Status.

Chewing.

Chewing through my own fat.

Through my lips and teeth and cheeks.

Sore and swollen, but I keep biting.

Itch I just can't scratch.

I'm cradling a deadly thing, touching it.

Watching it.

I've got a pocket full of nothingness

For once.

Nowhere to go

But up.

My restless tongue pushes through my mouth

As if getting out would help.

Courage?

"...they gather their courage, and they give it a try..."
I sit on the floor of a motel shower, pushing a sliver of soap across the shelf on the bottom of the shower door.
I shuttle it back and forth a few times, and then rinse the soap slime from my fingers.
I take stock of my skin- sallow pale, instead of my usual milky pale under the harsh motel bathroom light. I'm the wrong color. I wonder if anyone else has noticed.
For something to do, I count.
43.
I count again.
42.
The shower spray is narrow, though, only comforting one side of my back at a time. I sway slowly back and forth to warm my arms.
I rinse my hair again.
The water covers my ears, and for a minute, the drops hitting my wet head are louder than my thoughts. They're louder than my confusion. My ears are filled in this instant with something other than a jumbled loneliness, excitement, regret, and insecurity.
I am thankful for endless motel bathroom hot water.

Here, There, Again

Ask me.
Ask me again.
Tell me more.
Drifting away again, washing up on some distant shore
Unfamiliar territory, but isn't this a familiar position, darling?
Always a little far away, a little off, a lifted corner
And veiled meaning.
A lilting song brights my spirits a moment here or there

My turn to disengage.
Watch me disappear.
Eyes shining, hold me still
Hold me here
Close and tight.
One last footprint left in the snow
Right where I thought it might be.

Ask me.
Tell it again, the story of that time by the lake
Mysteries we made out of mud and mist
Tales we twisted out of reeds and grass
Glass water, our only audience.

Somehow we grow closer, through this.
Somehow we get from here to there
One path or another, it doesn't really matter.
Sparks fly wide, in time or space but not both.

Minor keys rattle between my ears,
Through my grandmother's laugh, through a screen door
Shattering windows that never quite crash all the way down
Whispers tangle all together, their cool watercolor storms
Bring me to my knees again.

Trading in my hard-won tokens for winding strands of real gold
Few and wondrous
But I wonder whether I was better off with brass coins.
Whether my imaginary prize was more precious
Than the jeweled thing I hold


Third string.
Muted laughter.
Strangled meaning.
Nothing fits.
It's all too much.
The death of the sun.
Last march.
Orange defeat.
Splendorous.
12-bar Blues.

Going on and on.

I'm asking myself: what happened to my pinpoint focus?
My mad abandon?
When did I give up those little shards of God?
Is this a momentary pause?
A paradigm shift?
Simply a symptom of a greater problem?
I'm missing a big piece of what used to define me.
I am getting tired of people asking about my life as a performer.
"I'm taking a break." I say.
"Buying a house."
The truth is, my heart isn't in it and I don't know why.
It can't be completely explained by the brightness of the sun
Or by the opaque clouds.
Too sudden for a real change
But too sustained for a simple rest.
I don't choreograph in my head anymore.
I dread the steps it takes to get to practice my art.
I make excuses and waffle about, flapping my arms and whining.
I keep thinking that the energy will just come
That my old sparks of glitter and glass will appear when they will.
That this is just what I'm supposed to do right now.
But I'm afraid that if i wait too long, I'll forget what that
Exquisite crossroads looks like.
I'll have given up on my art, my passion, my dreams and ideals.
"The Show Must Go On", indeed.
Right?

Winner/Winter

Winner, winner, Turkey dinner.
Layers getting thinner, thinner.
And it's only start of winter...

Layers, yes. Feeling like I have two layers of reaction
We all do
And it's more or less a choice
Some days more, some days less,
Of which we see.
And which we feel.
Bring me light, bring me perspective
Show me, because the easy way out
My little shortcuts, prove less helpful
And more harmful
Am I improving, getting stronger or simply substituting?
Sugar for syrup
Rubies for sapphires.

The apple of my diamond eye
You gleam in your red coat.
I roll the words over my tongue, but keep them close
And silent.
Don't read too much into it, my silence.
It's not consent, nor even approval.
"Same" isn't always "Fair" I know
Though you're fairly a thief
Having stolen my thoughts so.

Open wide and swallow hard
This coping cop out really suits my style.
Resplendent in jeweled furs...
How can I resist becoming your accomplice?

Wasn't

It wasn't you and it wasn't me
It was just us, lying there in the dark
Never knowing what to say or how
Whittling away at the cold days and long nights
Carving out the moments to the end
You were a gift
But I couldn't take it
A tear, at the seam
Never fell so far.
Have to is a funny phrase
You're right, I choose to.
And so do you.
But it wasn't just you, nor just me
But the both of us, standing there in the kitchen
That turned, then, and walked away.

Want.

Left to choose
Forced to wonder
Forced.
Wandering between boundaries
Between wants and needs, we figure it out slowly
I rush headlong too often
Excited, steering too far into the weeds, sometimes
We all fall down
We all get up again.
We all spend an afternoon in the corner.
Tired, spent from a week's whirling intensity
Can't tell the difference here between let down and lonely
I've no objectivity left, no aloofness to save me
"I'm on my knees, and the water creeps to my chest."
I've started dreaming again, dreaming of water in pools that swirl about my ankles and thighs.
It doesn't choke me, just slows my way and is frighteningly still.
"I will hold on..."

Cant even fake it, left naked.
Cant even lift it, alright.
Take me over, I'll give it.
Drag me into the light.

The back and forth
The ups and downs
The fog that creeps up behind me and steals something precious
But always leaves me with more.
The flaming in and out that also leaves me with more.

Constant companion, does one of us ever win?

Love me for.

All you ever wanted.

So simply put, but so heavy with meaning.

Heavy in my mind and on my shoulders.

Of course I wish things were different

I wish it were enough, just you and I.

I wish sometimes that things were easier, that it didn't have to be so hard

I wish, with a smile, that we could drink the kool-aid

That we could just believe, too.

But you see now, how I can't just believe, I have to live

How I can't just go through life without smelling each and every single rose

Who I am, not who you want me to be.

Thank you for making me feel a little less like it's a pathology

And a little more like it's a hymn I sing and my battle cry in life.

Less like it's that the lines are blurred, more like it's just how I am alive.

Thin.

Abundant vs. Overwhelmed.
Spread too thin, as usual.
Can't do enough of enough for enough.
And yeah I want to know and I want to help
But I want to share too.
Poignant moment, realizing the opportunities to make new rich and touching memories like this one are getting fewer.
Wondering when my time runs out.
Time scrapes past me painfully, making me acutely aware of its grinding on.

Orbit.

You drift back to me, now and again.
How long have I stood here?
How long have I wandered in your closet,
Dim lake sunset washing through your bedroom window
Over earthy knits and gilt wovens.
Our nights spent piled in velvet and feathers,
Summers spelled out in soft-shoe, sole-stolen.
Left plum on the ceiling and love on the door.
We tried to be deep, soulful and earnest.
Walking that filmy line between girls and women.
Both and neither all at once.
Everything was all at once, there was no time to lay it out, to be sure of anything.
So we stumbled through the glass and left our younger selves behind, bleeding and clinging in the wreckage.
They comfort eachother still.

