
humbly assign the singular expression which emotes duplicity from others
formulating rhythmically diverse petitions accentuating another’s surrender
I hurl
myself against stone walls attempting conformity, denying streamlets
Fashioned
from the fall of late pillowery(pillory).
Muffled
sounds enunciate a pillows strained emotion
A
caustic apparition streaming forth rhythms of walled surrender.
(c.2000. University of New Mexico,
Albuquerque poetry 422 Prof. Sagans class)
Hair
wavy straight, casted sand to a reddish-brown, photographed to a straighter not
so curly darker hue at birth
I
have seen the sunshine of your complexion, the natural sunlight and laughter in
your hair from God’s and Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviours’ blessings upon
this tired earth
Except
in my dreams - medieval, renaissance
and modern play finding the presence of my Knights bequest
Your
eyes are a race seen – violet blue with the smokey- gray of your fathers and
forefathers – tear lined like us all
The
hazel blue amethyst brown of mine-stormy brown , protecting, making it easier
to walk - en terra
Your
nose is a pert aquiline a cross between your fathers and mine
Your
mouth small and thin---a probability to a delightful sneer
Your
language may find its way among the rest
Hidden
stolen by America and her people
It would
kill those who know of your line---the best, to hear it slandered and tossed
about
A soft
revival musically balanced and beautifully gentled to all sounds
A dimple
you will have in the middle of your chin
Dimples
in cheekbones—ah maybe, maybe not
Yet, a
laughing smile provoked to soothe all of life’s and the commercial and ‘respected’ medias’ wounds
A height
you will stand—a resemblance to your father
A tower,
alas, with only my strength
Ah, but
for now, small hands and legs curl into a ball and fall safely and soundly
asleep
Upon
your wake our eyes shall undoubtedly meet with arms willing and waiting to hold
you.
Listen
hunter
I
am going to write about your birth in several forms. This is an autobiographical
sketch of the actual events of the day, my recollections, occurrences, things
that happened. What stood out in my
mind. Stuff to help me make myself
remember: missed and seemingly unimportant details as well as important. The days, minutes, hours leading to your
birth, and afterwards. Basically this is for you Hunter so you will know what
happened. I always wonder about my
birth. I think , seriously, that I am
adopted. Your dad was adopted so his
birth maybe sketchy to him , My mother
and father argued over events and or forgot, ‘you were born they would say
that’s all that matters’. There is mystery around your birth, two different
birth times (medical records and security videotape of the delivery and your
birth are ‘missing’ or ‘misplaced’). The copies of the medical records I
received are in your pediatric file at
the Oregon office. I am not sure if
they mailed it to the Rhode Island pediatrician who now has to mail it to your
new pediatrician, here in Elmira. This will (medical records not all being
sent) will probably happen again since in about eleven months time we are
moving from New York. This entry is dated Easter Sunday, April 2004 in Elmira,
New York.
As I was
saying there are two birth times (probably means you either had or have a twin
brother or brother or sister. Also, the Pediatrician who I never met before,
‘on call pediatrician’, never signed off on his reports. That’s important
because any mishap becomes an insurance matter and they need ‘doctor
verification’.
The next
reference to your birth is a poem of what happened, a prose and or poem piece
of how I planned, dream and wanted your birth to be for you and myself. The way
every little girl dreams of finding a significant other, settling down and
having children. Living a long life together until they are old and gray or end
up in divorce. The wife and mother tormented by the other woman who wrecked her
marriage. A beautiful marriage and life rather than being called names; the nut
case, the low side of something not quite explained. I wish not to be made to
feel less than what I am, less beautiful, or part of a group of people I don’t
even know. I wish not to be compared to someone else. That last statement
wasn’t a pity me response. I wish not a feeling sorry for myself type of façade.
A usual response to a projected mental images casted by another, through
facial , body or verbal language. When
you grow up and find that special person make her feel more than or then
special, above the rest but human enough to make her own decisions and
mistakes, --not a tall order a normal doable or viable occurrence. You must make sure you really, really, love
that person and only love her, meaning do not have ‘help’- ‘groupies’ that you
transfer in and out. Always make her feel that its just her and yourself. Just the two of you with responsibilities,
yet conversation matters -conversation in every form.
Birth
Day- March 8-11,2001, Albuquerque, New Mexico University Hospital ,and surrounding area(will remember name of
complex before end of story-on a tax form)
I was
still preparing for your birth. I stood
in my apartment (studio/hotel/motel room apt)
You saw
it after your birth. I doubt if you will remember. It used to be owned by the
military base on the other side of the fence that surrounds the apartment
complex. The military base in some respects still may be the owners. A typical Southwest, western, pacific coast
strip motel/ hotel turned into apartments.
They range on the West Coast from ones you can rent daily, weekly or
monthly to complexes taken over by corporations to house traveling military and
their families or the traveling executive and their families. Commercial rates
become much cheaper, in the long run. It was also
a way in
one respect to safeguard and to keep track.
The concept or actuality has been glamorized and demoralized throughout
the years but part of the southwest west/pacific landscape. The apartment complex we were in probably
had its heydey in the mid-fifties, sixties, Dean Martin Era -late sixties to
early seventies. The retro Dean Martins,
RadioShack nerds, secret agent (remember the glasses I bought in
Astoria, Oregon-reminiscent of my mothers at that time period, nah you probably
don’t), guys in suits with dark glasses, the swingers or swinging 60’s era and
the ‘Beat’ era. It elevated the strip
motel/hotel chains to a level deemed respectable and acceptable by religious
and social society. It moved itself for a time far from seedy. Although, there are always a few that
depreciate and rebuild or sell outright. (researched through talks with several
office managers and their husbands or significant others –strange people)
Sometimes, they would just tell me something, that I mentally note.
Conversation resembling,”that side table or painting has it always been here;
or an old rustic tub in the entry way ,a taxidermied deer head in a
restaurant, can you tell me something
about the area or where to eat”. A lengthier conversation starts or is
continued from an ongoing conversation started by someone ahead in line. They
usually turn around and include whoever is in the office. area in the
conversation, whether as an affirmation for them or for another. They, apt
managers and hotel clerks with their rental agreements and leases claim
actually berate at time that, “their establishment is a respectable .” There will always be con artists. They
should say that to more rock stars then giving them leeway and subjecting the
little people/common man…uhm , ‘the black man’ whatever (I forgot how they say
it).
