Monday, March 17, 2008
What have you been writing
Please post some pieces, and comment on mine. I hope that you get this email?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Farmington to Kingfield
Farmington to Kingfield
The snow piles up
in soft luminous layers,
as sunlight flashes
through leafless poplars
off my tinted windshield
as I drive this road.
Leaning with the curve
with you or others.
After the cemetery,
the gray headstones
are still and cold behind the wall
unmarked by the years.
Our words to each other disperse lightly
as the blown snow.
Long silences between the dark firs
and the next open field.
Remember a house perched high
where we got the black pup then.
The straight away place,
long and empty,
what did we say to each other?
I remember only the passing light
and the rumble of the tires beneath us
and your warm breath on the windshield.
Details accumulate
like new snow
melting into yesterday's fall
taking the shape of the land
so solid and gracefully crafted.
The run downhill to the lake
where houses crowd close
and I had driven our family car full of us
into the ditch and pulled out
without a cry from my mother or father.
A sharp curve
sunlight fresh in our faces
the smell of damp earth
from spots of grass in the snow
among the apples trees in neat lines
trimmed to a man-size
for pick-your-own
sign still fresh by the shed.
Up to a wide expanse
once a great homestead,
bordered by giant sugar maples
now broken scarecrows
reaching toward each other.
Bang, bang bang.
the tires hit the bridge spans
high above rushing waters
opening to the expanse of fields.
The road rolling down to the river,
the constant river,
the carrier of our songs.
I have traveled this road,
in other seasons
through light or snow,
or other colors,
with you or you.
I was a song without words
Our journeys joining and dividing
each to their own ends.
As I retrace the turns
of lives layered through winters,
passing bare patches in the melting snow,the smell of the earth rises
and awakens life.
The land invites us to drink of it
until we are quenched.
The snow piles up
in soft luminous layers,
as sunlight flashes
through leafless poplars
off my tinted windshield
as I drive this road.
Leaning with the curve
with you or others.
After the cemetery,
the gray headstones
are still and cold behind the wall
unmarked by the years.
Our words to each other disperse lightly
as the blown snow.
Long silences between the dark firs
and the next open field.
Remember a house perched high
where we got the black pup then.
The straight away place,
long and empty,
what did we say to each other?
I remember only the passing light
and the rumble of the tires beneath us
and your warm breath on the windshield.
Details accumulate
like new snow
melting into yesterday's fall
taking the shape of the land
so solid and gracefully crafted.
The run downhill to the lake
where houses crowd close
and I had driven our family car full of us
into the ditch and pulled out
without a cry from my mother or father.
A sharp curve
sunlight fresh in our faces
the smell of damp earth
from spots of grass in the snow
among the apples trees in neat lines
trimmed to a man-size
for pick-your-own
sign still fresh by the shed.
Up to a wide expanse
once a great homestead,
bordered by giant sugar maples
now broken scarecrows
reaching toward each other.
Bang, bang bang.
the tires hit the bridge spans
high above rushing waters
opening to the expanse of fields.
The road rolling down to the river,
the constant river,
the carrier of our songs.
I have traveled this road,
in other seasons
through light or snow,
or other colors,
with you or you.
I was a song without words
Our journeys joining and dividing
each to their own ends.
As I retrace the turns
of lives layered through winters,
passing bare patches in the melting snow,the smell of the earth rises
and awakens life.
The land invites us to drink of it
until we are quenched.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Family Reunification - Story
Family Reunification
Sandra Thaxter Sandra@thaxter.net
Even before icy winter weather blows in from Canada, fog and frost wrap this small city in a chilly haze, augur of the bone chilling cold on its way. The winter brings fierce storms that pound the land with freezing rain or snow furrowing deeply into lives. During storms the sea heaves itself against ragged thrusts of land that jut out from the coastline. There’s no escaping the weather. Some look at the sky and curl their noses in the direction of the coming change, others sniff and turn their backs to it. It’s all the same in the end.
Today clouds drop their cool breath into the November early morning air. Deborah walks briskly to the bus stop. Her blue wool cap is pulled down, and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She has a colored bag over her shoulder, and hunches with her hands in her pockets as she waits for the bus. This is her third trip to the Veteran’s hospital two towns away. There is only one bus that goes to the outlying town where the hospital is located and the schedule is spotty.
It is the first run of the morning and the heaters under the seats did not take the chill out of the air. Even the bus driver seems numb. Deborah is wearing her wool socks and old leather boots. She tucks her feet under the seat, leaning her head against the grimy frosted up window, her hands tucked under her arms for warmth. This morning she had awakened with a surge of energy for the new child she is carrying. Her mind felt clear, unfogged by the troubles she and Tony had been through. She loved the warm feeling of her rounding belly. Still six months to her due date. There are so many decisions to make, finding a job, where to live, a way to start over. Today she needed to get Tony’s medication, so that he isn’t in a temper when he goees to court.
The Veteran’s Administration hospital is a three-story brick structure with a long granite stairway to the main entrance. Deborah held her jacket tight, she pulled her scarf closer as she edged up and joined a line of six or seven others waiting for the doors to open. She looked up at the darkened window and barren stairway with a long iron railing on each side. She remembered the first day of elementary school, a long stairway and the stern faced teacher at the top. That year her mother had been sick, and often in the hospital. By January her father had sent her to live with her aunt.
My feet are just about to freeze, she thought, just as the big door of the hospital creaked open and the line of people moved slowly into the building. The hallway was lined with long shiny benches. She had been here before with Tony. Then they had each other to talk to while waiting. It felt good, their being together, sharing jokes about the rumpled looking staff hurrying up and down the hallways. She knew today she would also wait. She just hoped that there wouldn’t be any trouble getting a letter from the doctor for the medical staff at the county jail. Tony was mad about the charges against him. He had only put paper around the fire alarm switch to keep out the cold. Landlords will use any excuse to get rid of you. Arson? Not quite. She could see him in his cell with that stubborn looking baby face and shocking black hair all tousled after running his hands through it a hundred times. He was probably pacing too, and swearing, which was always a sign that his medication was not working. Tony was handsome. Marrying him was more than she thought she’d ever have. He was very protective of her, maybe too protective sometimes.
Finally the receptionist called out next, and she brought the empty prescription bottle into a large room with a high ceiling where peeling paint hung in sheets. Her voice seemed to echo in the big room as she explained to the receptionist behind the desk that she had already called and the renewal had been approved. The receptionist opened a drawer, and thumbed through tattered manila files looking for the G’s. Oh, yes here it is. She gave Deborah a prescription sheet and told her to go down the hall.