Now that the days march in a regiment, now that our heads spin a little slower, I wonder if you are lonely.
Or jealous.
If you know I know you lied.
Most of us want to be more than we are, but you let it get in the way.
I wonder if you ever got it fixed.
I didn't, just learned to make it work for me.
I wonder how long I have been standing here.
Here, among the weeds outside your door.
I don't knock, I never do.
I think my soul knows that when the time is right, when we've come full-circle again, it won't be so hard or far to reach to simply
Open your door.

Heartbeats

I follow your heartbeat, your hoofbeats toward the sun
The sun, the moon, the blinding stars
The sand and earth and shining sky
The wind in sheets
The rain on rooftops
Slowly pounding down the sound
Slowly drowning out your name

The blue, the green they pull me closer
They bring me in and tear me down
Scatter my last ashes
Whisper my soul's secret aloud.
Strip me bare, shiver naked screaming bleeding
For one solid chance.

I howl.

My lips my feet my fingertips
Are made of sand.
My ears my throat between my legs
Shout forth hollow empty words
Draw me down and bring me closure
Open eyes and shut my chest
I'll gasp and grasp and hold it in
This, my song of longing and release.

Right.

"Shove another dragon down a hole."
Off this cliff again
Hold me, keep me, let me.
Close to safe, next to whole.
Dreaming syrup, changing with the leaves.
It's working, just now.
It's not easy, but is it ever?
So glad to be swimming with the current, letting it carry me downstream where it will.
One year later, learned so so much
About me, you, us and them.
About right and wrong and when to just keep my mouth shut.
About triggers, about how easy it really is to be that girl.
About the things that really matter.
Eyes crossed, a little constellation points the way.
I am cautious, and willful and thoughtful and joyful.
I am joyful.

"Please stop haunting me." I wrote. And am learning to be less surprised by the response.

Horses.

My endlessly tinkering and generally mechanically inclined spouse spent the better part of the last 2.5 days with his head under our toyota truck, trying to figure out why it suddenly wouldn't start. He tore a bunch of wiring apart, tested *absolutely* everything with his ohmmeter and ammeter. He thought he had it narrowed down to the alarm system, but he wasn't sure. He cussed and spat and threatened its family and still it would not start.

Finally, about 10:00 last night, he came in where I was packing last night to say "I have given up. I have tried everything, I can't make it start, so we have to take the bus." His 1981 VW bus does. not. go to Burningman. This was serious. "Let me look at it," I asked. "Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes helps."

He begrudgingly led me under the hood and showed me a couple of things and sighed heavily. I grabbed the keys and jumped in the cab to see what the ignition (or lack thereof) sounded like. When I turned the key, I noticed the low, flickering lights and that some things worked while others didn't. This looked like a classic electrical Gremlin that I had met with before. I jumped out and carefully persuaded him to replace the battery, "humor me," even though his gauges said it was perfectly fine.

He doggedly swapped batteries and I jumped back in the cab where *lo and behold* the thing started up instantly. He just stood a moment with his face in his hands.

This moment brought to you by the Rules of the House of God: "when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras."

Choice.

Walk a thin line, a fence between fields?
One gate or the other,
One place or another.
I could stay, you know.
I could give in to that urge to escape
Start over, all new, all in again.
Just let it all go.
Hold me here, hold me down, I keep walking my line,
Gaze fixed firmly on the horizon.

Summer rain.

I laid in bed curled in soft sheets
I threw open the window to let in the storm
I remember falling in love to this very music
The song of rain on the lush maple, the pavement wet from a thousand little licking rivers
I remember lying in another bed years away and thinking I could stay there, by your side for the rest of forever.
Wondering- would we click together, easy as if we'd never been apart?
Could this fire of passion burn bright enough to light the way through the darkest places? Could we lean on eachother, and learn and grow and live together? Would we share the world, or simply this moment?
Oblivious cars pass by on the streets outside, the clouds drum on, and moments have stretched into months and years and I am back in these sheets, in another lifetime, listening to the rain and thinking of you.
Listening to the rain, and still in love with you.

You or I.

I turn a cobbled corner and am surprised to find you here.
Not sure who has been following whom, again
But here you are.
I catch sight or scent of you here or there-
The tail of your scarf,
A whispered promise
A crumpled leaf with your watermark.
I catch up now and then, or you do
We do
And we tango for a moment
Dance a tangled waltz across a square.
I touch you with my fingertips,
Grasping cloth or hair
And find you made of iron smoke,
Magnetic ephemera, if there was ever such a thing.
We whirl in step a moment,
And then you're gone.
I am left standing alone by the river,
Your breath left on my skin.
Will we always meet and part this way?
Will I always be left to wonder when?
Will you ever whisk me away, or I you-
I'm not sure who chooses whom, I or Madness.
I'm only sure you'll always beckon from my own shadow.

Flow.

Mixing signals, cross a great divide
I have a hard time with intrinsic value,
I want to know what it means to me, and I'll warn you
Rules at odds are easy to circumvent.
Absolutes beg exceptions
And I can find a justification in my heart.
Dripping water calms me tonight,
And that feeling, like flying, soaring even
Flow in flight that makes my muscles ache for more
Lift me up, raise it up
This small sacrifice.
A few cells here and there- "does it hurt you?"
Of course it does.
Everything worthwhile has to hurt a little.

Home?

Dusty hills heave weeds onto their humped backs.
Ever digging, digging slowly toward eachother that they might overtake a valley verdant with joy.
Roof rocks roll slowly, molasses churning downhill.
The sky is duller here, the light refracted less, I guess.
Cracking mud and blowing silt whisper their fortunes in my ear.
I'm homesick for anywhere but here.
We'll raise it up, we'll light a fire, til there's nothing left to burn.
We'll call it down, draw you in, show it all to you.
And then sweep it aside, give it back and breathe again.
Then, we'll breathe again.

Recover.

Grasping at straws,
sun-bright through holes in my skin.
Still waking up, waking up, waking up...
I am ready to be done with this,
But it's not quite done with me.
My heart hammers through my ribs,
Frantic, caged fluttering thing
My breast-bird would burst forth if it could.
It rubs it's feathers off and nerves raw jumping and crashing to get out.
My poor heart, strung out, bedraggled.
I'm trying to find a lesson in this
Trying to find the love and lifting height I was sent for.
But the sounds and the furies keep me blind.
Keep me mute.
Keep me captive in my own bones.

Trip.

My mouth is dry

Branches reaching for my soul held hostage

Sent on a journey, willing but unwitting

Wish I could figure out what it is I learned

Love, lift our light.

Wings like burning, like night's passion.

I'm starving for redemption.

I see your texture miles away

And I'm afraid it means I've lost.

Secondary.

If I were you I would enjoy this too.
Wonder if I am something fully automated
Somehing programmed well
Offer, left and waiting.
We are our own broken lights.
Our own sticky hands
Our own better decisions.
"Overwhelmed," I said.
Alone, to my own devices.
Left in the dark, I chose right.
Like I said, left and waiting.
This is my consquence. My second breath.
My perspective.

Oh, to be the other one.
Oh, fortune. I know it's you pounding my temples.
I know it's your wailing.
But soft you now, bring your child anew.
Bring it closer; that I might finally understand.

String.

One, two, three.
Rollercoaster.
Headlong.
Questions to be answered.
Even asked of you.

Like old places, graying at the edges
Like sunken powerlines
Sinkhole yawning outward.
Lovely dried petals stroke my cheek and try to comfort my heaving.
Even the rug sighs in pity.
Nothing alarms or even ticks.
A light clatter in the hallway is less distracting than it should be.
Hyperfocus trained on the dusty page in my hand,
I wait.

Post-haste.