Enough
of that, where we were or where I was before you were born, etc. etc. had long
since renaissance into acceptability and the grace of still housing military
personnel.
I was
finishing your cradle, which is now housed at the Oregon Coast Historical
Society.
I knew
it was an antique, but I didn’t like the look of the stain, within the cradle.
It had darkened throughout the years and I was praying that it had not been
used in a witch’s coven, or some sadistic occult ritual. So I sanded and holy watered it, but I still
wanted a priest to bless it, in case I missed or forgot something. Remember the
prayers/blessings- blessing of a new house, car, garden, cat.etc. I got in
Oregon, I had several before our trip there. Anyway, I wanted it blessed by a
priest before you slumbered in it. I was halfway through the sanding when I
felt more than just a twinge. I said to you while you were in my stomach
(belly), “just wait, I’m not done with the cradle yet”. Your bassinet, I finished several months
before. I felt rushed and hurried, but I wanted to finish before you came into
this world. I bent to sand the other side of the cradle and the twinges - pain
and kicks became worst/ worsened as the term may be. A more pronounced pain. There was no warm feel of water rolling
down my legs, like the other moms and books said there would be. I slowly stood up and went to the bathroom.
Still thinking the cradle, I was watching a PBS program early in my pregnancy about
historical homes in Pennsylvania or was it a birthing show where they showed
notable sights in that town. Anyhow, the cradle or one similar to it was
pictured. It was either in the main room of the historic house or off of the
main room. I said,”cool.” At that time,
I had named you after your father, rather a derivative of his name Peiter.
“Cool, Peiter, that is your cradle/crib, your historic”, I said. All through my
pregnancy, the midwives , myself plus everyone that I told that I was pregnant
knew you as Peiter. The nurse at the clinic in Santa Monica, California, who
after hearing the circumstances of my being pregnant, called you ‘little
Patrick Peter’. “How is little Patrick Peter”, she would say. Maybe, she
knew more than I did. That is always a possibility. I am now thinking I should
have named you that. You have characteristics of both your birth dads really
just one but the way they acted, friends to the end, probably. The height of
Peter, your father and the sometimes personality trait of his friend Patrick. Patrick was short and Irish, wily outgoing
personable dark brown to blond curly-straight hair. I was trying to remember if
his hair was brown or blond at the time, naturally so, etc. Your father was
subdued, closed, angry at times, dominant then quiet, sweet or out of it, slim,
tall, and athletic with blond to sandy brown hair, a pirate off of a
vessel. His brother tended to dress the
part more. His brother was tall, slim, and athletic as well, with dark brown
hair that he streaked blond. I
wondered who his hairdresser was. They had done a good job on his hair. There were two other guys that I should
mention not that, I interacted or associated with them. One they called ‘Big
Daddy’, he lived at first address in Venice, California. He was blond huge like
a Viking,- a model type. Yeah, like the guy who starred in Hercules and
Andromeda, but taller. Television makes people look short or shorter on the
average, who knows. The other blond
dude who lived downstairs at the meditation center looked about the same
way-muscular, athletic, blond model type. I had met him the first day I moved
in. He said his name was River. River and Big Daddy (surfer dudes) looked a lot
alike. I never knew their real names. Featurely, they were different but one
would have to get a closer look. Your
father tended to act like everyone else his brother, Pat, yeah, more like
Patrick at times, rather than himself. He would defer to his ‘bigger/older
brother and then in private say how he hated him. They had had a falling out,
in the past. It was about his older
brothers’ son’s birth mother. It was the way his older brother referred to the
women in his life. He had a girlfriend. “Some
girl, he wanted to get with -the mother of his kid.” They weren’t married. “She would just get with him to make
babies. She knew that his kids looked good or that he made good-looking
babies”. Anyway, yeah, they were white boys but they sounded and at times,
actually acted more ‘black or down’ then I ever could. Your father acted or
tried to act more like a gentleman, a nice guy more so than his brother. Guys
act different around certain people. A woman resented how nice they were to me
at times. She was their plaything. She also, or he (new era) that I got them to
do things and she couldn’t. She accepted the dirt they dished her and then she
turned it around to seem like she was “part of the in crowd”. She tried to make
people believe that they couldn’t live without her. In my life, their meanest
actions became circumstantial – surface.
Anything, mean, life threatening or rumour motivated, is delayed. They
are transferred or appear superfacial.
Then , they are dull tempered or made less violent. I am not saying that she
was lying but, her problems are not mine. Himshe wanted to act or seem as if my
personal friend. Basically, spiritually, etc., that was not going to happen.
The manager of the meditation center
hated them both. He said they didn’t know how to treat their women. He also,
suggested that I keep them both away from me.
I think I was set-up. The tension between them well, your father slept
with the mother of your fathers’ brother children. Your father was living with
them at one time. Your father wasn’t in the best of situations to go and do
something like that. He was basically living off of them and had nowhere else
to stay. His only option at that time, was to maybe go back home to his folks.
He was not about to do that. That was what your father told me and I think his
brother touched on it, one afternoon when he was apologizing about the fights
he had started. In the end, they where
still talking. Plus, I don’t really know how much of that is true because a
couple of times your father did stuff that made him seem like his older
brother. They were both adopted by the same family- adopted, yet still
‘brothers’. Peter called himself Greg sometimes. I don’t know if he called
himself Albert or Pat. He may have, especially when He owed people money or
things. A guy had come to the apartment
looking for him. He was hiding in the bathroom. Hurriedly, on his way into the
bathroom, he told me call him Greg. Not knowing what was going on, I ignored
him. We had had an argument. We were not speaking. ‘Strange- strained-love ‘, I thought. I was on my computer while
playing my autoharp, when the guy came into the apartment. He was asking if
Greg lived there. %I think I said yeah or that I didn’t know a Greg except for
the black guy named Greg. I think then Greg appeared and Pat and the guy explained that he was owed
money- Greg supossedly ditched him on a drug by, ran off with the drugs. Very
confusing they all ended up leaving together. The drug dealer looked gay and
wanted some kind of payment. I went back to my computer. William told me the
gist of what happened later. I was trying to act cool, calm and collected.