“I also need a letter from the doctor.”
“I’ll call up and see if it is ready. You’ll have to wait.
Soon she was stretching out her feet and looking at the ceiling, wondering if she would make her 2:30 PM appointment with her social worker at the child protection services.
The doctor arrived holding a letter in his hand.
“Here it is. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I know that warden at the County jail. I’ll make sure that you husband gets his medication.”
“Thank you.” Deborah sighed with relief.
Finally she was back on the bus. As long as there are no traffic delays, she thought, I will make it in time for the appointment. It had started to rain, and the traffic was heavy. The bus lurched forward at every hesitation in the traffic, while honking cars negotiated merging into a single line to drive around the puddles. .
Deborah was tense and exhausted with impatience by the time she arrived just a few minutes late at the State Human Resources office. She hated the looks she got if she was even the least bit late, or appeared even a little unruffled.
The state offices were in a low converted industrial building. She asked for Bonnie Deal. After what seemed like a long five minutes, a short woman with blunt cut bangs came up and reached out her hand in greeting.
“We’re meeting in the back room.”
She mouthed her words as if she were swallowing an oyster.
The meeting room was a cramped back office. Deborah squeezed her belly behind the round deeply scarred wooden table. Another social worker, a young thin man with a pinched expression, joined them. Bonnie took out Deborah’s file, a ragged manila folder labeled “FRP : Galiano, Tony and Deborah”. There seemed to be endless papers in the folder, some stapled forms, some handwritten sheets. The social worker flipped through the pages making clicking sounds with her tongue, and running her hand through her short-cropped bangs, squinting at each page. Deborah heart fluttered as she caught sight of photos of her four children fly by in the page shuffling, almost two years old now those photos, she thought.
Everyone was silent. Bonnie handed Deborah two sheets of photocopied regulations and guidelines. Deborah had seen this sheet before. The items were stupid, she thought, like high school requirements for study hall behavior. It was hard to believe that they could put her children up for adoption for failing these requirements. There must be something else - some other laws or damning documents. There must be something I am missing something she thought as she frowned and peered intensely at the sheets Bonnie had handed her.
Bonnie took out a single piece of paper and slapped the folder closed, looking directly at Deborah.
“Well, do we have something new to report today? Ah. The letter from the therapist. “
“What about it?”
Deborah remembered the visit to the therapist’s office, her soft green eyes, the deep cushioned chairs, the smell of lavender, and seashells on the side table. She had trusted her in that office and she had shared more than she should have. She saw the change in the therapists’ gaze when she had said too much, too much about Tony’s temper tantrums, the children crying as he lashed out at Peter. She wouldn’t go back there she thought.
“At the last court hearing, your case did not show the improvement. You agreed to improve cooperation during the supervised visits with the children. “
“I do cooperate. Those women think that there is a right way to hold a child. Holding a child, is holding a child.”
“You were to demonstrate regular phone contact with the children, provide evidence of six months of income, and refrain from contact with the father.”
Bonnie pulled her chair in closer, ducked her head and scowled as she stared at Deborah
“What about Tony?”
“What about Tony? He’s not here today.”
“Don’t you think you should get divorced?”
Deborah blanched, and looked down. Her hands grasped the edge of the table, and her fingertips were white from pressing the edge of the aluminum edge against the dark table.
Still leaning towards Deborah, Bonnie intoned, “You have to remember that Tony may still be considered a threat to his children.” Bonnie raised her eyebrows in expectation of an answer.
Deborah felt the hot wave of anger rising through her chest, up her neck and forehead, but she barely noticed as her eyes overflowed with the shame and fear.
“I’ll make sure that you are approved for three appointments with the therapist and I’ll see if we can get them covered. Give me a call if you have any problems setting up the appointments.” said Bonnie.
Deborah pushed herself up heavily to leave.
“Deborah, don’t leave yet. We haven’t finished. You have to sign this permission form for the reports.”
Deborah swiped the pencil across the bottom of the sheet, turned and left the room without a word. The afternoon clouds were dark, rushing wildly across the sky as she walked the mile and half back to the YWCA.
She flopped on the bed after carefully put the medication and the doctor’s letter on top of the small dresser. For a while she lay there, staring at the ceiling, her head throbbing, waiting for her heart beat to slow down. There was a knock on her door. It was Paula. They had met in the waiting room at the Child Protection court. Paula was living at the Y also while waiting for her final hearing.
“How did it go this morning?”
”Bad, really bad. The social worker says, “Well you know I’m here to help you.” Then she opens THE FILE. I don’t even know what is in it? My life may depend on something in that folder. And then she says, don’t you think you should get divorced? I thought that we are supposed to believe in marriage, reunify the family. What kind of government would force you to get divorced?”
“I can’t believe she said that?”
“ I’m taking the medication out to Tony tonight. Another black mark on my record. Contact with child abuser. Tony did hit Peter pretty hard. It was lucky there was no concussion. Tony isn’t bad. Anyone would have been crazy after losing their job, and dealing with the nutso boss he had. He does need to stay on his meds. Ever since he was in the military he has to have those meds.”
“He’s not alone.”
“Now I’ll have to find a job to show I can provide. Not good timing for me. They are just so arrogant, those people. What about their lives? Can you tell me that they are perfect, never got frustrated with their children. These meetings are a charade so they can keep their jobs and be “protectors” of poor abused children. “
“It’s hard to get better at it than they are. They have all the documents and lists, the lines. They know all the answers, who’s good and who’s bad. Hey, later, we’ll talk more. I’ve gotta go.”
Deborah lay back on the pillow. She knew that she didn’t have that much time until the hearing for the adoption of Mary and Annie. Peter and the baby would come soon after. She took out the photos she had taken the last Christmas they had together. Annie had little black curls and bright eyes. She remembered getting her to sit up for the photo. And Mary was proudly holding up a doll Tony’s mother had bought for her. I have to find a place to live with the baby she thought. There was just no way I can earn enough for the apartment deposit and keep a job after the baby is born. Tony will probably go live with his mother, when he gets out. At least I can have a place for this baby and maybe in the long run, after Tony is working again, …. Deborah fell asleep on her bed, curled up with the photo of her two daughters in her hand.
Through a heavy fog of half sleep, Deborah suddenly sat up. Someone was knocking at her door.
“A telephone call for you!”
The red light on her electric radio blinked 4:30 PM. She stumbled into the hall and picked up the phone. It was Tony’s mother. “Hello, hello,” she was saying. “Do you need a ride? You said you’d call but it was getting late, so I thought I’d call.”
“Sure, thanks. I’ll wait downstairs.”