Mixing worlds, colliding more or less
Less and less- too many expectations
Too few experiences.
Open and shut offer turned down.
Turn me down, I simply turn it up.
Go.
My wild nature gives chase.
I give in.
Wild eyes and foaming at the mouth, I rattle in my cage.
Beat my tarry wings at the bars.
"Just tired," I lie.
I saw my stars in your eyes, yes I still see colors, yes I still quicken my pace.
Falling into the blue night, like a one-off tune,
I find myself unable to reach past my elbows, some psychic palsy imprisoning.
Stumbling a stutter-step two three
Lurch four five
Wretch six seven eight.
"You can't feel..." the fuck I can't.
You have no idea.
Pretty and sparkling, perfect.
I know what you want and just how to give it to you and at the end of the day I scrub off the camouflage and make the mistake of looking in the mirror.
Could you help but feel the same?
Not quite right. Left open too long.
"I watched you as you disappeared..."
Watch me disappear.

Mischief.

I ate my breakfast in the shade by the river.
I thought about how ridiculous I might look,
Sputtering and flapping my way along the current
Soaking orange tank top and losing my hat.
Dramatic, perhaps and drastic but I need something.
I need a shakeup, a shock, a reset.
I daydream alarming measures taken
My turn to disappear
New jewelry
More tattooed.
"What are we doing tonight?"
"Umbrella tattoos."
I want to do somehing rash, irresponsible and selfish. Not harmful, just ridiculous. Just because.
The fast-moving water taunts me:
"Chicken," it says.
"You couldn't if you tried."
"One thing?" I respond.
I have lots of scary things ahead of me today, and they'll tide me over.
Today isn't the day.
But tomorrow might be.

Problem Solving.

Didn't raise my voice.
Didn't call down.
Didn't mean to cause a scene.
Kick higher, next time.
Big picture- fast instructions, I regret not slowing down, I don't know how to do it better.
Some things I hold tightly to, some I can let go
Looking for balance, but only finding slick pavement.

Purulent.

More or less tacit.
Not quite an apology not all approval
Held close.
Radio silence.

Creeping itch, just enough to keep me up at night.
A sinister ruby glow- not quite red , but it's insinuated.
Roiling just beneath the surface, a battle takes it's shape
Forms it's lines
Wars won and lost, the spoils drip out on the floor.
Stay or go, reasoning presented against the surging tide.
Take arms, gentlemen.
Or take to your legs.

Second.

It would be hard.
I wouldn't want to share with me,
Be compared to me
With all my flaws and precious faults
I am a force to be reckoned with (of nature? Ha.)
I am one of those girls, I think.
Playing my part well, keeping my piece and finding my way across this tightrope without losing my balance much.
I feel like it's cheating somehow, but I recognize that no matter whether I am counting cards or not,
My shadow's a dark place indeed.
I don't mean it.
I try to give as much as I can.
I wish I knew how to do more.
I wonder though if it's that I'm not giving my best, or that what you need simply isn't mine to give?

Day.

Countdown.
Chin up.
Have faith.
Another reminder.
Another sidelong glance.
Go with the flow.
Opportunity.
Perfection.

Worth it. So, so worth it.
Swing wide, uppercut to my self-doubt.
Grace and Providence deal their cards
A death blow to my fear of failure.

Another chance, today.
I am quietly celebrating-
"...this chance to be alive and breathing...",
one year of growth and learning later, love elevates us all,
a simple reprieve
my forever teammate, I will always pick you for my kickball team.

"Curiouser and curiouser...."
I enjoy your peculiarities, the familiarity.
Sharing in it all. Comfortable and comforting, won't you curl your tail 'round my legs and sing me a lullabye?
In the end, you're all I ever needed.
I want it all, but I only need you.

As you were.

"And mercy, mercy in this world..."

Logic vs. animal, rational and desirous

Compete for my attention and affection

Back to where I belong, I suppose.

Better this way.

I'm living life from one rehearsal to the next

And it's starting to get a little old.

"You reinvent yourself every 7 years" someone told me.

I might be getting closer.

7-year itch?

Alone here and awake.

I was reaching, calling out and opened up and trusted that

I could.

It stings a little, but I know better.

Grainy focus

Blurred edges and lines

Fast-forward please to the part where I know my lines?

Where I know what the next page brings?

"...for wise men know what monsters you make of them.'''

Sniffing on the wind, something's coming.

Little twisting vines wrap through my ears scrambling to catch hold.

Tentacles, even. Barbed and envenomed.

I take that leap, I touch that spinning wheel, I climb because

If I never did, I might never make it.

But if I don't at least I tried.

I do it because I don't know any other way.

Because a life lived at anything less than full-speed...

Not that it isn't a life at all, it just isn't a life for me.

Overwhelmed and undernourished

Here your path takes a turn and mine continues straight.

It was nice to walk here a little while,

And I must remember that this way is just as lush,

Just as perfect still as I go on.

Relinquish.

It's the helplessness that gets me every time.
Do I have control issues?
And, is this where it all comes from?
Some misplaced blame
Another story I tell myself about how I could have done more
How this shouldn't have happened and how I need to tell you what happened to me because maybe you will forgive me.
Maybe your absolution will make it go away.
I have to hold on, I have to remember and go over it again- the part where I was wrong or couldn't or didn't. I have to go over it again- as a punishment.
Because maybe I will find something new?
I hold on so tight because it's comfortable- because that ache is a familiar thing.
I want to tell you but I don't. I never do because the truth is, you don't want to hear it.
The truth is, it doesn't really matter.
My purpose is to learn as much as I can
To overcome my fears
To give as much love and light and hope as I can
As much as I can.
And the rest of the truth is, I wasn't helpless in those moments.
I gave of my love.
I dressed her gently and sang her a lullabye and held her with love and care.
I gave a smile, a gentle touch, a laugh.
The real truth is, it's not my fault.
And that story only holds court in my soul as long as I allow it to.
Until I can let it go, and let unbridled joy fill in the cracks.

How do I let go of the purple lips, the crawling, the smells and cracking skin and bones? How to stop my little skeletons their rattling? It's a journey of forgiveness and releasing.
Its comfortable in the dark,
But I don't have to stay here.
I am my own captor- my own judge and jury.

I don't have to pay my soul's ransom in rubies and sapphires.

Eyes up.

An ocean washes in front of me

Clearing a beach of its sand

Clearing away the fears, the loneliness, all the little shells and stones.

The water slowly advances, relentless in its pursuit of the shore.

One step forward, two steps back for the beach.

Belly up, an eternity of helplessness - reeds in the dunes cry out for strength

They scream for relief from the sky.

They wave seeded stems in desperate prayer,

But the sea flows on

The wind keeps blowing

And someday, slowly, the beach will lose.

Alone.

Lots to learn.

Another opportunity for growth

I want to run and hide, avoidance tempts me.

But any opportunity to face my fears

To allay my insecurities

To find the reality that lives between the truth

And the stories I tell myself.

Making up some judgement - it isn't there

Excusing my pathology, maybe I'm not so strange

Sleeping less than I want to

Feels like it's all always falling apart - some Mills' Mess

With 7 flaming, jellied octopi.

I'm sure it looks like it's always together.

"How do you deal with the stress?"

In healthier ways, I think.

I still give in, now and again to temptation

To spite, to destruction and escapism.

Sometimes I still sleep too much

"Everyone you know admires you."

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

Lesson for the day: learning to accept more.

Challenge: fear of being alone.

Surprise: commitment. Avoidance gets me absolutely nowhere.

Don't ask. Or, reasoning.