Inwardly going, oh for the love of God not another AlexanderThey also looked
like Bon Jovi and his band and early members of Metallica, don’ t tell your dad
if you should ever meet him, his brother looked more like an early member of
Metallica especially in tight fitting leather pants like a young not aged rock
star but because he knew that it sort of detracted from him plus he was the
meaner to women, well, yeah meaner to women of the two. Your father looked like
a taller, more athletic, until he started losing weight version of John(Jon)
Bon Jovi. Somethings, I will never understand.
Back to
the cradle, it’s appropos that it’s in an historic house in Oregon, sanded yet
fully restored, or it will be. By the time you are old enough to read this, it
will be. The curator dropped it. She was trying to put it in her car and it
slipped and the teeter totter part the bottom curved rocking thing fell off.
Hexes and curses off, I guess. I sat on the toilet looking to see if anything
came out, blood. water. I pee -peed but
I figured that was normal. I was
looking for something, mystical water, a different color from regular urine
clear and holy. The twinges were still
coming. I wanted to really finish the
cradle, but the hurriedness turn to a feeling of fear. A subdued fear tempered with God if this is
a mistake I don’t want to look like a fool.
Your not due until Sunday, your due date, then…again…. what if somethings’ wrong? A lot of pressure not just from you inside me but……Maybe
nerves. There was another big stabbing
twinge. Okay, I think I can walk. Yeah, just me and you. Only me. I can do
this. Plus…..I washed up and went to the closet and got the packed bag(baby
bag) and appropriate clothes to wear. Scared is not just one word to use about
how I was feeling. There are more but displaying emotion or telling my true
feelings has never been a problem plus I know most of the angles and just how
much to say and when and when directed or misdirected, voila’, basically I am
my own worst enemy , think like the perf. Especially after, the last couple of
years of strife , the continued name calling, slurring and jealous outbursts of others. I wished my feet hadn’t swelled so. I wondered why up until the day before I
hadn’t noticed that amount of swelling. I was always doing body and baby
checks, this amount I would have noticed. Like God, I hope that comes off. Or
Please God don’t make me look like those old pictures or my grandmother or my
Mother after her diabetes weight gain.
I called
a cab from in front of the building. I
waited in front of the main office for the taxicab to arrive. I was worried but excited, hoping I seemed
normal on the outside. No undue shows of tension or anxiety. Aurally, I did not
feel like myself, superimposed upon. The image reflected in my mind and eyes
definitely look from an extreme viewpoint. One might say a stereotype greatly
altered. The taxicab came . I arrived at the University’s hospital still
anxious. I took the elevator to the
midwifery floor,
My
mid-wife Dymphna was at a recert in Mexico City so I did not expect to see her,
but…. She wasn’t there. I knew the
nurse on the floor, nine months of appointments and a couple of the mid-wives,
so I figured—stop there first before going to the emergency room. The nurse took my overnight bag(baby
bag). I then waited in the waiting room
to be seen by one of the midwives on duty, that afternoon. They were acting
hush-hush and that didn’t set right with me.
Their actions only increased my anxiety. I happened to look up from the
magazine that I was reading. I heard loud whispers. I looked in the direction
of the nurse’s station. They were going through my things. The clothes,
toiletries packed in the bag(baby bag).
The nurse got up and slightly shut the door. That is to say she turned
the door. After a few minutes, it was
open, again. The midwife came out then
called my name. I didn’t like the looks
of her. Maybe, the search through my
bag colored my opinion.I felt like a ‘new foreigner or a little girl pushed
around and aside by big ugly older sisters’. The midwife examined me. I
answered her questions, etc. Diagnosis: it seems that I in just one day
developed preclampsia. That is pregnancy hypertension or pregnancy hypertension
and preclampsia. They were concern and
making a point about the blackness- the ethnicity. The other young woman that
had to stay in the hospital for the same thing looked Jewish/ we both attended
the Baptist student Union, older students and married part-time student. She
gave birth previously in December of 2003. She suffered from some disease plus
being pregnant- some rich disease. By the time you read this you will
understand what I mean by ‘rich disease’. We get sick on occasion the common
cold but we too poor to get a disease or really, really sick, so we stay
healthy and die when the lord or God tells us to -(Family Heritage). Now, don’t
go hurting yourself to prove a point. Pregnancy hypertension was the cause
of/for the swelling. A normal, perfect, silver tinged with gold, red-gold
perfect pregnancy, medically beautiful, then the bomb drops- Pregnancy
Hypertension. No beauty queen first sights for you, just me in a good and bad
way). That statement explains why I didn’t say anything to you at first. When
they placed you in my arms, I wanted to see what your eyes, your facial
expression would say. I wanted to know what you thought of me. An old addage
‘children say the darndest things’. Thank God we loved each other on sight. Our
awed bewilderments were reflected. Child reaching hoping for a caring mother
mom dazed and confused. I jumped ahead of myself in the story, where were
we….Your birth took in hospital 2 days
and 2 and half hours- 26 and a half hours not including the preclampsia
diagnosis exam so 3 days and 2 ½ hours.
Okay, where were we……
They
told me I would have to come back the next day and have my blood pressure
checked, again, instead of keeping me overnight for observation - as my mother
saids ‘making light of a situation’. It
makes me wonder about you , Hunter.
What, I went through the last minute sudden weight gain. Maybe its an indicator that maybe in puberty
you will get a growth, body mass spurt. That normally should come naturally
(before the wantabe faith hill types take control)-quadroon. Hopefully, no sudden surprises nor nothing
serious or life threatening; since your medical checks, exams are perfect,
model perfect, Adonis type- A line, rare blood type. Your finicky eating is my
main concern right now ,yet they say great, above perfect iron count. (if my life were a vampire movie, I would be
frightened – scared afraid, be very afraid).