Deborah found her way down the hall to the bathroom. The florescent lights were blinking and stinging her eyes. She looked up into the mirror and saw her puffy face. Ugh she thought as she leaned over the sink, cupping cold water in her hands. The water ran over her eyes and down her chin washing away the heat of sleep. Returning back down the hall, she noticed Paula’s door ajar and gently pushed it open. She knocked softly.
Paula turned around, brushing back curls that stuck to her damp cheeks. Paula’s eyes were red and her mascara smudged. Deborah’s stomach tightened. She counted on Paula’s calm and confidence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Robert isn’t coming tonight. He and his brother had a big fight and his brother kicked him out of the house. He’s trying to find a place to stay. We were planning on some time together tonight, just bowling. It seems like forever since we’ve done anything normal. Shit. Every day it is something new. It’s them, they make us feel like retards. I can’t stand it anymore!” she said raising her voice and pounding her fists on the bed. Then she started laughing.
“Maybe we should get religious, live the simple life, like the people at that Shaker place. Did you know that they never have sex? Can you believe that? No sex, no children! Just knit and sew, sing and dance. That’s it!”
Paula started laughing, and rolling around the bed and pounding her fists into the mattress, finally lying still limp from the exertion.
“Oh my God. I’m totally losing it.”
“Not you, Paula. You won’t lose it.”
“I’m not so sure. I just want them to treat me like a normal human.”
“That would be some revolution. I had a question. You know the place you told me about, it’s sort of a shelter for mothers and their kids. ”
“My friend Julie lives there with her three kids. It isn’t so bad. You have to sign a contract and they have rules.s”
“I think that I should go look at it tomorrow. I gotta go now. Tony’s mother is picking me up.”
*******************************************
Deborah waited in the lobby for Tony’s Mom. It was a long drive out to the county jail. The visiting hours were in the evening because most wives worked. She hadn’t called Tony to tell him they were coming. Just as well she thought. He’ll be calmer if he doesn’t know.
Tony’s mother, Marie, chatted away during the drive. She was old-fashioned and Italian. She didn’t understand why the state had taken the children away from Tony and Deborah. “Sal and I had our troubles,” she said. “But we handled them. Everyone grew up fine. I just don’t see what business the courts have with bringing up children. “
They pulled up in the brightly lit almost empty parking lot. Tony’s mother announced that she didn’t want to go in for the visit.
“Please Marie,” Deborah begged.
“No, I don’t think so. Not this time.”
Deborah knew by the way Marie set her mouth that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Deborah pulled her coat close around her as she stepped out of the car onto a long gray cement walkway leading to the County prison visitors’ entrance. She stepped up to a big gray metal desk presenting her papers.
“I’m here to see Tony Galiano. I’m his wife.”
“Alright, I’ll have someone bring him up to the visitors’ room. Just wait for a guard to come and escort you.”
“I’d like to speak with the sheriff.”
“He ain’t here tonight,” said the man behind the desk.
“I have my husband’s medication and a letter for the Sheriff.”
“Well, he’ll be in early in the morning. I’ll leave it on his desk.”
He picked up the letter and the package with calloused cigarette stained fingers leaving big black smudges on the carefully labeled envelope. He put the letter in a drawer, then slammed it shut and locked it.
Deborah sat down on a narrow bench opposite the desk. She avoided looking up, instead stared at the pattern of muddy footprints on the floor as if there was some important information there. A big fellow with long hair tied back in a pony tail came through the door and gestured for her to follow. He strode down a long dank hallway, Deborah close behind. More than once he had to hike up the belt under his bulging belly, where guns, keys and handcuffs clanged loudly against each other. At the first security station, Deborah passed her purse through the x-ray machine, removed her hat, gloves, coat and shoes, turned her pockets inside out, then walked through the body scanner. The guard ran his hands down each pant leg. Wasn’t the scanner check enough she thought, as she shivered. They continued down the hall.
Going to see your hubby, eh?” the guard remarked with a distinct swagger in his stride.
Just as they reached a large set of double doors, he turned around, grabbed Deborah’s shoulders and pinned her to the wall. He then reached his hand down and thrust his whole body against her. She gagged at the rancid smell of his hair and body. She started to scream. He quickly put his hand over her mouth and said:
“Don’t say nothin’ or your husband will have a hard time in this place.”
There was some noise from the other side of the door. The guard quickly drew away from Deborah squeezing her breast as he turned and held onto the door slowly pulling it open and gesturing for Deborah to go first as the door opened. Her head was down, her face bright red. She could see the visitor room lights now, so she walked quickly moving away from the guard who still holding the door for another prisoner and guard on their way back to the cell block.
Tony wasn’t there yet, but there were other people. She was grateful, as she still trembling and could try to compose herself before Tony arrived. The pony tailed guard had disappeared.
“Hi honey. I didn’t know you were coming,” said Tony sitting down next to her and taking her hand in his. Deborah didn’t look at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That guard who brought me down, he was going to hurt me.”
Tony’s face got bright red. “Who is he? What did he do? The bastard.
Tony stood up and started pacing. Deborah was worried about saying too much, as Tony had a tendency to work himself up into these rages.
“Tony, it’s OK. Nothing happened, he’s just a creep. You can’t trust these guys.”
“Yeh, and not the only one in the place.”
Tony was still pacing and, running his hands through his hair.
“Tony, we have to talk. There’s a lot going on about the girls. You have to get out of here. I brought your medication. and I almost forgot to give you this letter from the doctor. I left the medication and a copy of the letter for the sheriff. The doctor at the VA said he would make sure they wouldn’t confiscate your medication.”
“I don’t really know if it helps me. I get pissed easily when I don’t take it, but when I do, I don’t feel right either. The whole thing just messes me up.”
“Please take it Tony, please,” begged Deborah.
She was just about to explain about the girls’ adoption hearing, when the couple across the room stood up.
“Tony, they are leaving. I think I should go with them.”
“Right.”
Tony walked over and in his most polite and charming way greeted the other inmate, Joe, and introduced himself to his wife. He asked if his wife could accompany Deborah back to the parking area. The two walked closely together with a security guard behind them, each relieved to have the other’s company.
When Deborah stepped outside again, she was shocked by the blast of cold air and the rain on her face. She felt suddenly dizzy, grabbed the iron rail along the walkway, leaned over and retched. Oh my God she thought as she stood up straight again. He face was damp and green stuff was on her shoes. I need to wash my face she thought. She opened her purse and found a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts napkins and wiped off her mouth and chin, then tossed them on the walkway. She wiped her shoes on a small spot of grass on the way to the car. While Deborah had been with Tony, his mother had been listening to the radio, old music that she liked. The car was all steamy and warm.