Got nothing but time on our hands
Sometimes it still does ruin my day
Can this be my sign?
"Dont ask."
I want to be better.
I want to do it right, but right by whom?
Am I justified or simply making excuses?
I want to honor that, something special.
I know the difference but I am the only one here.
I am the only one here.
Catching up, catching up...
Waiting for the momentum to sweep me back into action, conviction, attention.
Waiting for the pendulum to bring me clarity.

Resolution.
I am surprised that despite some dissolution, still a tenuous outcome.
I am somehow pleased, as if it's a job well-done.
It isn't.
I remember my bedside prayer for you and shake my head.

"I can't force these eyes to see the end."
Find a goal, then.
Find an outcome, however dubious at least it's a plan.
A target, a path, a reason for this bloodshed.
If it's gonna hurt, at least tell me why.

Being saved instead

Outward creation inward destruction
Can't save anyone else but you can set that intention
Lots of love and work
Needing guidance and strength
Grab your ankles and open wide
Need to have that discussion
Maybe I spoke too quickly
Seeing it through, seeing right through me.
I see a simple difference, but I guess it's not so simple
Not so easy to draw a line.
But when did partnership become ownership
And when did a kiss become a contract.
And how does one diminish the other?
Exhausting exhausted.
Wish I had more to bounce off of, more sympathetic ears
Less judging ones. Fewer bags to carry.
But none of it's simple or easy
Writing and rewriting my own script's a terrifying process.
Slower than it should be.
"Got nothing but time on our hands" though.
Connection starts like they always do, in that place where the pieces of you and the pieces of me that are lowest on the list get highest on the rail.
But ends up in a whole new field.
I want to be the same, but I find myself selfishly helplessly enjoying being saved instead.

Alter.

Anything.
Anything to look up.
To see farther.
Flirting, dancing with it.
Crossing the line only halfway.
Drop by drop.
Reminds me why I do this
Reminds me there are a thousand ways to bleed
And a thousand more to stem the tide.
Some just work better than others.
Start and stop again
My insecurities bog me down
Like wading through the mud, one slogging step at a time.
Every time I am convinced I'll get to hear "no more"
"no thanks"
"not now"
I know it's in my head- an automatic pattern
A spinal reflex response to getting my box stretched.
But every time I am reassured a little more,
That it's alright for now.
I can stop holding my breath.
Reminding myself that there's a thousand ways to die a little.
"Suicide on the installment plan"
And so the floor stays dirty
And so I do it wrong some of the time.
I'll be the first to say I fuck it up alot.
But the things I do right matter.
The laundry piles up.
I will never be a housekeeper, or the things a good woman should be,
But I promise to be interesting.
Fascinatingly, horrifyingly so.
There's a thousand ways to see it, sometimes a perspective check is necessary.
So I pour myself a lemony nightcap
I enjoy it's bitterness- distracting me from the more acrid thoughts I am helpless to stop.
Whining only, when is it my turn?
A small blow to my fragile ego makes me stiffen, cautious.
Today's sin is: envy.
Is it really worth it?

Opportunity

My shirt says: Absolut: Opportunity.
Opportunity to overcome fear and self-doubt: sweet!
Can I push through this pain (safely)?
Can I keep running til the top of this hill?
Can I keep my mind calm and focused in the dark.
I know my body can handle the mileage-the question is: can I wrap my head around it?

Sudden.

Just not big enough.
Too tiny. Too, too tiny.
Sweet little boy, born too soon.
I wish you a short and peaceful journey.
Go quietly.
Do not cry.
Do not fight or strive.
It's ok to give up, to let go, to slip away into the morning.
Don't reach your tiny arms to the sky, it isn't worth it.
It isn worth the tubes and stabs, the million painful moments between here and any joyful one.
If you ever know joy.
If you ever shout and run and skin your knee.
If you're ever grounded or lose your homework.
If you ever grin a boyish grin.
Chances are you won't.
So leave it all behind, drift off into endless sleep until your turn comes again.

Alien and miniature.
A blurry, bloody, garbled sprout of the forested future planned for you.
I'm sorry for you. For all of you.
And I hope you find your way out.

Sometimes, babies die.
Such a taboo to even think or write... But I know what this one faces,
And in my heart, I hope he dies soon.

None.

Your ghost haunts me through the halls.
You tug at my pants when I stop to breathe.
Startle me around the corner.
Invade my ears with your silence, and echo through my sinuses.
I open my mouth to forget for a moment, and fail again.
I was ok earlier, but superstition overcomes logic
Limbic overcomes conscious.
My reptilian brain destroys me again.
Like a fog, like a choking mist from an age-old waterfall: it never stops, thunders on from a stream to a river over the edge, and who is to say- who draws the line between the pounding downward force and the fine lifting fairy drops. They are one and the same- carving the rock and filling the air and so they are one. And so they are one.
My eyes sting, lungs burn and hands ache, grasping at straws for a meaning, an answer.
A cause or a cure, I have neither.
So, follow me if you will.
Scratch at my neck, howl in my ear.
Boast your very existence, until you forget how to be, swept downstream over the rocks.
A cause, a cure, meaning or answer, I have none.
None.

Desert.

All the things we said, all the skies you heard.
Gentle, broken, twisted words.
All the laughing loving moving on
Held me in the morning light.
"The only woman..."
Complicated.
"I thought it was headed that way..."
Wish it had, but it all really does flow in the right direction.
Whether that be toward or away, it is as it should be.
I am as I could be.
I could be with you.
Shaking, trembling trying something new.
But I am left in the driveway,
Holding my keys, dribbling memories onto the concrete.
Before this dream melts into the sunrise,
Before we dry off completely,
Before we start to clean up the mess we live here in,
Before we even begin,
Hold my hand, open your heart, let me in.
I'll send you back out again, whispering and grinning your small triumphs.
A mess, yes. When you jump this high, it's a long way down.
Sometimes, we have to stop and scrub our elbows clean again, but the times we do are so worth the times we don't.

Working Title.

Bodily harm.
Stretched too thin.
Goal.
Overboard, overwrought.
Phone call in the night.
Looking forward, I have a choice of focus.
Downward slope.
Open water.
Take me home.
That brief, electric touch- one moment met carries me through.
Superstition, jinx. Murphy's Law. Always.

Going for some wide open space.
Clean air, goodbye.
Clear night, bright sky.
Temporary license, leave your trace.
Decipher your intent, you're intense, test my patience.
Death by veiled negligence.
Loving your quiet, awkward elegance.

Higher.
One.
Indignance.
Rude and vicious.
Whirlwindbluroutoffocus.

Forgive me my melodrama, it's in my history.
Sometimes, I just can't help myself.
I dip a toe in, and stir it up.
Woolly little caterpillar on my finger, you're terribly cute and amusing...
Can't wait to see your wings.

Process.

Just let go.
I know it's just that simple- to just release, "relinquish", give it up.
To not give it more power or meaning than it really has.
To not get wrapped up in a story starring me.
But...
Dark lips move behind smoldering eyes, a puffy white flash smeared in red yawns in slow motion. I taste metal. I still breathe bitter and liquid.
Wild-haired and slack-jawed, I rinse torn skin over and over again in my dreams,
But I cannot seem to wash it away.
And so, I wonder though these images have taken a life and a command their own: if I can learn what I am supposed to learn, simply find the right perspective...
Can they hold me ever less captive in their grasp?

A & R

Wax doll, eyebright no more.
Paper peels away, cherry-red beneath.
Crying wax tears, here, too.
Crumbling where you should be filling.
Chafing and breaking where you should be bouncing.
Another go around, I know.
Wasn't right this time, I am sure.
Reason for everything, yes.
But it's all little comfort.
It all pales in your presence.
Tiny stolen breaths whisper over my shoulder.
Am I there yet?
Take me home?