I
gathered up my baby bag feeling stupid and silly. I went back to my apartment I didn’t work on the cradle. The midwife had old me to rest. I felt deflated and anxious. I laid in the bed and thought. I knew too
much and silently spent years hoping for truth where was none. Knowing my,
beliefs apart from more than just make-up.
The empty space was and had long since been filled by something more
precious than the stench of vindictiveness.
It didn’t make sense to me. And
the woman cried “social revolution, ah, the revolutionary appears. La Bandita?
Si. I slept and woke the next
day. I didn’t get dressed up or
reasonable better dressed than my usual bum/artist/Georgia O’Keefe attire - my
drudged- about clothes. I put a bandana
on my hair and left my apartment for the hospital. I didn’t care what impression I gave. I guess I never have. I appropriate
things but too much weight and concentration on diversities. Freedom dude, it
seemed as if fighting “whatever” was useless.
I just wanted you to be born safe and healthy - a ‘concentration’,
construct of your father and myself.-A.L.W.(Andrew(Frank) Lloydd Weber
(Wrightian)). I figured just a check and they will send me home, like they did
the previous day. I didn’t expect to
stay in the hospital. Everything would
be okay, I would come home again feeling like an idiot and you would be born on
Sunday as scheduled.
With
that in mind, I didn’t take my overnight bag (baby bag,nor did I call for a
taxicab. Since it was just a check-up, I would take the bus. I cleaned up, that
is I showered and changed and put on my
kick about clothes, a pink bandana with black and white designs on my head and
left for the hospital. The one I where now is light blue with black designs. I
still avoid certain customs they are too stupid. The only thing Hunter to
remember, special occasions get dressed up. There are different attires., and
clothes serve that purpose. Wear the clothes don’t let them wear you. I t seems
certain people like to get trapped in certain beliefs-ideologies. Even after being judge by outer appearance
and abused in many different ways and by ‘family’ members. I learned to live
freely as possible without judgementers. Its too tiring or ‘beat’. If I said they altered the pictures. Then that
starts a domino effect. Both sides arguing, etc. I am so happy you are my son
eventhough none of any ‘good’ pictures are left for you and the skectches are
subjective as well, anyway, I have a couple Great ones hidden, not what your
father, etc. want to see. New York or Venice(Venezia)_ never really knew me and
as beliefs , just know I think they are nuts. Hopefully after I type in what
else happened the pictures will clear somewhat(featurely). Under the name I was
born with and go by daily, everyday a lifetime of my name. True and real. In
the southwest state, people wore blue jeans to work everyday in politically and
municipal jobs. New york, the corporate accumen is still stressed. Which causes
their stress, they should wear blue jeans everyday to the stock exchange or
C.E.O board meetings. Anyway, stuff you will excel at when the time comes,
because believe me I have a name for certain types and you will not be them.
I walked
to the corner and caught the bus. At, the hospital I went to maternity. I
checked in at the nurses station. I sat in the little waiting room area behind
the desk., by the copy machines – the charting area. I watched the residents or interns as they are called. Doctors to
some. It was change of shift or lunch break. My appointment was for 12:00, noon
time. I had reached in time, way in
time. .I sat there and watched them. Maybe , it wasn;t until right around noon
time that I was seen, not that I don’t know. Certain things stand out.. They
did the puliminaries, There were two women waiting to be moved to delivery or
whatever. The resident was in the room with one woman, they were acting busy,
distant. A we are the creme- de la crème attitude(Flamenco- everything is a-t-t-I-tude).
The other women was in the examining room, that iwas to go in. They were having
trouble, or so it seemed with the woman at the other end. There was someone in
the middle room but I don’t remember that one too much. . The resident came out of the room and
spoke with,or maybe he was the attending doctor, nah, he was the rsedent. He
spoke with the nurse and the other two doctors. There was a problem. The woman
wanted to leave. She was according to him ready to deliver. The reason I
mention this will become clear. The doctor went back into the room. The door to
the room across the room I was to go in opened. A girl. Young woman around
twenty something in appaerance step out. Her mother was in the room and stood
directly behind her. She stood at the doorway looking, surveying the scene.
Obviously she was wondering what was holding the doctor up. She was blond
looked liked one of those Brittany Spears, eminem area types, the ones they
always call lupee and they always teache hip hop dance classes/ Queen of the
streets or the Bad girl handker types ones in charge but a step up from, they
have attitudes and know '‘he cool scene- the p-diddy ,ll cool j types- that
scene. I am wondering who will be the ‘representative’ for the area of life-
the hip hop rap not punk trying to think what type white band she would listen
to , they usually listen to hip hop rap and country- line dancing stuff –
teenage angst types but not really. –top forty stuff I don’t like. Since it was
new Mexico- texichita or texicana music. Big boned, she reminded of a girl in
bellydancing class. Madonna of the street. Ghetto. Type. Not the black Madonna.
The Ghettos and streets have more than one color. She was observing me, as
well. Not a fashion type but like one of those ‘Deb or those hip hop street barbie dolls- star and trey , you
know that doll commercial. There was a sense of sizing up from her. I felt a
put down in her mind, ‘one of those I am the better or the best – the worth
more than you philosodphies -(madonna syndrome types.) The ‘my man types’, I am
sure they will still be around when your old enough to read this. Their mothers
are always with them which is good and their families extended made–up or real.
The nurse went over to them, I think she asked how much longer. I heard
something about that they were waiting for a room to be prepared. So the had
already been seen but other things and the doctor had too see them. They went
back into the room. What really distracted me was about the time the blond long
hair tied in a ponytail woman step from her room another intern resident had
entered the nurses station He looked
familiar and his attitude was familiar but I couldn’t place him, yet he looked
like the Officer Tafoya , who had
illegally/falsely arrested ,frame and trump up charges. On me in
Taos. He sat in the main chair at the
nurses station. Turning around in it. Cocky was his attitude and demeanor. He’s
not a doctor, I thought to myself,. He cannot be an intern. What is Tafoya doing
here? Is he going to try and steal my baby? He’s corrupt enough for anything.