“That was a short visit!”
“He couldn’t stay any longer.” Deborah mumbled.
“What happened to you? You look upset. Is everything alright?”
“Tony was fine. He’s worried about the kids, and the new baby. I just hope he takes the medication and can get a hearing soon. Could you give me a ride out to Westfield River tomorrow? I think I can find a place to live there.”
“Sure honey.”
Her head was spinning and her shoulder sore where the guard had pushed her against the wall. Tomorrow she thought, I’ll get an appointment at that home.
When she arrived back at the YWCA, she felt wrung out, needed to talk. Paula was deep in conversation with the woman at night desk. Deborah made herself act calm, pushing her anxiety to bottom of her gut. She walked up to the desk and waited before speaking to Paula.
“Paula. Stop in if you can.”
“Sure.”
After washing up, Deborah went to her room and lay on the bed. The photo book with the pictures of Mary and Annie was still lying on the bedspread. Their eyes had red dots, but they both had big smiles, and hung onto each other. She longed to be with Tony now. She missed his warm body next to hers. She remembered their walks in the park with William in his carriage, and she was pregnant with Mary. She had felt safe and hopeful then, like a real family and Tony seemed so strong and confident. These moments blurred out her memories of the days when Tony succumbed to spiraling frustration and rage.
If she could only find a job. She had always had such shit jobs. She hated office work and it didn’t pay that much better than the laundry at the Best Western Inn. If only she had stuck with college. She let the work get ahead of her, and those papers go unfinished. She knew that she’d never catch up and got cold chills thinking of the questions from Aunt Mary who was paying her tuition. So she dropped out, just left, and found some work in the kitchen of a religious community for her room and food. It was quiet and orderly. And she liked attending prayer services. That time seemed so far away now. Meeting Tony and sharing her beliefs had opened a her heart. She didn’t want to give up on their life.
The day of the status hearing at the State Human Services main office broke will a pale sun and heavy dark clouds. The leaves had mostly disappeared from the trees, their branches stark against the dull skies. Deborah didn’t know if Tony was going to be released to come to the hearing. There was nothing she could do about it. She pulled a deep blue shirt out of the closet and a grey wool sweater that her sister had given her last Christmas. Deborah never wore makeup, but her complexion was radiant. She noticed her look in the mirror she brushed out her thick hair. John Lennon she thought as her I caught on old sticker on the mirror. “You will say I am a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” That song, it was so long ago, when she first met Tony at a concert in the park. A big lump of emotion rose up inside her. She turned quickly to finish preparing to leave.
The office was a twenty minute walk. Deborah passed the deli where she often purchased milk and toilet paper. She caught the greeting of a familiar face behind the counter making change for a customer’s lottery tickets. The sidewalks were slick. She kept her gaze on her feet and the familiar shapes of the cement sidewalk, its bumps and breaks making way for tree roots stubbornly breaking out of their defined spot.
She arrived early and found her way to a waiting area. A large white clock hung over a bulletin board covered with notices : hotlines, WIC applications, drug rehab groups, child care services on and on. Who are those smiling mothers? They belong to some other world where all windows are washed, and women have perfect haircuts and teeth. How was it that she alone was so full of ordinary awkward living. Where did she belong? She hadn’t brought any notes or letters of reference for the meeting. What can I say? My children need me. But it has been almost two years. The girls getting used to their new life. How can I make a home for them while working in the laundry at some hotel? How do I talk about loving them? Whatever I say it will sound pathetic. What do they expect? The deck is stacked, and I don’t want to face this crowd of “official” experts.
Deborah is shaken out of her thoughts by Melanie de Mineo’s brusk abrasive appearance in the in the waiting room. This morning she is wearing very high heels, a tight skirt, and a black fitted jacket. Her hair was cut short with brushed up over-eager bangs. Today, this is Melainie’s meeting. She is the state case worker. She brings the expert testimony together to write the final court case. Deborah stands up slowly and follows her clicking black heels into a brightly lit conference room. As Deborah looks up, the faces swim before her. She grabs the back of a chair to steady herself, knocking it over with a loud metal clang. The faces looked up from the reports, or interrupted conversations as if a wind had just blown through the room. Carefully she eases into another seat, brushing her skirt straight, placing her feet flat on the floor beneath her.
“This is the final status meeting for “Deborah and Tony Galiano’s children Mary and Ann.”
Melanie leaned forward towards the now silent participants, her red nail-polished fingers laid neatly each side of the open black binder. Everyone is present: the two social workers; the children’s ad-litem representative, a thin hunched over young man, the state mental health advisor, a heavy woman with bright orange dyed hair and Deborah’s therapist in violet. There was no one on Deborah’s side, except maybe the therapist. And she was a questionable advocate. Deborah had not asked her sister to come, or Tony’s mother. She’d had enough advice from her sister. And Tony’s mother would have said all the wrong things. Tony hadn’t arrived. Maybe he would still come Deborah thought as she looked at her hands, and played with her wedding ring, the only jewelry she was wearing, rolling it around and around on her fingers.
Bonnie Deal is the first to speak. She clears her throat, and reads from the first home visit report her head bobbing up and down. The heating fans hum, the florescent lights buzz, voices echo hollow, the participants profiles are etched against the pale green walls. Beads of sweat are breaking out on Deborah’s face. She remembers the cramped apartment with four small children; she remembers being tired, really tired. The girls were easy, but they were constantly at her, “Mommy, Mommy can you help me put the doll’s dress on?” The oldest, Peter, always had a ball of some kind in his hand, and was bouncing it or tossing against the apartment walls. Bang, bang, bang. She was still breast feeding the baby, like having only one hand all the time. The social worker read all the accusations. Deborah had heard them before and she couldn’t make it right. Yes, she and Tony’s hold on things was cracking. They were just barely managing the diapers and feeding and the endless dishes. Deborah is no longer listening to Bonnie. Her mind drifted to her own childhood, and tumbling on the bed with her brother and cousins, the warmth breath of their laughter, as they made houses of blankets, crawling in together, sheltered from world outside, their eager talking filling the tiny space.
Someone is asking her a question. “Deborah? Deborah Where is Tony? I don’t know. When did you see him last? His mother and I went yesterday to the jail to take his medication. She can see all the faces turn to their reports, click, click snap go the binders. Now the child advocate is talking about Mary, her crying at night. When? When was this? And the baby banging his head against the wall. Deborah feels hot, her sweater itches. She doesn’t dare move. There are some glasses and a pitcher of water further down the table. She wants a drink. No, not now. They are discussing the court hearing, who should attend, what documentation they require. They drone on and on. The room swarms before her like the waves of the incoming tide. She waits for the dizziness to pass, her stomach tight and her hand on the edge of the table. I can’t stay any longer, she thinks. I’ll find a ladies room, someplace. She gets up mumbling “I’ll be right back.”