Rough-hewn.

Avail me of your senses, if you please.
Give over to me
Your glassy eyes
Your forked tongue
Your layers of skin-thin paper
Your taste in clothes.
Give me that other sense,
The one between, the one that you're unsure of
But never betrays you.
I will treat them carefully,
And be sure to hand them back when I am done.

Smoke.

Mwen regret sa.
I found a fount of rubies, one day-
Sapphire gleaming in a puddle beneath my feet
I dug down in this shining mountain
And found exactly what I was looking for.
Deep under each of our lies
Lies a sleeping dragon: heavy-lidded but just as dangerous.
A threat to the frail threads that hold us together.
A warning to tread carefully over the coals.
I regret. I regret shaking it awake- the marks it's claws left and the charred edges of my confidence remind me to go slowly, step lightly, and keep watch for precious stones that make my mouth water,
But must never be touched.

Unconditional.

Breathe it in.
Breathe it out.
Breathe it in.
Let it go.
It wasn't ever mine to have in the first place.
I owe/own nothing, and so do you.
No contract here, nothing written nor signed.
Just love and temporary shelter given freely.
The logic behind my eyes makes sense and elevates us all.
By my heart's gentle insistence whispers a story of missing. Of innocent regret. Of a very empty space.
It's fibers pulling slightly, and a low ache that lets me know I'm real.
Lets me know that there's still work to do.
The next stepping-stone ahead is a step up, closer to healing, to putting it all together.
It's a step apart.
I know what happens, I know we always start with the best intentions but they end up fading quickly.
Light-years away, I'm pushing back out into the water. I don't know what else to do.
I'm sorry. I never did.
Breathe it out.
Let it in.
Send it through.
And if faith does carry this intent, if you ever make it, I'll still be there.

Simple.

More homework on my list-
Presence, expression and now meditation.
I ran today, farther from home than I wanted,
Further than I should have.
I don't think I am running away,
More to something that's always just at my fingertips.
"...If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I'll never look any farther than my own backyard..."
It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you have... It's being fully present with each experience, enjoying every moment, not always planning the next move, the next jump, this week's checkmate.
It's doing less with more.
It's paying attention within and without.
We're more different, perhaps than we imagined. But find significance in similar things: love, kindness, acceptance and growth.
Accepting your kindness, accepting my own growth and remembering that in the end, it's only love that you carry with you.
Your heart is weighed against a feather, and if it's filled with joy and light, it is it's own reward.
Simply be happy.
I hope someday that I figure out how to make it just that- simple.

The toxic roils off you in waves.
Concrete heat, or
Wax factory drippings.
A grease housecoat that smells faintly of jealousy.
Of anger.
Of loathing.
Keep it at arm's length, a ten-foot pole or a thirty-foot drop.
Drop you like a hat, be careful and don't slip.
It's oily here. The kind you can't wash off.
Or don't.
A sidelong glance, tilted chin or narrowed eye
Reminds me to trust my own judgement better
And trust you less.
I may not be right, but I am not a tower to be toppled
No false idol
No conspiracy here.
Simply all of us doing our very best with what we have
And if that doesn't meet your standard of quality, and if I don't understand how your abrasiveness gets you ahead of me somehow,
Then I suppose I will go my way, and you yours, and we'll let the evidence speak for itself.

Left.

The last of your tentacles unravels itself from my head.
A little from my soul, a little from my memories.
I am ready to open that little package, now.
I felt critical before, confused but it's just that I wasn't ready.
Just breathe.
Pass by.
Yellow pink and blue.
Separate but parallel but separate.
Where we overlap.
Simply do things that make you happy.
Quiet mind.
Bright heart.
Heal me slowly.
Everything helps, everything counts.
"the greatest of these, is love."
Fight less, and you live more.
Compassion, reflection, deliver me from stagnation.
Deliver me from fear, from loneliness, from insecurity.
Through the fire, enlightenment comes out of the darkest places.

Seeing around the corner.

"Stand in front of you, take the force of the blow..."
The force of your sight
Your seeing my believing endlessness
Colors flash I'll be your red-green blindness
Keep it secret, keep it safe before it burns you to the ground.
Living lightning out of place
Inward journey's outer space
Take it hold it help it leave
Your loving my stumbling when did I get so graceful...
When did I ever learn to dance?

High standards mean that I'll never disappoint you as much as I fail myself.
I should have run, today.
I should have spent the moments between patients thinking about rehearsal instead of finding stilted and thready connections.
They fill a sort of craving, but never quite enough.
I should learn the violin.
And French- I am good at languages and shouldn't squander that talent.
If I only tried harder and worked more at it, I could be that girl.
But, the more I look around, the more I see I'm actually closer than I think.

"If I don't own it, it can't own me."
A simple observation, complex revelation
With heavy implications for my insidious disease.
I carry it with me like a banner or a torch
Like a blanket or a bear
Something I return to when I've nothing else to do
I realize it's good energy wasted
That I'd be more efficient if I could be
But it's just so damned comfortable.
Find another pattern, here
Find another out, another way to be fulfilled
Fear fakes it's influence with a pompous and empty threat.
And if I can ever be free,
I might have to learn to open my eyes again.

Innocence.

All bleeding stops.
The brain is self-destructive.
Cards held close, very close for me to bat and stumble at the outside.
Crashing headlong as usual.
Time to check my answers, I made an ok decision and didn't suffer the usual consequences.
The usual inferences fail me now,
Highly suspect, little winged thing.

I remember the illustration of Pandora's Box from my childhood,
Hope, it had wings.
All bleeding stops, one way or another.
The brain, once injured, is programmed to continue to destroy itself until there is nothing left to think about.
Pestilence had fangs.
Sorrow was all beak, like the Mome Raths.
Hate ran the other way, black and stringy like a clot hung from a sheet.
But only Hope flew up.
She and I, paired in our desperate fluttering go anywhere we're welcome.

Somewhere beautiful.

What.

Under a spell, or something.
Knowing more and seeing through.
Resisting the tug of a downward spiral, despite myself.
Decadence in silent comfort and a shooting star's blessing give me confidence.
What or why, either way the wind blows me where it will, and so far following along has been a journey edged with gold.
Keeping my focus
I am consumed
I am intrigued- what's coming around the corner and what precious gift will land in my lap?
To answer: happy, a friend, teacher and taught.
Because I am fascinated, attracted, because I am pulled and spellbound. A little like a crazy little moth, I want in in the worst way.

You don't really belong in your skin: I hope you can take a little warmth from mine.

Big Dipper

Six points of contact, and you've struck every one.

Wild, confused thing needing focus,

Poor child, you know that shift isn't fleeting

That ribbon leaves its searing mark, insidious red letter

A changed thing, striking blind at the whirlwind

Unaware of your limits, your strengths

And denying your weaknesses and their permanent effects.

Lace burning holes in your skull

And your resolve.

We're all trying to find the answer to the same questions.

All trying to both see the connections, and see through them...

Look up.

Look through the chaos and the glittering distractions

That faint constellation of truth, hope, love, and promise - it shines down on all of us.

Some brighter than others, but we're still all looking up at the same bright star.

Behind bars. Or, open/shut.

Hold on tight, fragile thing.
Hold it dear and close.
Keep it quiet as it may never be as much as it could.
Lucky, fortunate, thankful for this chance to grow.
This is only a warning. Not your first red flag, but maybe the biggest and, I hope, the last.