He acted the same as that night in the Taos hospital. Subtly threatening the
nurses and staff, not the nice how is your kid doing but you know I can make
your family member whomever disappear or be beaten up or you or a family member
still owe my family for the money we loaned you when little harry needed a tonsilectomy or needed some kind of surgery, hellos. Then, he was crying like a baby when his rest of the evening
entertainment, he had planned for me- like I said he falsely accused0 he was
known for accosting some woman in a prison cell – I am a police officer your
jailer, etc. Anyhow, an agency came out of nowhere- I wonder if that was
staged- yet I was going to be transferred to the –happy vale in Las Vegas, NM.
I should have been released. He was still sputtering. That’s not how we usually
handle it. Is this something new, etc. His kingdom was falling. There was a
change of shifts and another officer came to replace him. He at first refused
to leave. And then he bravadoed his way out the door. An I am still wearing my
pants and still an officer type of attitude. I ahd slept the night in a nice
private room , in the Taos hospital, the quietest hospital in the world. They
had no emergencies that night. A Taj Mahal with maybe ten patients and all the
well 69 to 77% up to date latest equipment. and was transferred to the Las Vegas- ‘Happy Vale’ the next morning by
the sheriffs department. Tafoya was
with the local. city of Taos police department.. The resident open the
door of the other room at the end of the small , narrow hallway (close
quarters). He came out of the room
leaving the door open, slightly turned. The intern, at the desk said something
to him in greeting. The resident while making notes in the womans chart said to
the Tafoya resembling guy, What are you
doing here?, are you working this shift?.
The tafoya looking dude said that he had come in early and he was scheduled
to work that shift. The resident was friendly ,a seemingly drinking buddy fun
comradery, a polite friendship but grey matter
somewhat aloof
He asked
about the patient in the end room. The resident briefed the other one- the
woman was due to deliver like maybe in a couple hours. She wanted to go home to
get her other child from day care. She had a child before – 2nd
pregnancy. Yet the doctor wanted her to stay and be transported to delivery.
She had no one to pick the child up. He said, that he was releasing her but she
had to come immediately to emergency especially if something happened-
sometimes muffled conversation. That’s pretty much what I heard. She was going
to wait until, someone got out of work and then return. The door opened wider
and out stepped a short to medium height woman with middle eastern- latin
(hispanic) coloring, dark hair, etc.
She looked anxious, worried nervous. She looked at me. I had an uneasy
feeling. The doctors spoke with the
woman by the doorway of the nurses station. It looked she was making a run for
it. The Tafoya like dude, declared just
right around time that he was clocking
in for work. At the same time, A
black woman came over by the copier machine. Supposedly making copies of a file
or something, she made a point of looking at me, granted I was sitting by the
copier. She was a midwife. I had seen her maybe once on coming out of an exam
room on the midwifery floor. I didn’t like her. I don’t know why but Yeah, I
thought she would be one of the ones that would try to steal you. She looked
like Oprah Winfrey, that black (afroamerican) television talk show host.. She
made a copy of the papers in her hand, I think it was like one copy of a single
paper. But she was making a big deal of it. Granted, Dymphna had told the other
midwives to look out for me, since she had the recertification and could not be
present or deliver my baby –you Hunter. In the meantime of the copy machine
distraction the doctor/resident had taken the chart of the door or from the
stack and had gone into the room beside me- the exam room that I would next
enter. I cannot remember the nurse on
call that night but there was one there. I think a short skinny blond not sure
no brunette nurse, just wait. The black nurse may have been the nurse for The
ponytailed tall blond hair young woman, nah she left. Anyway the doctor came out.
I heard the girl and her mother say thank you doctor. There was a nurse with
him but I cannot recall description. The nurse though after the woman opened
the door wider said she was going to get a wheelchair or they had to wait for
the wheelchair to come and then the girl would be transported to delivery. I
remember seeing the young woman wheeled out her mother beside her. The girl was
acting like she was royalty or a princess of the street still- attitude (like
the girl from dance class). I waited for the room to be cleaned. I think,
memory fading, the nurse came up to me and said that “I would be going to the
just vacated room. It had to be cleaned first” . there was a woman resident that night, I remember now. Still
cannot remember the nurse, but I went into the exam room..
The
nurse came in I think a spanish woman short. No, I think it was just the
resident. I had been in that room earlier in my pregnancy, Braxton Hicks
contractions at that time they wanted to induced labor had said it was up to
me, I could wait until the due date. It had been just a couple of weeks
earlier. It was the nurse first, she checked my blood pressure, It was still
high, then she called in the intern, ususal introductions. She did vitals etc.
and then they hooked me up to a fetal monitor. The blood pressure cuff was
still on. They came in and checked periodically. Ellen, the nurse midwife, my
first midwife before Dymphna came in, said that Dymphna asked her to check in
on me and that she had mentioned that
she would but could not stay because she wasn’t scheduled. I just thought of
something- the initial was not scheduled for due date, weekend anyhow . it was
her end of shift, and she was not schedule to work that weekend. She was with
another midwife. The resident then came in and told me that I could not leave
the hospital, they were going to transfer me to delivery. She left. I turned to
Ellen and said can’t I just go home and pick up a few things. She sad dogged
eyed me , kinda bent her head pitifully, pursed her lips(mouth expression) and
said no. This was, you hunter are, my first child. I had never had any
miscarriages, abortions, pregnancies before.
The medical reports proved that as well, but the superegos wounded
kneeers were still around. Yeah theres more, that was a reference memory lead
in note. Ellen and her friend(the
other nurse) stayed with me a little
while longer. More checks were done, pressure, fetal monitor and heart rate. I
asked her if I could get a copy of the fetal monitor heart read out. She asked why
and I told her it was for your birth song. Which, I still have to get around to writing. I told her that I wanted
to keep your (Hunter) umbilical cord- cord saving, so you would have it if any
medical problems came up. I asked her to make sure to write it in the chart or
on the chart, because, there would be no one there that was with me through the
pregnancy. No midwives, none.