Once out of the room, she heads straight for the outside door and walks into street, the cool air, the damp smell of leaves and wet sidewalks. She breathes deeply and stands leaning against a light pole. Clouds are moving quickly above her. Her heart is pounding, but she can breathe now. Maybe she can go back in there and face them, tomorrow or some other day. Not today. Afterwards she would still be here, in this city, in the rainy empty streets with dark clouds scudding above and the gulls diving at the trash. And somewhere beyond there is the cold green ocean pounding against the rocky shores, drowning out all other sounds. A gust of wind blew across the courtyard before her stirring up the leaves and discarded trash. The wind has a chill in it. Winter is coming. Better bundle up, she thought.
Sandra Thaxter Sandra@thaxter.net
Even before icy winter weather blows in from Canada, fog and frost wrap this small city in a chilly haze, augur of the bone chilling cold on its way. The winter brings fierce storms that pound the land with freezing rain or snow furrowing deeply into lives. During storms the sea heaves itself against ragged thrusts of land that jut out from the coastline. There’s no escaping the weather. Some look at the sky and curl their noses in the direction of the coming change, others sniff and turn their backs to it. It’s all the same in the end.
Today clouds drop their cool breath into the November early morning air. Deborah walks briskly to the bus stop. Her blue wool cap is pulled down, and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She has a colored bag over her shoulder, and hunches with her hands in her pockets as she waits for the bus. This is her third trip to the Veteran’s hospital two towns away. There is only one bus that goes to the outlying town where the hospital is located and the schedule is spotty.
It is the first run of the morning and the heaters under the seats did not take the chill out of the air. Even the bus driver seems numb. Deborah is wearing her wool socks and old leather boots. She tucks her feet under the seat, leaning her head against the grimy frosted up window, her hands tucked under her arms for warmth. This morning she had awakened with a surge of energy for the new child she is carrying. Her mind felt clear, unfogged by the troubles she and Tony had been through. She loved the warm feeling of her rounding belly. Still six months to her due date. There are so many decisions to make, finding a job, where to live, a way to start over. Today she needed to get Tony’s medication, so that he isn’t in a temper when he goees to court.
The Veteran’s Administration hospital is a three-story brick structure with a long granite stairway to the main entrance. Deborah held her jacket tight, she pulled her scarf closer as she edged up and joined a line of six or seven others waiting for the doors to open. She looked up at the darkened window and barren stairway with a long iron railing on each side. She remembered the first day of elementary school, a long stairway and the stern faced teacher at the top. That year her mother had been sick, and often in the hospital. By January her father had sent her to live with her aunt.
My feet are just about to freeze, she thought, just as the big door of the hospital creaked open and the line of people moved slowly into the building. The hallway was lined with long shiny benches. She had been here before with Tony. Then they had each other to talk to while waiting. It felt good, their being together, sharing jokes about the rumpled looking staff hurrying up and down the hallways. She knew today she would also wait. She just hoped that there wouldn’t be any trouble getting a letter from the doctor for the medical staff at the county jail. Tony was mad about the charges against him. He had only put paper around the fire alarm switch to keep out the cold. Landlords will use any excuse to get rid of you. Arson? Not quite. She could see him in his cell with that stubborn looking baby face and shocking black hair all tousled after running his hands through it a hundred times. He was probably pacing too, and swearing, which was always a sign that his medication was not working. Tony was handsome. Marrying him was more than she thought she’d ever have. He was very protective of her, maybe too protective sometimes.
Finally the receptionist called out next, and she brought the empty prescription bottle into a large room with a high ceiling where peeling paint hung in sheets. Her voice seemed to echo in the big room as she explained to the receptionist behind the desk that she had already called and the renewal had been approved. The receptionist opened a drawer, and thumbed through tattered manila files looking for the G’s. Oh, yes here it is. She gave Deborah a prescription sheet and told her to go down the hall.
“I also need a letter from the doctor.”
“I’ll call up and see if it is ready. You’ll have to wait.
Soon she was stretching out her feet and looking at the ceiling, wondering if she would make her 2:30 PM appointment with her social worker at the child protection services.
The doctor arrived holding a letter in his hand.
“Here it is. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I know that warden at the County jail. I’ll make sure that you husband gets his medication.”
“Thank you.” Deborah sighed with relief.
Finally she was back on the bus. As long as there are no traffic delays, she thought, I will make it in time for the appointment. It had started to rain, and the traffic was heavy. The bus lurched forward at every hesitation in the traffic, while honking cars negotiated merging into a single line to drive around the puddles. .
Deborah was tense and exhausted with impatience by the time she arrived just a few minutes late at the State Human Resources office. She hated the looks she got if she was even the least bit late, or appeared even a little unruffled.
The state offices were in a low converted industrial building. She asked for Bonnie Deal. After what seemed like a long five minutes, a short woman with blunt cut bangs came up and reached out her hand in greeting.
“We’re meeting in the back room.”
She mouthed her words as if she were swallowing an oyster.
The meeting room was a cramped back office. Deborah squeezed her belly behind the round deeply scarred wooden table. Another social worker, a young thin man with a pinched expression, joined them. Bonnie took out Deborah’s file, a ragged manila folder labeled “FRP : Galiano, Tony and Deborah”. There seemed to be endless papers in the folder, some stapled forms, some handwritten sheets. The social worker flipped through the pages making clicking sounds with her tongue, and running her hand through her short-cropped bangs, squinting at each page. Deborah heart fluttered as she caught sight of photos of her four children fly by in the page shuffling, almost two years old now those photos, she thought.
Everyone was silent. Bonnie handed Deborah two sheets of photocopied regulations and guidelines. Deborah had seen this sheet before. The items were stupid, she thought, like high school requirements for study hall behavior. It was hard to believe that they could put her children up for adoption for failing these requirements. There must be something else - some other laws or damning documents. There must be something I am missing something she thought as she frowned and peered intensely at the sheets Bonnie had handed her.
Bonnie took out a single piece of paper and slapped the folder closed, looking directly at Deborah.
“Well, do we have something new to report today? Ah. The letter from the therapist. “
“What about it?”