Sleep, dream of me as I dream of flying castles too great and rivers of stone and tiny, sacred things.
They tell me the truth, these small things.
They say this is all we will ever have.
That I had better pay attention, the answers are closer than I think.
And those answers matter less than I want them to.

Muse.

"Duel Nature"
I have a dual duel of my own.
Days seem brighter, nights shorter.
Doubt, a delusion, swerves outside it's lines.
I have a habit to learn.
You're right, I am always looking for the next big thing.
It's wanting what you have, I know, but I need more for now.
It's a phase, let me stumble a little please.
3-year-old tantrums or 15-year-old angst, it's not forever and no matter how much you explain and entreat, I still have to kick my heels on the ground to see whether or not it will open below me.
Someday, everyone should see the Grand Canyon with their own eyes.
You should compare Niagara Falls to the post card, because you cannot print the lace and fog, the browning leaves, the rolling thunder bass, the little details that create an experience.
I may have slipped a little on the rocks, I may be cold and wet, but I got to see it for myself.
Understanding vs. Acceptance.
Support vs. Consent
Thinking vs. Feeling
Why vs. How vs. Now...
Someday I'll be satisfied, my hunger for new things. Thank you for your love and patience.
Thank you for an intriguing opportunity.
"A wise man in the making."
I swerve outside my own lines sometimes, reject the default for no other good reason.
I know where my home is, though. I know where safe is.
I am learning to talk less and breathe more.

Dual lessons in the earth and the clouds.

Through the trees

This is my tell.
I want to write.
I want to tell the story of my lonely heart.
I want to breathe warm air
I move less, sleep more.
I ache.
Maybe I start reaching for things that fill in.
"Shove another needle down a hole"
More caffiene, endogenous opioids.
Cheap thrills, expensive mistakes.
Chipping away at my eggshell exterior.
No attention span,
Needing attention, protection.
Acute disappointment, guilt and confusion,
Razor-sharp and hair-thin.
A blue eyed woman combs my souls from the wall.
I won't give in, this time.
It's always the last time, the last one.
You never plan it, and it's always deeper
Than we imagine.
I am ineffective. Good for little more than
Navel-gazing.
And it kills me to see again.
For the thousandth time- people never change.
There's a power where I don't want it.
Such power, always more than we imagine.
If you've never been there, you cannot understand.
You will never know. And maybe, while I am learning more about myself- I am powerless to effect sustainable change.
Maybe I don't have it figured out.
Maybe it's because I like being this way.
This is my tell, she said.
Can't see the forest through the trees, so we look for the tell-tale signs: fallen logs, and a leaf or two give it away. Back here again, eh?
Well, then I have learned nothing. Nothing.

Which way out.

"Please... Please let me in."
Don't shut me out I won't let you down.
Alway here, never left. Never left you
You never left me.
Finding what's right, what's still left to say
Trying to believe in the best of intentions
But still wondering if, deep under the water
If I had something to do with it.
If it had something to do with us.
Fixing by adding, one-plus-one-plus
Keep piling on until one day we turned around and found nothing left.
Two wrongs. Trying to make it right.
Trying. That's all I can ever promise.
Taking on another project- who's collecting broken wings now?
Who's the one with the mangled menagerie?
Darting, cagey, but holding my cards out for all to see.
Jumping- was that the word?
Shall- ten extra points?
Wet- aren't we?
Deep under water, yes. There's a dim silence in the night, between the swaying trees and creaking rafters.
There's a quiet longing.
A jeweled threat.
A standing offer.
Whether right or wrong the "only thing left to do is jump..."
I'm excited about possibilities. I have faith in the right opportunity. I am keeping my head out of the drink. Treading water well.
But it's still just under my chin.
And I'm not sure I would like it any other way.

Home.

Back home now. There was some confusion in the morning Thursday that had us waiting for our pilot for 4 hours at the Les Cayes Airport. It's the same in many tropical places - island time! Our trusty old jalopy of a Cessna carried us through the green mountains north of Les Cayes and out over the Caribbean. I was so sad to leave so much suffering behind. Sad I couldn't do more, sad to leave the few friends I had made. There's so much to do there, so much. I felt selfish about wanting some vietnamese soup, a bigger seat on the airplane, and a long, long, long shower. Guilt creeps in a little around the corners - but I have to remember the standard is so different in the US. We all do what we can. I paid what I am sure is a year's salary in Haiti for a sooner ride home. Got home at noon on Friday - tired, but running on adrenaline and the excitement of being home.

Everyone asks me "How was Haiti?" At first, I said "Great!" and kept a positive attitude about things. As Friday wore on, I started feeling a little worse, a little overwhelmed and got more honest about it.

"Interesting."

"Nuts."

"Intense."

I tell the stories about the things I saw- the maggot-infested leg, the amputations, the lack of care, medicine, supplies, organization. The people I met - the thankful teenagers, the singing man, the surgeons both Haitian and foreign doing all they could. The frustrations we all had.

I don't tell enough, though the things I learned. I learned some about myself and I strengthened my faith in the inherent goodness of the human spirit. Most of all though, I was reminded that the only thing that matters in life is relationships. I am convinced that if there ever is a Judgement Day, we will not be judged on the merit of our actions, the purity of our intentions, or certainly not the size of our cars or houses. In the end, the only thing that really matters is love. I believe that if there is ever a judgement to be made, it will be based on the love that we give and the love we receive.

Each of us exists tenuously. Some of us are lulled more than others into a mistaken sense of invincibility or immortality and this breeds irresponsibility. Everything you have could be taken from you in a moment by a car wreck, a gunshot, an earthquake, a hurricane... And what will you have left? What do you have that cannot be taken from you but the love of your family and friends? What thing in your house, what shiny possession or green dollar bill or job achievement will carry you through the darkest, loneliest times in your life? The people I met in Haiti have nothing but the clothes on their backs, but they smile and sing anyway because they still have love. They have eachother.

There is so much that drives us apart - our cell phones, computers (the one I'm typing on...) transactions, closed-up cars and fences that get in the way of real human interaction. One of the 10 principles of Burningman is decommodification - "resisting the substitution of consumption for participatory experience." (www.burningman.com)

/soapbox

I could preach forever, but I'm not here to criticize or give some sermon on how we need to change the world and tell you the American way of life is bad and all that.

It's just that I got a big reminder to keep the people in my life close to my heart, and let them know how much I love them because at the end of the day, they are all I have ever had, or ever will have.

Day 5 - Wednesday

Wound care again today with people I know. One woman sang hymns to cope with the pain of her dressing change. These are incredibly stoic people. The 4-year-old near the nurses station was hit by a car recently and thankfully had no other injuries besides extensive abrasions on her face. I was asked to put some neosporin on her scabs. She eyed me suspiciously when I sidled up to her, so I blew up a glove as a balloon and handed it to her. The international sign for "It's gonna be ok." Her little face lit right up. She bounced her new toy off my arm and turned her head to the side patiently while I applied goop. She grinned and waved when I moved on. I stopped to play peek-a-boo with her later, and she waved every time she saw me the rest of the day.

The little things.

There was a kitten in the back room where I was organizing. It was shy, but every time I went back to work it would come out from behind the boxes and meow loudly. Whether it was mewing for its mother, some food, or just to be heard, I'll never know. I don't speak enough Creole.

As I walked back to the guest house for lunch, I took a left turn off the road and got about 50 yards down when a boy on a 10-speed rode up next to me. He introduced himself and asked where I was going. I was a little wary but told him I was staying at the guest house. He said "it's not this way." I had taken the wrong turn. He rode back up the road with me and we chatted until I got to my gate. He said goodbye and rode on. These people are kind-hearted. I am a little ashamed of my mistrust.