There were people staff, techs coming in and out running tests; EKG,
etc. I asked for a copy of that as well- a personal copy. Someone had quipped,
“Oh it will be in your chart”.- one of the nurses. I think it was the delivery
nurse that had said that. At that time,
I , still and everyone else was thought
I would / could deliver naturally. Yours is a natural birth, I meant no
c-section (no surgery needed) was I ever wrong.. Ellen said her good-byes and
wished me luck.. I lay in the exam room listening to the sounds outside the
door and waited. The biggest thing in my mind was the baby bag and your take
home clothes. How would , I get that.
No one to call. Except, maybe it would not be too of an imposition (I
hoped) plus I really didn’t them to well but she had brightened and hopefully
her helping me had eased somewhat. The pain, or (another grey matter) of her
husband s passing. Plus , I had met her daughter and her son- in law and they
had invited me over to dinner. There famous spaghetti and homemade pasta sauce
dinner., Maybe…..I t was about almost eight o’clock before I was wheeled to the
delivery floor. I entered a private room. There was a television which only
played two Spanish soap operas and an infomercial put out by the obstetrics and
gynecology department of the hospital. A doctor and an intern came in and
introduced themselves. The intern or resident looked like the lead singer of
the group everything but the girl; a
dark slick backed shorthaired Irish type.
The doctor acted hostile, conceited and bothered. He introduced the
staff nurse. While, they made their introductions, I thought further about who
to call. I also heard voices in the next room and when the door was open I
noticed a big fat black gut on a cellphone and a gothic looking heavily
pregnant woman standing outside the door of the next room. The nurse came in and put a blood pressure
cuff on my arm. I was hooked up to the fetal monitor, the, someone came in with
an I.V saline and glucose I think. She could not put the needle in my arm. They
were acting like they were playing a game. It reminded me of being in happy
vale. Yup, the needle slip , she had to reincert two more times. I now believe
that it was lithium in the bags. My arm swelled up like three people. At about
this time they asked I asked to use the telephone. So someone could bring me my
clothes etc. they gave me something for the pain . I asked the doctor if it was
going to be a C-section. I was having trouble and normally this was taking too
long plus the hypertension, the supposed nurse not properly inserting the I.V
had me worried. He said yeah, no problem you can deliver naturally, no surgery
will be needed. He was acting cockily. He then did a vaginal exam to see if my
water had broke. I was in a lot of pain and tender and I didn’t know this
doctor and I didn’t want some strange man doctor or otherwise fisting me the
way he was. He pushed his fisted hand
up into my vagina and turned one way pushing something back, then he turned ,
his fist in the other direction again pushing something back, then he slightly
retracted not all the way and exam like in front of the cervix one side and
then the next. He had a weird look in his eyes and I did not like what he was
doing at all. My exams at the midwifery clinic weren’t even like that. They did
the vaginal exams just like my other gynecologist. I started to wonder more
about what the hell was going on. As the doctor retracted his hand, someone in
the delivery room started screaming bloody hell. A scream resembling the ones
in horror movies. The nurse checked the monitor while the doctor told me that I
wasn’t dialated enough yet. He kept giving me weird looks. This was only the
first check on the delivery floor. There would be several more and still only
so many centimeters. I asked to use the telephone. I called the woman who had
recently lost her husband. I cannot remember her name , for the life of me nor
the name of the woman who ran the food pantry and is an ordained minister. I
had met them when I ran out of food during my pregnancy with you. I did not
have any food, no friends or family to invite me over for dinner no family
pantries to raid like your aunt would do every time she came home from college
no one to lend me money until the end of the month when I got my check. I still
didn’t qualify for food stamps. So, I went to the food pantry. Through campus
ministries I knew a couple of the students who volunteered there. I t was part
of our community outreach. Yeah, Oh how embarrassing and pitiful. I was not
going to be pitied though. This just explained or showed me a lot. I know every
word before they say it and I know they are making fall guys, then they run and
steal the food. There is an aura about them. I mean their haughtiness is a well
placed facade. Then the others that make like a scurrying thing. Well, years
before your grandmother set me up and basically its like who of your children
if you had to sacrifice for the good of land country basically for themselves,
who would you sacrifice She chose me and have always been choosing me until I
said stop and she long since denounced me as her daughter. Your aunt and uncle
went on to easy street as they say. I ignore the powers that be. Me, I would
have said none and then all of us basically me and you we die or live as a
family. A family that can trust in each other especially when the chips, etc,
are down or forgotten. A basic premise of life. Well, the girl I knew that had
manager the place was not there. I had forgotten that she had graduated and was
working as a pre-school teacher. That reminded me of someone else. Why didn’t
you still hang out with so and so. My former boss had a name for her. Which
I told her when we were sitting by the
pool of a hotel, actually they snuck in, I just joined them later not naïve if
you don’t tell me something even after(like my former boss) I find out from
someone else I am not going to ask you and I didn’t like my old boss me heavy
in a lot of ways ,bitter, plus if she didn’t like you for whatever reason. You
wouldn’t graduate missing file with redone thesis or doctoral whatever or
dissertation not handed in on time follow- up professor comments and decision
missing, voila incomplete file. So you miss graduation, eventually graduate but
after normal time. She was right though about Lydia(calling herself Lisa here,
Helene in England). I think they were from the same part of Greece and Italy
and I even suspected then that she was related to the girl she was talking
about. Really. They claimed the old
woman was jealousy I was sick of the bitch. Lydia saying bad money management.