Deborah remembered the visit to the therapist’s office, her soft green eyes, the deep cushioned chairs, the smell of lavender, and seashells on the side table. She had trusted her in that office and she had shared more than she should have. She saw the change in the therapists’ gaze when she had said too much, too much about Tony’s temper tantrums, the children crying as he lashed out at Peter. She wouldn’t go back there she thought.
“At the last court hearing, your case did not show the improvement. You agreed to improve cooperation during the supervised visits with the children. “
“I do cooperate. Those women think that there is a right way to hold a child. Holding a child, is holding a child.”
“You were to demonstrate regular phone contact with the children, provide evidence of six months of income, and refrain from contact with the father.”
Bonnie pulled her chair in closer, ducked her head and scowled as she stared at Deborah
“What about Tony?”
“What about Tony? He’s not here today.”
“Don’t you think you should get divorced?”
Deborah blanched, and looked down. Her hands grasped the edge of the table, and her fingertips were white from pressing the edge of the aluminum edge against the dark table.
Still leaning towards Deborah, Bonnie intoned, “You have to remember that Tony may still be considered a threat to his children.” Bonnie raised her eyebrows in expectation of an answer.
Deborah felt the hot wave of anger rising through her chest, up her neck and forehead, but she barely noticed as her eyes overflowed with the shame and fear.
“I’ll make sure that you are approved for three appointments with the therapist and I’ll see if we can get them covered. Give me a call if you have any problems setting up the appointments.” said Bonnie.
Deborah pushed herself up heavily to leave.
“Deborah, don’t leave yet. We haven’t finished. You have to sign this permission form for the reports.”
Deborah swiped the pencil across the bottom of the sheet, turned and left the room without a word. The afternoon clouds were dark, rushing wildly across the sky as she walked the mile and half back to the YWCA.
She flopped on the bed after carefully put the medication and the doctor’s letter on top of the small dresser. For a while she lay there, staring at the ceiling, her head throbbing, waiting for her heart beat to slow down. There was a knock on her door. It was Paula. They had met in the waiting room at the Child Protection court. Paula was living at the Y also while waiting for her final hearing.
“How did it go this morning?”
”Bad, really bad. The social worker says, “Well you know I’m here to help you.” Then she opens THE FILE. I don’t even know what is in it? My life may depend on something in that folder. And then she says, don’t you think you should get divorced? I thought that we are supposed to believe in marriage, reunify the family. What kind of government would force you to get divorced?”
“I can’t believe she said that?”
“ I’m taking the medication out to Tony tonight. Another black mark on my record. Contact with child abuser. Tony did hit Peter pretty hard. It was lucky there was no concussion. Tony isn’t bad. Anyone would have been crazy after losing their job, and dealing with the nutso boss he had. He does need to stay on his meds. Ever since he was in the military he has to have those meds.”
“He’s not alone.”
“Now I’ll have to find a job to show I can provide. Not good timing for me. They are just so arrogant, those people. What about their lives? Can you tell me that they are perfect, never got frustrated with their children. These meetings are a charade so they can keep their jobs and be “protectors” of poor abused children. “
“It’s hard to get better at it than they are. They have all the documents and lists, the lines. They know all the answers, who’s good and who’s bad. Hey, later, we’ll talk more. I’ve gotta go.”
Deborah lay back on the pillow. She knew that she didn’t have that much time until the hearing for the adoption of Mary and Annie. Peter and the baby would come soon after. She took out the photos she had taken the last Christmas they had together. Annie had little black curls and bright eyes. She remembered getting her to sit up for the photo. And Mary was proudly holding up a doll Tony’s mother had bought for her. I have to find a place to live with the baby she thought. There was just no way I can earn enough for the apartment deposit and keep a job after the baby is born. Tony will probably go live with his mother, when he gets out. At least I can have a place for this baby and maybe in the long run, after Tony is working again, …. Deborah fell asleep on her bed, curled up with the photo of her two daughters in her hand.
Through a heavy fog of half sleep, Deborah suddenly sat up. Someone was knocking at her door.
“A telephone call for you!”
The red light on her electric radio blinked 4:30 PM. She stumbled into the hall and picked up the phone. It was Tony’s mother. “Hello, hello,” she was saying. “Do you need a ride? You said you’d call but it was getting late, so I thought I’d call.”
“Sure, thanks. I’ll wait downstairs.”
Deborah found her way down the hall to the bathroom. The florescent lights were blinking and stinging her eyes. She looked up into the mirror and saw her puffy face. Ugh she thought as she leaned over the sink, cupping cold water in her hands. The water ran over her eyes and down her chin washing away the heat of sleep. Returning back down the hall, she noticed Paula’s door ajar and gently pushed it open. She knocked softly.
Paula turned around, brushing back curls that stuck to her damp cheeks. Paula’s eyes were red and her mascara smudged. Deborah’s stomach tightened. She counted on Paula’s calm and confidence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Robert isn’t coming tonight. He and his brother had a big fight and his brother kicked him out of the house. He’s trying to find a place to stay. We were planning on some time together tonight, just bowling. It seems like forever since we’ve done anything normal. Shit. Every day it is something new. It’s them, they make us feel like retards. I can’t stand it anymore!” she said raising her voice and pounding her fists on the bed. Then she started laughing.
“Maybe we should get religious, live the simple life, like the people at that Shaker place. Did you know that they never have sex? Can you believe that? No sex, no children! Just knit and sew, sing and dance. That’s it!”
Paula started laughing, and rolling around the bed and pounding her fists into the mattress, finally lying still limp from the exertion.
“Oh my God. I’m totally losing it.”
“Not you, Paula. You won’t lose it.”
“I’m not so sure. I just want them to treat me like a normal human.”
“That would be some revolution. I had a question. You know the place you told me about, it’s sort of a shelter for mothers and their kids. ”
“My friend Julie lives there with her three kids. It isn’t so bad. You have to sign a contract and they have rules.s”
“I think that I should go look at it tomorrow. I gotta go now. Tony’s mother is picking me up.”
*******************************************
Deborah waited in the lobby for Tony’s Mom. It was a long drive out to the county jail. The visiting hours were in the evening because most wives worked. She hadn’t called Tony to tell him they were coming. Just as well she thought. He’ll be calmer if he doesn’t know.
Tony’s mother, Marie, chatted away during the drive. She was old-fashioned and Italian. She didn’t understand why the state had taken the children away from Tony and Deborah. “Sal and I had our troubles,” she said. “But we handled them. Everyone grew up fine. I just don’t see what business the courts have with bringing up children. “
They pulled up in the brightly lit almost empty parking lot. Tony’s mother announced that she didn’t want to go in for the visit.