My EMT friend and I talked more about the difficulties of the situation. There's no heroism here. You can't expect to come in and do a lot of good in a short period of time. Establishing relationships is required to make long-term, lasting changes. I am ashamed of my unwillingness to spend more than a week here.

These people love to sing. They sing their prayers to God - singing hymns of sorrow, praise, humility and thanks. Families, friends and strangers gather around one bed and then the next and all who can join in the melody. One man sang all day from his bed. All. Day. I stopped for a moment to smile, breathe and just listen. I will remember that.

I have all these little memories. The kitten in the storeroom, the boy on the bike, the man in the corner... All these snapshots, moments of connections that I have made. Everything helps. Every smile, every "Bonjour" and "Bonsoir", every touch, every bandage, every pill, ointment, dollar, prayer, everything helps because the need is so great. These people have nothing.

We leave at 7am tomorrow. I am changed a little, in ways I didn't expect. In ways I won't begin to realize for months to come. "Was it worth it?" my husband asked me last night. Yes. Would I do it again? Absolutely. With fewer expectations, and more forgiveness for myself. Will I come back? Maybe. Maybe yes, maybe no. Certainly not for a while, I'm going to need some time to recover.

The right opportunity always presents itself.

Day 4- Tuesday

Today's challenge is in organization- finding a way to get things to the people who need them involves identifying their needs in the first place. What this place could use more than anything is a big, fat needs assessment.
I finally found a rhythm of sorts doing wound care rounds, but I left it too soon, to my regret, again hoping I would be needed more elsewhere. I was wrong, and spent the rest of the short day doing nothing but following people around, trying and failing at being useful. I am dissatisfied with everything- with myself, with the situation, with my inability to function autonomously here and commit to something. I guess I really just do better with structure, but I think it would be hard for anyone to come into a short-term, chaotic situation without a well-defined role. This is not teaching me what I thought it would. It is unfulfilling. I am ineffective. I am a little overwhelmed today, and probably dehydrated but at least I am not sick!
The novelty has worn off, the adrenaline rush is gone, reality is glaring in my face. Heh, it's the 4th day, playa bends set in at burningman about this time... This isn't easy, glamour or glory. Nursing is rarely glorified work, but what did I expect? To those people coming in behind me: have a plan. Have a role you are stepping into, otherwise you'll be totally lost. Know where you're going and what you're doing. Expect all of your plans to change. You are not the expert. There was a routine to things before you got here, and it will continue after you leave, so don't try and shake things up too much. There are lots of problems here- don't become another one. Remember that EVERYTHING you do helps. Every smile, every kind word, everything.
Made some new friends on the ward during wound care rounds. The man in the corner likes his name written on the bandage on his knee. The young woman across the way is one of 3 survivors from her nursing class of 85. The other two survivors are downstairs. She is missing a 6"x3"x4" hunk of flesh from her right butt. Her wound gets packed with wet gauze twice a day - in the US, we would administer heavy doses of morphine for such a large wound. Here she gets a couple of tylenol. She spends most of her day lying on her belly. She likes us to use some alcohol to remove the tape from her 5 or so other bandages so the tape doesn't hurt as much. I kept rounding with an advanced EMT from the US who will be there another 3 weeks. She shared with me some of her frustrations about the constant chaos and well-intentioned volunteers. Some people make promises to help, to send money, to bring kids to the States and then disappear. The Haitians wait for that. They look toward the door every hour to see if their new friend has come back with the food, soccer ball, or other thing that was promised. The Haitians remember. "Relationships are about saying goodbye" she told me. I'll remember that.

We discovered today that the supplies being donated to Les Cayes General - the "county hospital" type facility we started out at - are being sold back to the patients. We had to wait 20 minutes for a man's family member to go to the pharmacy and buy the valium we wanted to administer to him before trying to reset his dislocated shoulder. We were unsuccessful, and scheduled him for surgery. He thanked us when we left. For what, I'm not sure. Now our Ortho surgeon has a fever. We're going home Thursday. I am done.

Day 2-Sunday part 2

I spent Sunday doing what I could as an OR nurse. Without an anesthesia machine, endotracheal tubes, pulse oximetry, cardiac monitoring, oxygen, suction, or even a proper BP cuff, there wasn't much for me to do but take inaccurate manual BPs and a radial pulse. The anesthetist did what he could with spinal anesthesia and ketamine. The Supernatural Anesthetist. He did well, much of the time. Our Ortho surgeon fixed femurs, tibias and a humerus or two. I started an IV in the ER in a man with a large, bloody bandage around his head. I left later after I realized he was in agonal respirations and no-one was going to do anything. I kept looking at him and thinking "he's really sick." "He's REALLY sick. He needs help." "Can't one of our docs see what's under that bandage and do something?"
Oh yeah. There isn't anything to do. If he's bleeding that badly from that much of his head... There's no ICP monitoring, no pressors. If they cut a window in his skull to relieve the pressure, the flies will take up residence there, too. The feeling of helplessness is still with me.
Failure to prevent the inevitable. No attempt at clearly futile heroics. Powerlessness. Humility. Faith. Grounding.
I'll get over it, but I know his stridor will echo in my ears for a little while.

Day 3- Monday

Today we drive around looking for more trouble. At General, there are 2 American teams- one from Maine with 2 Ortho surgeons, an advanced practice nurse first assist, an anesthetist, a PACU nurse and a nephrologist who has spent a lot of time here and serves mostly as an interpreter. We are a ragtag group consisting of a cardiac nurse from NYC an Ortho surgeon from Atlanta, a retired Ortho surgeon from Eugene and me, the labor and delivery nurse. We are a team only because we are sharing housing and a driver, but are seeming to work better together than the Maine crew. There's some friction between the two groups- (Survivor-Les Cayes General...) add that to the chaos of the situation and communication difficulties between all of us Americans and the 2 Haitian surgeons and... Well, we thought we'd see if we could be helpful elsewhere.
Cité Med was crowded and had tiny private rooms. It seemed more a clinic and less a hospital, but there were two cute sisters on the 2nd floor recovering from similar leg fractures who grinned and giggled at us.
Hopiteaux Brenda is usually an ear-nose-throat clinic, but now has big UN tents outside and is seeing all patients. Some American, Canadian, Brazilian and Uruguayan medical staff seemed to have things under control. A nurse that we spoke briefly with told us that without interpreters to help us give care we would be in the way and we could help organize the stock room but that was it. I considered staying to do whatever I could, I could call our driver to fetch me at any time... I should have stayed. I am finding I do better with some structure, and have not had much success at finding my own opportunities or my own way. I have found some security with my new friends and am clinging to them. I hope they don't mind.
I want to be self-sufficient but fear a little for my safety and am not as confident as I want to be. Need my H here, or something. What did I think I was going to do? Start IVs, change dressings, organize paperwork... The nurses here sit behind a desk and chart. I have yet to see one change an IV bottle or give a medication. Not all that different from home I guess- who am I to judge? Language barrier makes it difficult to give instructions or explain a procedure, but I have to remember that love, caring and comfort are universal. And every little thing we can do helps.