It wasn’t. It was theft and the money the girl ‘thinks she has is stolen and is
mine’, A little pixie when I came back to New Mexico. She asked me if I wanted
my money back. I saw what she and her supposed Indian Prince friend did to two
supposed friends of hers. Whenever I say anything about money they come around,
You have seen it and hopefully by now they have passed away for one reason or
another. The last thing she said to me
was that I was fun anymore, since I became pregnant and was a mother now. She would threaten people in a
couple of different ways. I mean look at your grandfather, he siced those
creepouts on me and has the woman claiming that she is the real me plus he uses
children and then takes their insurance policies. Anyway back to the food
pantry, they say that I was pregnant and asked me how I was going to carry the
box. I said that I was just picking up a couple of bags and would return for
the rest, if that was alright. Since, it was just an allotment for a month. The
minister struck up a conversation with me. What was playing in the back of my
mind though was you all aren’t going to take my baby. I had had enough of the
oh I, or we would never do that. I figured if you ever find yourself in a hole
you would know what to do and where to go especially in college when they start
hazing or saying stupid mentally limited things like I cannot be your friend
anymore because I am still in high school in my mind or I am now a memebr of
sigma chi or whatever. I am a gold key carrying ruby diamond holding descendant
of Jack Kerouac, Diane Di Prima, or denise di palma or diane di palma(but jack, lenore and john)Lenore Kandel and
John Weiners myself. Believe they carry that mentality into the work force.
They are doctors and lawyers. That was also how some women take root and take
hold of insecurities bravadoed or buried deep within the earth.
Anyway, they invited me to tea. Afternoon
tea. I swear to God , It was Lovejoy, Agatha Christie mysteries PBS. Anyway
just a couple of sweet people offering me tea. So we sat there, two of her
employees an older gentleman and a young woman –older than me I was the
youngest and the two older women and myself. In the backroom, employees lounge.
A little bigger than a closet sized area with a table, coffee cups a fridge and
microwave, They gave me a tour and showed me where everything was.
We had
tea and conversation. They did most of the talking. They were surprised that
being a University student I didn’t have any friends. I explained that I was a
returning older student. The woman that lost her husband I will call her Anne.
Her daughter seems like a Margaret. She gave me a ride home. I forgot to
mention the other girl that was my friend she lived in a trailer park, was a
nurse and was applying to Medical School. I think it was her third or fourth
attempt at being accepted in. Her name
was Lorraine, I remember now. She threw me a baby shower. Anyway at this time,
She had finally gotten accepted to Medical school and had moved back home to
Texas to spend time with her family before starting her classes in the fall.
She had left just before Christmas break. (John Edwards told me to remember
her)
I picked
up the telephone and called Anne. I left a message. She was not home yet.”Hi Anne, I said, This is Lois Johnson. Hi,
uhm, I am in the hospital. I thought my water broke yesterday and came into the
hospital. They told me to come back today- Pregnancy Hypertension. Well, they
are keeping in the hospital. I have a favor to ask…beep. I had to hang up and call again, ‘Hi its me again, quickly, I need someone to
go to my apartment and pick up my baby bag and things. I have my keys on me so
you would have to come to the hospital first and get the keys, hopefully this
is not an inconvenience, my room is etc. etc. thanks. I hung up the
telephone . The doctor came into the room again with the intern and checked how
much I had dialated. It was getting more painful. I had tried the little
breathing exercises that I knew which were nil. I kicked or you kicked me for
not taking Lamaze classes but that dude teaching the class looked strange. I am
superstitious at times. I still had not dilated enough. He said that he was
going to give me something for the pain and for sleep. He then, told me that it
was the end of his shift another doctor or nurse would be there in the morning.
The baby was doing fine , according to the monitor and I would be all right
until morning so I was to rest, build up strength and “Let’s see if we can get
that baby out,”( don’t worry). I asked him again if it would be by C section or
natural delivery. He said ‘Oh you will be just fine, no C section needed
By then,
I wanted a cesearean section done. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to push and
it hurt/ It felt like my whole insides were going to fall out. It also felt
like someone ripped me apart and did not use anesthisa or a medical knife but a
butcher knife and my Female parts (vagina) was torn to shreds or was going to
tear. Like I was Sigourney Weaver in that Alien movie and I was giving birth to
that alien creature, someone said the Abyss anyway but it didn’t come just out
of my stomach, okay, painful. ‘Gosh, that looked like it hurt’. I reached for
the remote control and watched a spanish soap opera. I surfed through the
channel and finally decided on one. I drifted off to sleep.
During
the night there were more screams of terror. I heard the woman in the next roon
crying. The nurse and her husband was saying something to her, It didn’t sound
wholesome. The next morning I awoke.
The nurse asked me how my night was. The baby was still doing allright.
They check my statistics or vital stats, whatever., It was that time that I
remembered the other pregnant woman at
my sonogram reading. When I said, I think I may be having triplets actually
quadruplets but the sonogram only showed one fetus. She then replied, I am a
nurse as well and pregnancy makes you forget the simplest of things and all
knowledge flies out the window. I later me another woman in the health
department of Newport, Oregons office. She said giving birth leaves you with
half a brain. I know, as she rummage through her handbag, I am only existing on
half a brain, she said smiling.. The morning doctor came in and checked dilation. He prescribed more petosin. I tried breathing exercises, but I was not
sure if I was doing them right. I wished again, That I had gone through Lamaze
classes,even if the guy had some skin disease on his face and hands. I thought
at that time to suggest that they just do a cesearean section. The baby was not
coming out this way and I was becoming more frightened. There was a knock on
the hospital room door. It was Anne and with her was the woman/minister from
the Food Pantry. I wish I remembered her name. I will call her Sally. They
asked me how I was doing. Did I get enough rest? How the baby was doing. I told
her what had transpired in the evening and morning hours. I thanked her for the
gift of a camera since mine was still at home with the baby bag. I asked her to pass me my bookbag and handed
her my keys to my apartment. I told her where to find the overnight bag. They
left and said that they would return in a couple of hours. She had to stop by
her daughters first. I said thank you. I switched the channel on the television
and watched the other Spanish soap opera. I tried to push and rest with every
fierce contraction, but nothing was happening and I didn’t want to hurt the
baby.
The
doctor came in and checked how many centimeters I had dilated. This time he was
with the intern. Other medical staff came in and out throughout the day. Anne
returned alone with my bags and a calling card. She said for me to call my
mother. Sally returned around early evening. I was telling Anne that she should
leave, that I would be all right. She had been with me during most of the
afternoon. The doctor and the intern from the previous night had returned. I
guess their shift started at 3pm. It wasn’t until around 6pm when I saw them.