“Please Marie,” Deborah begged.
“No, I don’t think so. Not this time.”
Deborah knew by the way Marie set her mouth that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Deborah pulled her coat close around her as she stepped out of the car onto a long gray cement walkway leading to the County prison visitors’ entrance. She stepped up to a big gray metal desk presenting her papers.
“I’m here to see Tony Galiano. I’m his wife.”
“Alright, I’ll have someone bring him up to the visitors’ room. Just wait for a guard to come and escort you.”
“I’d like to speak with the sheriff.”
“He ain’t here tonight,” said the man behind the desk.
“I have my husband’s medication and a letter for the Sheriff.”
“Well, he’ll be in early in the morning. I’ll leave it on his desk.”
He picked up the letter and the package with calloused cigarette stained fingers leaving big black smudges on the carefully labeled envelope. He put the letter in a drawer, then slammed it shut and locked it.
Deborah sat down on a narrow bench opposite the desk. She avoided looking up, instead stared at the pattern of muddy footprints on the floor as if there was some important information there. A big fellow with long hair tied back in a pony tail came through the door and gestured for her to follow. He strode down a long dank hallway, Deborah close behind. More than once he had to hike up the belt under his bulging belly, where guns, keys and handcuffs clanged loudly against each other. At the first security station, Deborah passed her purse through the x-ray machine, removed her hat, gloves, coat and shoes, turned her pockets inside out, then walked through the body scanner. The guard ran his hands down each pant leg. Wasn’t the scanner check enough she thought, as she shivered. They continued down the hall.
Going to see your hubby, eh?” the guard remarked with a distinct swagger in his stride.
Just as they reached a large set of double doors, he turned around, grabbed Deborah’s shoulders and pinned her to the wall. He then reached his hand down and thrust his whole body against her. She gagged at the rancid smell of his hair and body. She started to scream. He quickly put his hand over her mouth and said:
“Don’t say nothin’ or your husband will have a hard time in this place.”
There was some noise from the other side of the door. The guard quickly drew away from Deborah squeezing her breast as he turned and held onto the door slowly pulling it open and gesturing for Deborah to go first as the door opened. Her head was down, her face bright red. She could see the visitor room lights now, so she walked quickly moving away from the guard who still holding the door for another prisoner and guard on their way back to the cell block.
Tony wasn’t there yet, but there were other people. She was grateful, as she still trembling and could try to compose herself before Tony arrived. The pony tailed guard had disappeared.
“Hi honey. I didn’t know you were coming,” said Tony sitting down next to her and taking her hand in his. Deborah didn’t look at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That guard who brought me down, he was going to hurt me.”
Tony’s face got bright red. “Who is he? What did he do? The bastard.
Tony stood up and started pacing. Deborah was worried about saying too much, as Tony had a tendency to work himself up into these rages.
“Tony, it’s OK. Nothing happened, he’s just a creep. You can’t trust these guys.”
“Yeh, and not the only one in the place.”
Tony was still pacing and, running his hands through his hair.
“Tony, we have to talk. There’s a lot going on about the girls. You have to get out of here. I brought your medication. and I almost forgot to give you this letter from the doctor. I left the medication and a copy of the letter for the sheriff. The doctor at the VA said he would make sure they wouldn’t confiscate your medication.”
“I don’t really know if it helps me. I get pissed easily when I don’t take it, but when I do, I don’t feel right either. The whole thing just messes me up.”
“Please take it Tony, please,” begged Deborah.
She was just about to explain about the girls’ adoption hearing, when the couple across the room stood up.
“Tony, they are leaving. I think I should go with them.”
“Right.”
Tony walked over and in his most polite and charming way greeted the other inmate, Joe, and introduced himself to his wife. He asked if his wife could accompany Deborah back to the parking area. The two walked closely together with a security guard behind them, each relieved to have the other’s company.
When Deborah stepped outside again, she was shocked by the blast of cold air and the rain on her face. She felt suddenly dizzy, grabbed the iron rail along the walkway, leaned over and retched. Oh my God she thought as she stood up straight again. He face was damp and green stuff was on her shoes. I need to wash my face she thought. She opened her purse and found a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts napkins and wiped off her mouth and chin, then tossed them on the walkway. She wiped her shoes on a small spot of grass on the way to the car. While Deborah had been with Tony, his mother had been listening to the radio, old music that she liked. The car was all steamy and warm.
“That was a short visit!”
“He couldn’t stay any longer.” Deborah mumbled.
“What happened to you? You look upset. Is everything alright?”
“Tony was fine. He’s worried about the kids, and the new baby. I just hope he takes the medication and can get a hearing soon. Could you give me a ride out to Westfield River tomorrow? I think I can find a place to live there.”
“Sure honey.”
Her head was spinning and her shoulder sore where the guard had pushed her against the wall. Tomorrow she thought, I’ll get an appointment at that home.
When she arrived back at the YWCA, she felt wrung out, needed to talk. Paula was deep in conversation with the woman at night desk. Deborah made herself act calm, pushing her anxiety to bottom of her gut. She walked up to the desk and waited before speaking to Paula.
“Paula. Stop in if you can.”
“Sure.”
After washing up, Deborah went to her room and lay on the bed. The photo book with the pictures of Mary and Annie was still lying on the bedspread. Their eyes had red dots, but they both had big smiles, and hung onto each other. She longed to be with Tony now. She missed his warm body next to hers. She remembered their walks in the park with William in his carriage, and she was pregnant with Mary. She had felt safe and hopeful then, like a real family and Tony seemed so strong and confident. These moments blurred out her memories of the days when Tony succumbed to spiraling frustration and rage.
If she could only find a job. She had always had such shit jobs. She hated office work and it didn’t pay that much better than the laundry at the Best Western Inn. If only she had stuck with college. She let the work get ahead of her, and those papers go unfinished. She knew that she’d never catch up and got cold chills thinking of the questions from Aunt Mary who was paying her tuition. So she dropped out, just left, and found some work in the kitchen of a religious community for her room and food. It was quiet and orderly. And she liked attending prayer services. That time seemed so far away now. Meeting Tony and sharing her beliefs had opened a her heart. She didn’t want to give up on their life.
The day of the status hearing at the State Human Services main office broke will a pale sun and heavy dark clouds. The leaves had mostly disappeared from the trees, their branches stark against the dull skies. Deborah didn’t know if Tony was going to be released to come to the hearing. There was nothing she could do about it. She pulled a deep blue shirt out of the closet and a grey wool sweater that her sister had given her last Christmas. Deborah never wore makeup, but her complexion was radiant. She noticed her look in the mirror she brushed out her thick hair. John Lennon she thought as her I caught on old sticker on the mirror. “You will say I am a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” That song, it was so long ago, when she first met Tony at a concert in the park. A big lump of emotion rose up inside her. She turned quickly to finish preparing to leave.
