Portfolio Work Piece #2

Tired of my old font. Pleased with how different it became once I abandoned the format of the other three. First attempt at a real title:


The Great Leap


We had reached that daunting ledge
teetering on tiptoe, swaying, and feeling
breathless. I was wearing a sack, the sagging
blue nightgown and the most I remember
on you was the brown jacket with the broken
zipper, the bleach stain and the scent of Gillette
and dampness. We were collected in each other's arms 
between a beach ball and a lawnmower. We created
friction, safe inside, trapped in noise, our music became
the baby screaming, the gentle hush, the loud
possibility of discovery--a drum beat so solid
we built security on its foundation.
This was more physical than phone chats.
It transcended denim, Tuesday panties, and
finger fulls of nothing. While we tried to complete
need, anticipation swam around us, moving in 
and out of me in waves. I hoped that you'd devour 
every slippery piece of my hesitation. I hoped we'd
stroke in the atom juice of this basic joy, smallest
particles of animalism and awkwardness.  


But right before we took that plunge
off the ledge we had built ourselves
your darkness blocked my view.


And I tried to see where this leap would take us
but you became a wall, that reached around me
and smothered my face into your chest.
You choked off what was left of the round puffs
of my breath without saying anything. So unlike you
silence, a fit too large for you. You live to yell.
That time in the grand hallway you yelled about your
brother dating that pedophile. Christ, he was sixteen
and she was eighteen and I did not know you did not know
her age. I told you there was no need to scream but you
have a way, a loud and echoing way of yelling
your protection into the face of others. He was your 
brother, and your severity was laced with fear. Saddled
with your drive to protect. You did not truly mean to yell
at me but instead just yell it all, because fear bursts out 
fast and hard. It bangs up every door inside us on its way out. 
I can't help but feel your silent shaking, on this floor, a great 
yell fumbling out your body, crying out against our trembling.
Trapped in our arms or that fragile security we've made,
Our nerves, so unlike steel, but more like bending, cracking, plastic
sticks and we hold each other so that we never break. Perhaps 
what I see isn't darkness but the shadow hiding 
light. I bet anything that empty crevice below us is filled
with some knowledge I am not ready for. Some
creature, hiding in the jagged cracks, growling, waiting
to turn us against each other, to change us and move us
to some level for which I am not equipped. That's probably why
in your arms, all wrapped and shivering, we ran from that prophetic
ledge, that long and sinking darkness to agree 
that romps on basement floors are best left
for nights not the middle of November, not meant for freezing 
in  the dark, not knowing what lies there in front or below us.


II.
Basically (v. 2)


I remember the sagging blue nightgown
with nothing underneath.

Suggestive phone chats winking
ideas that transcended denim and Tuesday panties.
That electric connection through the speakers
circuited in a spider web of intermingled, intertwined, and satisfying--

I remember wanting to see everything
but your darkness blocked my view.

creeping on sacred slabs, sandwiched
between a lawn mower and a beach ball.
I let you in and you and I contemplate birth
marks on the planes where darkness sleeps.

I remember squirming against you
but you became a wall.

The ceiling trembles in a sigh into the floor
But the world outside is bored.
Who is snoring on top of us right before
the baby screams? The screams, the noise, God, my noise

I remembered your jacket used to be soggy
sweating scents of Gillette and mold.

hovers in frozen intensity. You finger
every scrap, every morsel, devoured slippery pieces
of my hesitation like a foaming dog in spring.
Then the pain becomes too clumsy to endure,

I remember the salt of unsanctioned prayers.
Christ had never tasted so seasoned.

our driving need for completion squashes
under knowledge that this moment isn't it.
That silent tears on basement floors
are best for days not mid-November.
Nights can't hurt this bad.

And I remember the glorious return
of that sagging blue night gown
hiding everything underneath.

And instead of dancing, I remember we swam
in the atom juice of my basic joy.
And our bodies are knocked down
to the smallest levels of animalism and awkwardness.
I could have drowned in awkwardness.
And in asphyxiated dreams hover trophies
of our almost accomplishment.


III.
Basically (v 1.5)
I remember cotton shifts painted with sky.
I remember I wore nothing underneath.

Did phone chats become suggestive?
Wink ideas to transcend denim zippers? Tuesday panties?
What dared us to circuit our electric connection
of intermingled, intertwined, entered and oh so satisfying--

I remember my legs use to stretch much higher.
I remember you blocked my view sometimes.

creeping on sacred concrete, sandwiched between
a lawnmower and last year's beach balls.
I let you in and you and I contemplate birth
marks on the planes where darkness sleeps.
Everything trembles, like even the trees sigh,
and from where I am the ceiling wobbles into the floor.
Who is snoring on top of us right before the baby
screams? The ground is cold, the noise, Oh God, my noise--

I remember you sweating Gillette and sweet mold.
I remember tasting salt and unsanctioned prayers.

hovered over the edge of frozen intensity. You fingered
every scrap, every morsel, devoured slippery pieces
of my hesitation like a rabid dog in spring, panting and foaming
until the pain became too clumsy to endure.
And from our unbearable need for completion came
the heavy, squashing knowledge that this isn't it.
Tears on basement floors are best left 
for days that are not the middle of November--
Nights that don't hurt this bad.

I remember squeezing but never molding.
I remember how loud that door screeched
when you left.
I remember not getting caught. 
Do you remember that it felt right?

And instead of dancing, I remember we swam
in the atom juice of my joy, so basic.
Brought down to the smallest levels
of ecstatic animalism and awkwardness.
We drowned in comforting awkwardness.
Even as we crept in separate beds,
In our dreams hovered two trophies
of almost accomplishment.

There's a first time for everything.
I remember it never happened.
I remember I never cared.


IV.
Untitled

I remember thin skies on day-painted shifts.
I remember I wore nothing underneath.

What started these suggestions, the ideas
to transcend physical nuisances, denim zippers?
What dared me to circuit our connection
of intermingled, intertwined and oh so satisfying--

I remember my legs were thinner, pliable.
I remember broader shoulders marred by naked nails.

creeping on sacred concrete, sandwiched between
a lawnmower and last year's beach balls.
Who is snoring on top us right before the baby
screams? The ground is cold, the noise, God, my noise--

I remember you sweating Gillette and mold.
I remember tasting salt and unsanctioned prayers.

hovered over the edge of frozen intensity. You fingered
every scrap, every morsel, devoured slippery pieces
of my hesitation like a rabid dog in Spring, panting and foaming
until the pain became too clumsy to endure.

I remember how loud that door screeched.
I remember squeezing but never molding.
I remember not getting caught. 
Do you remember that it felt right?

And instead of dancing, I remember we swam
in the atom juice of my joy, so basic.
Brought down to the smallest levels
of ecstatic animalism and awkwardness.

There's a first time for everything.
I remember it never happened.