He prescribed a new pain killer which after you were born, hunter… I found out
that it was under investigation. I felt
no more pain though. I asked the doctor if you were going to be a ceserean
birth. No need for surgery he said, You and the baby are doing just fine. You
will be able to deliver naturally. I wanted to yell, I don’t want to anymore.
Anne came back into the room after the doctors exam and patted my hand while
Sally asked the nurse and the doctor some questions. Anything wrong I said,
they went no your doing just fine. Anne and I are going to the cafeteria to get
some dinner. Do you want anything. I asked for some soda. Let me check with the
nurse. The nurse said gingerale no pepsi and more ice than soda. They came back
from dinner as the nurse was checking the monitor. Polite conversation was made. We heard screaming from the
delivery room again. A worst horror movie scream than the night before. They
insisted that I call my mother. I asked for a phone and used the phone card
that Anne gave me. I called my mothers’ house first and got no answer. I
thought my father would answer the phone since He was living with her at the
time. No answer, I dialed my grandmothers’ house. My grandmother picked up the
telephone.
“Hi, grandma”, I said.
“Hello Miss Loi, my grandmother said. How are you doing? I hear
that I am to be a great grandmother”.
“Yeah, I replied. I am kinda having the baby right now. Well, I am
in the hospital. I am calling from the delivery room”.
“Is that so?, hold on here’s your
mum”, grandma replied.
“Goodevening Loiz”, my mother
said.
“Hi mommy”, I replied maturely.
A silence descended. “How are
you”.
“Fine, I replied. I am in the
hospital”.
“The hospital?”, my mother
queried.
“I am about to have my baby”.
I felt her look at my
grandmother. Who I hoped was smiling. I sensed a laugh. “Your baby?”
Now I was starting to feel a
little perturbed. Exasperated would be a better term
“Yeah mommy. I am in the hospital
and I am about to have my baby”.
She laughed. This was definitely
not the response that I felt I should have received.
“Mommy this is serious”, I
petulantly responded.
“Your having a baby?, Her laugh
stilled. Who’s there with you?” It sounded like a ‘who’s the father’ response
which I should have been asked months
ago.
“ Anne and Sally. Anne’s the
woman I met. The one who just lost her husband.
Sally is her friend”. I answered
the inquiry.
I didn’t think it was a good time
to tell her that Sally was the manger of the local food pantry and was an
ordained minister. Once she got over the food pantry thing, then it would have
been what type of religion. No not a good time to mention that. I think I was
more saving the father of my babies hide more than me own.
Your having a baby she said, this
time excitement was in her voice. I thought you were joking.
“No mommy, I am having a baby”, I
quietly responded. A deflated calm had set in.
“For real.”
“Yes mommy”
“Really, really” ,she said
“Yes mommy”.
“How is it, what did the doctors
say, How are you feeling”. I told her what had transpired so far, about the
screaming in the delivery room and that the nurse had attached the saline drip
wrong and that I looked like a beached whale or dolphin.
“That’s what happened to me when
I had you, You are just like me”.
My mothers’ response and new amount of concern, all of a sudden was getting on my nerves. What had I been telling her for the past nine months? Had she not listened or read any of my letters? This was just pathetic. This was supposed to be my day. What is this, I am just like her crap! What is happening now, to me happened, to her when I was born! This response, now, after all those years of asking when was I born, what time, what happened plus how did I look. You were a miracle baby was all the response ever given. No way dude, this is my life!
“Mommy, Anne bought me a calling
card to call you. I don’t want to run the time out. I have to get off the phone
now. So that I can call you back after my baby is born.”
Okay, okay, I really thought you
were joking. Rest, don’t worry take care and call me and your grandmother when
it is born.”
“Tell everyone I said Hi and that
I love them and grandma too, Bye”.
“Good bye, take care, Call”.
I hung up the phone. I thought to
myself, ‘How Celine Dion’, not, that whole episodic phone call was. Anne and
Sally had migrated towards the hallway during
my phone call. They came back into the room as I was placing the phone
by my bedside.
Crest of my heart (Rhode Island, I remembered a
tale finally told)
[For my
baby boy, now 3yr old son Hunter]
Holding
songs I sing
Under a
crown of sundrenched leaves adorning a wooded glen
Nottingham
rides a gallant stead
Twice
Arabian bred, twice to bed
England
frowned and shook her maidenhead (many heads)
Roaring
like the lioness once more
Enduring
wraiths of shadowed times
Water
edging a mountainous flow (or mountain flow)
Angling
(angles) angels’ hair into morning light
Non-nucleudian
geometry dances circles on bended knees and on your gilded sword
c.2004.Elmira,NY
Heaven
shared corners of your smile, while
Unheard
slivers of silver (silvered) threads shimmered through a (the) harpist strings
Northern
nights dreamed of summers where
Two
lovers entwined upon oceans laden by sand(s)
Enduring
all that we have untold
Reverently
bowing to angelic lows
Engaged,
you are
With
childhood mysteries
Adults
forget once old
Noticing
every aspect of your presence
------------Loving
you even more
c.2004,Elmira.NY
Hummingbird I.(too
much television-“idol night/day”)
Here you lay alone and confused
Unadorned in splendid dress
Mechanically rearranging life’s’ laundry
Mulling one -the you, the children, the fashionably depressed
Insulating from barraging psychotic neighbors
Noticing little joys you still hold
Gratifying no needs for fear of slander
Buried amongst the average mortal coil
I could not leave without alerting you to your dangers
Resounding non-elocution
Disparaging once again
----Don’t worry the porcelain throne is yours
c.2004.Elmira,NY
Hummingbird II.
Hellacious, bodacious rancor
Mumbling the rumbling sounds
Mending while divining why
Instinctively sensing mirroring cascadence
Natural forms blossoming in sultry scales
Gardening only thought—through trampled down doors
Butterflies are what I will always morn(mourn)
Intuitive subliminals
Robins breast of fallen visions
Dances auras crossed with Pendragoned swords (murals, themes, and
rituals)
c.2004.Elmira,NY