Trois poemes d’une rose #shattered 1981 “Where I Laid Me Down To Sleep” (for) #novel

rosa1:july

These are probably some of the most difficult poems I ever wrote.  I fell in love with someone who hurt me so very much.  I was used as a MUSE, by this person.  The agony in my own life during the early years in college, and then afterward?  One must be careful when one loves.  Be very careful.  It took me many many years to write the novel “Where I Laid Me Down To Sleep.”  I wrote it in total truth.  The wound made me suicidal, after what I had to do.  And then I had to stay alive.  I wanted to die.  I stayed alive.

I used to live in this little apartment that looked out to sea, and as I was writing college papers there, these poems date from that time.  I had to go into therapy after this relationship.  Many years later, as I was trying to have a  baby with my husband I went again, and from that course of three years of therapy weekly,  I decided to become a therapist for others myself.  I helped many, as I had been helped.  Perhaps, now, via film, and the writing of characters, I can stop a wound – for the millions by illuminating what happened to a young girl who was so in love, and so shattered.

So, I was this girl.  This day at Neptune’s, when he cut me to the core.  Nothing could have been as bad as the day this photograph was made.  Nothing.

Image 40

I had left Los Angeles to stop the relationship with this art teacher.  But he kept driving up.  I meant nothing to him.  I was very much in love with him.  He was my second relationship.  I was a muse for an artist.  A photographer.  Except that I was a photographer myself.  He didn’t realize that I came from a family with two very famous men of film.  I never told him, then.  Nor did he realize who my first love had been?

When he made love to me, he told me he wanted to plant his seeds inside me.  Every time he came he said that, and he claimed that wearing a rubber – well, he couldn’t feel anything if he did.  He impregnated me.   It was at the bitter end of October of 1981.

December 9th 1981.  A day that I can never forget.  He killed my heart.  In those days men used Roe v Wade as a very convenient “out” but.  I really believed him, and I loved him.

He lied to me.

Years later as a therapist, I treated a young girl that was as innocent as I had been, except even younger.  “Where I Laid” is to address what happened.  For my character Natasha Evergreen.  I am hoping very much to have the film realized by two of Hollywood’s old guard finest.  My intervention as a therapist will help foster dialogue.

This is the Saturn Return in my life.  One looks back.

So I wrote these poems, looking out to sea.

#1

Inside this sargasso sea of strangers

a couple pairs

off a couple the eyes tend to meet

then lower

these minds met one unlocking the other

slowly letting the facts sink in

one taking the lead one following

one decision was reached when we

sped down freeways laughing

sped around looking for any destination

I fought the pull as long as I could

other people’s histories are so charming

this kind of curiosity tends to kill

maybe it was your BMW your hand

shifting gracefully in time to

blasting

blast me apart yes it was the way you

drove and drove me to this

I guess I knew that you would

make love to me the way you drove cleanly

slide inside your kind of knife

leaves only invisible scars

these kinds of wounds heal by themselves

in time

or maybe it was your camera a dangling

appendage most powerful its own kind

of magic that must be it I thought you were

some kind of well-traveled magician

well versed in the arts are you just like me

in that you always get what you want no

matter what the cost?  I love the fact that

only certain people meet only certain people sleep

together out of need  why out of all the other

people in the world certain people slip into each others

or maybe it was San Francisco never mind the

east coast that always held the greatest fascination

beatnik dreams never mind if you were

too young at that point it’s really fun to absorb

someone else

inner secrets inner core the inside of a

chambered mind never mind the heart because

osmosis that’s it everyone wants that kind of

total immersion that kind of meshing that click of

gears the hum of the motor telling you you’re

alive again I don’t blame you for that

just when you drive in the spikes of truths

those kind of thorns do it slowly and savor it

because I will be if we get lucky

it’s too bad we can’t turn it around and just go back

to LA freeways when I didn’t know you so well yet

just to the point when I began to want to want you

a little for the thrill of it

how much are you going to cost me in the long run

now that we’ve paid the price of admission?

~

*so, that was written when I had moved north to get away.

 

~

#2

this is the hardest poem I ever had to write

rosa1:july

“you used to give me roses”

you used to give me roses

one perfect rose

like a perfect life

and I looking at that perfect life

I had to tear it apart

expose the center

past each perfect veined petal

past the subtle gradation of

softest color

peach rose white cream magenta scarlet lavendar

or the deepest red which fades to black

when I in my foolishness tried preserving

the moment and the scent

 

other times you brought a handful

claiming, “these are the last ones in my garden”

but you’ve always had a year round supply

 

how can I make you cry?

should I tell you I was a rose

when that doctor came in with the smile on his lips

I want to show you the center

of a perfect life the center of the rose

if you’ll let me ramble

past all these tangled petals dropping

like bombs on our conversations

each petal must be a moment

no one ever played he loves me, he loves me not

with a rose except me

you gave me roses

and you gave me one perfect rose once

like a perfect life

and I looking at that perfect life

I had to tear it apart

expose the center

expose my own heart in the process

that rosebud & my heart

so much the same, so much the same in fact

that when he

came into that room with that smile on his lips

and pulled apart the petals to find other petals

and more petals and more

past veined velvet

past each subtle gradation of

softest color

peach rose white cream magenta scarlet lavendar

or the deepest red which fades to black

when I in my foolishness tried preserving

my own heart

and all the petals

that I’ve saved all the roses

can’t ever replace that one perfect rose I held for a moment

inside me.

 

~

rosa1:july

#3

“come winter I will teach you how to prune the roses”

will it be that way before harsh weather

when the frost sets in before the fog and the city

smiles for christmas

coming

will it be that we hold hands and laugh and decorate

another bed in a different space across the pages

of our lives & Times

will it be that you will still be laughing

striding in the sun grey with the rain

I’ll bring the white birds out

I’ll bring the box with lights, the symbols

maybe we might wish together once again

amid the wrappings and unwrappings

by the lights of other candles

will it be that we still care for tastes of tongues

and softened lights and softer words

i’ll go out into the garden planting

all kinds of bulbs they’re going to flourish

under my hands they will in every shade of rose

and when the skies grow deeper black before the morning

will it be that way

will it be that you are there to chase away the cold

and colder silence of alone-ness

will it be that i will find you watching

my movements through teh rooms with sadness

will it be that you’ll be sitting

obscure (a little anyway) in light

outlined in silhouette against the glass of

other windows

ringing in another year

 

~

*this poem was written in January of 1981.

That year, I had my first Christmas tree in college.  With him.

He didn’t even really care about Christ.

Nor did he understand, what Christ, or Christmas meant to me.

I moved from the little apartment to one even smaller.

This was my eventual garden.

c7m37l

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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