Day 2- Sunday

Frustrated by finding a different opportunity than we imagined. Chaos, somewhat. Inefficiency somewhat. No lack of patients, that's for sure but we don't feel like we are doing disaster medicine per say. There are lots of fractures that need fixing, on top of the usual chronic human diseases complicated by scarcity of resources, trained personnel, and wellness knowledge. What these people have in plenty, though, is family, quality relationships and a faith in god. They have more prayer than anything. I am not sure it's helping. Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best- frills and ribbons, tucks and pleats. Another of many ironies here- little girls in fluffy dresses picking their way across filthy, cracked streets, through trash and poisoned water, motorcycle exhaust and skinny dogs to school or church. Chaos, yes they have in plenty.
Maggots. Maggots keep the wound clean, at least. This is a 92 year old gentleman with peripheral vascular disease. His poor circulation has caused what I am sure was a scratch at one point to brew into a large hole in his shin with tunnels that host little friends. They squirm away from the light when we remove his filthy yellow bandage. I am not as squicked out as I would be normally. I am not sure why. The little worms keep the wound a little cleaner, at least. Giving the pseudomonas and staph and whatever else less dead material to grow in and infect the rest of him.
How do they get there? Do flies lay their eggs there? Do all maggots look the same? I wonder about the fly's lifecycle. I wonder about my lifecycle.
Too many doctors, not enough nurses. Doctors fight over cases, try to organize themselves into an effective OR, but without anyone to structure things, they flail a little.
We all do.
Haitians are stoic in the face of pain and laugh, joke and tease their way through daily life. They shout, sing and stomp their prayers, but intense pain is met with a quiet "Oh-oh-oh..." I wonder if we subject them to more pain than is necessary because they do not complain about it. There is no 5th vital sign, here. I saw morphine on one man's chart but haven't seen any evidence of it being used. "Beaucoup doule?" I have learned to ask, despite having nothing but a smile and a pat to help when sometimes the answer is "Oui, oui."

First day.

Sooooo unhappy about having to pare everything down to 20 pounds. Food or notebook. Water purifier or batteries. iPod or socks. This is a game of what do I need, rather than want. This may be a lesson in "enough" rather than strength, fortitude or skill. Flying into Les Cayes, over barren brown hilltops, roads on the ridges mirror the rivers in the valleys. Dusty tracks wind without reason- Haitians create roads where they are needed, not according to any plan. Like everything else in their haphazard, chaotic existence. They cling wherever they can find a ledge or scrap, through political unrest, pseudooccupation, a thousand insults to stability, growth and country (I learned about how the charcoal industry stripped the entire country of it's trees...).
It's a stark contrast to the neatly ordered waterfront estates I flew over in Ft. Lauderdale less than 24 hours ago- each fenced in it's own pool of isolationist narcissism.
I am getting away from myself and am a little jaded.
Namaste, namaste. The God in mee recognizes and honors the God in you. "Hey give me food!". "Hey give me money!" the kids chant at the fence while we unload the plane. A smashed box of donuts swelters in it's embarrassment atop our pile of bags. Each if us brought more clothes (well, I am still a little miffed about my paltry three sets of scrubs...) than these kids will own in their lifetimes. "Hey give me food!" it's the same empty phrase called at fences and ditches and breadlines around the world, with white people on one side... "I need, you have." They cry, fingers bunched at their lips: the international sign for "please, I am hungry."
The language changes, but the words stay the same. Americans get fat on their own privilege.
Here I wax jaded again. Salvation or empowerment? Do we need to give these people food, or teach them...? Do we perpetuate their dependence because it gives us more glory, more gore, more to do, more to save... More to prove?

DFW-FLL

My nurse pen works, but not the black or blue... Technicolor thoughts, crash course in French in green and red. Wishing I had my "kindness" necklace, but my first wedding token and "namaste" rock will do just fine to remind me both why I am here and where I am home. "The God in me recognizes and honors the God in you.". Namastizzle!!
The state of Florida has interesting topography. A giant swamp; trees stand in isolated groves, clumped like a skin cancer. Like colonies of staphylococcus in an agar plate with their burned- out cores. I thought: look at this, miles of dead trees! There are spots of green here and there, but all the thousands of dead ones! And here, a house in the center! What virus, what beetle or chemical hath wrought it's wrath here and aren't the inhabitants of these houses concerned....?
Oh. Yeah. It's January. All the trees here are deciduous, even the coniferous ones. They aren't dead, just denuded of leaves, hibernating for the winter. I must be from the Pacific Northwest.

The night before.

Stuffed a small orange teddybear down in my bag, down past the box of sutures, the baby bottle, the IV needles & electrocautery. It's wrapped around my big serrated knife- who's protecting whom in this disquieting juxtaposition? I just have no idea what to expect.

Haiti.

And the show, it goes on.
Wish I knew a little better where we stand.
Knee-deep? 'Elbow deep inside the borderline'?
'Leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.'
We all sang that in the cab on the way to the airport, home from Thailand. I don't remember leaving home, I just remember the journey back.
Chance to learn, chance to grow...
It seems I am only fully living when I am riding the ragged edge of disaster.
Riding this disaster, thank you for the 'chance to be alive and breathing'.
I will be back, but not all of me. I know it will be different, I will be different.
I am afraid.
A little of what I'll see and feel, but mostly of the big bugs. Somewhat of the possibility of danger. But, statistically it's either cancer, heart disease or a car wreck that's gonna get me in the end. Given the choice, I'll take my chances with the confusion and the mosquitos.
'I have no regrets, except that I wish I had danced with you.'
It was so nice to hear such love, encouragement, and approval from everyone. I know there is a piece of your heart that is terrified too, but another piece would go with me if you could, or at least realizes why I am thus compelled.
Glad I stayed to dance a little tonight, even though I smell a little like a stripper.
Glad I am taking the opportunity. The universe always presents me with the right one.
Here goes.

Last.

Head up.
Eyes on the prize.
Just breathe, keep it together
Keep it all close in.
Breathe now, tighten up a little.
Suck it in, burning in all the right places.
Focus sharp and narrow.
No room for doubt, no space for what if
No wavering.
There is no fence, only the dull roar behind the heat.
Turn it up a little.
More.
Faster.
A reaching whine, a yearning ache
Pit.
Higher.
Almost, even, drag, falter.
Close, slow, fail, wide.
Fail.
Finishing's just not as sweet, anymore.

Prayer for the clouds

Giving up or giving in
Feels like surrender
Surrendering to an inevitability, though
Like death, like taxes, knew you'd be back
Back to leer over my shoulder at the light I hold
Back to cast your stabbing shadow.

Six senses cloudy, dulled creativity, heaving and limits and a bruise to my pride.
One, or the other, I'll take your dizzy delirium
Over deletion.

Twisting twigs scratch toward the sky
A small, growling animal scratches in my chest
Howling it's indignance at the injustice
Imprisoned there.

Vivid sunrise in all your raucous introduction of the day,
Help me see the silver lining.

Balance

I'm a shadow boxer, a tightrope walker
My bright's a little dimmer here without your light.
Shoulda woulda coulda
Star-crossed and tongue- tied
Wherever I make my life.
Doomed from the start, just simply not to be
Sing me a lullaby, won't you sing me to sleep.
Tell me another story again, won't you
It'll mean more this time.
Your jokes would fix everything
My laughter a little more bitter, sorry.
That new year's resolution to do whatever it takes
To make it right, play it right, do it right for once
Feel like I did you wrong so long.
Looking forward to living with less stress
Less fear.
I only wanted more love, my dear.
Ten thousand days to say I love you
Ten thousand ways to succeed at life,
But like you said: I have to find the one way to get good at living.
I'm sorry that path led me away instead.
Losing what I thought I wanted,
What is it we are losing for?
What was it I was fighting for?
And will I ever find it, again?
Fourth time's a charm, I guess.
I have the pieces gathered close, now I want the rest.