The office was a twenty minute walk. Deborah passed the deli where she often purchased milk and toilet paper. She caught the greeting of a familiar face behind the counter making change for a customer’s lottery tickets. The sidewalks were slick. She kept her gaze on her feet and the familiar shapes of the cement sidewalk, its bumps and breaks making way for tree roots stubbornly breaking out of their defined spot.
She arrived early and found her way to a waiting area. A large white clock hung over a bulletin board covered with notices : hotlines, WIC applications, drug rehab groups, child care services on and on. Who are those smiling mothers? They belong to some other world where all windows are washed, and women have perfect haircuts and teeth. How was it that she alone was so full of ordinary awkward living. Where did she belong? She hadn’t brought any notes or letters of reference for the meeting. What can I say? My children need me. But it has been almost two years. The girls getting used to their new life. How can I make a home for them while working in the laundry at some hotel? How do I talk about loving them? Whatever I say it will sound pathetic. What do they expect? The deck is stacked, and I don’t want to face this crowd of “official” experts.
Deborah is shaken out of her thoughts by Melanie de Mineo’s brusk abrasive appearance in the in the waiting room. This morning she is wearing very high heels, a tight skirt, and a black fitted jacket. Her hair was cut short with brushed up over-eager bangs. Today, this is Melainie’s meeting. She is the state case worker. She brings the expert testimony together to write the final court case. Deborah stands up slowly and follows her clicking black heels into a brightly lit conference room. As Deborah looks up, the faces swim before her. She grabs the back of a chair to steady herself, knocking it over with a loud metal clang. The faces looked up from the reports, or interrupted conversations as if a wind had just blown through the room. Carefully she eases into another seat, brushing her skirt straight, placing her feet flat on the floor beneath her.
“This is the final status meeting for “Deborah and Tony Galiano’s children Mary and Ann.”
Melanie leaned forward towards the now silent participants, her red nail-polished fingers laid neatly each side of the open black binder. Everyone is present: the two social workers; the children’s ad-litem representative, a thin hunched over young man, the state mental health advisor, a heavy woman with bright orange dyed hair and Deborah’s therapist in violet. There was no one on Deborah’s side, except maybe the therapist. And she was a questionable advocate. Deborah had not asked her sister to come, or Tony’s mother. She’d had enough advice from her sister. And Tony’s mother would have said all the wrong things. Tony hadn’t arrived. Maybe he would still come Deborah thought as she looked at her hands, and played with her wedding ring, the only jewelry she was wearing, rolling it around and around on her fingers.
Bonnie Deal is the first to speak. She clears her throat, and reads from the first home visit report her head bobbing up and down. The heating fans hum, the florescent lights buzz, voices echo hollow, the participants profiles are etched against the pale green walls. Beads of sweat are breaking out on Deborah’s face. She remembers the cramped apartment with four small children; she remembers being tired, really tired. The girls were easy, but they were constantly at her, “Mommy, Mommy can you help me put the doll’s dress on?” The oldest, Peter, always had a ball of some kind in his hand, and was bouncing it or tossing against the apartment walls. Bang, bang, bang. She was still breast feeding the baby, like having only one hand all the time. The social worker read all the accusations. Deborah had heard them before and she couldn’t make it right. Yes, she and Tony’s hold on things was cracking. They were just barely managing the diapers and feeding and the endless dishes. Deborah is no longer listening to Bonnie. Her mind drifted to her own childhood, and tumbling on the bed with her brother and cousins, the warmth breath of their laughter, as they made houses of blankets, crawling in together, sheltered from world outside, their eager talking filling the tiny space.
Someone is asking her a question. “Deborah? Deborah Where is Tony? I don’t know. When did you see him last? His mother and I went yesterday to the jail to take his medication. She can see all the faces turn to their reports, click, click snap go the binders. Now the child advocate is talking about Mary, her crying at night. When? When was this? And the baby banging his head against the wall. Deborah feels hot, her sweater itches. She doesn’t dare move. There are some glasses and a pitcher of water further down the table. She wants a drink. No, not now. They are discussing the court hearing, who should attend, what documentation they require. They drone on and on. The room swarms before her like the waves of the incoming tide. She waits for the dizziness to pass, her stomach tight and her hand on the edge of the table. I can’t stay any longer, she thinks. I’ll find a ladies room, someplace. She gets up mumbling “I’ll be right back.”
Once out of the room, she heads straight for the outside door and walks into street, the cool air, the damp smell of leaves and wet sidewalks. She breathes deeply and stands leaning against a light pole. Clouds are moving quickly above her. Her heart is pounding, but she can breathe now. Maybe she can go back in there and face them, tomorrow or some other day. Not today. Afterwards she would still be here, in this city, in the rainy empty streets with dark clouds scudding above and the gulls diving at the trash. And somewhere beyond there is the cold green ocean pounding against the rocky shores, drowning out all other sounds. A gust of wind blew across the courtyard before her stirring up the leaves and discarded trash. The wind has a chill in it. Winter is coming. Better bundle up, she thought.
Between two lakes
The first drops fell softly,
then with loud plops,
rushing rivulet aftermaths
churning the silver lake
into thousands of pulsating geysers
A single lamp glows on the screen porch
close in the tall pines on the shore of the lake.
a dim light on old letters
90 years old, she reads her words
to the charlottes and isolas and rozes, the johns and georges.
the pounding rain
drowns all other sounds
runs off the roof edge
in great grey green sheets
closing off all other worlds
Here
a life driven deep into the
land between two lakes
no leaving here
set in stone granite
the mill on the dam
hard and sure
lives tied
to the place
flowing into its waters
through the Dvorzak Piano concerto
breaking the still
Sandra Thaxter
July 2007 for Peg
then with loud plops,
rushing rivulet aftermaths
churning the silver lake
into thousands of pulsating geysers
A single lamp glows on the screen porch
close in the tall pines on the shore of the lake.
a dim light on old letters
90 years old, she reads her words
to the charlottes and isolas and rozes, the johns and georges.
the pounding rain
drowns all other sounds
runs off the roof edge
in great grey green sheets
closing off all other worlds
Here
a life driven deep into the
land between two lakes
no leaving here
set in stone granite
the mill on the dam
hard and sure
lives tied
to the place
flowing into its waters
through the Dvorzak Piano concerto
breaking the still
Sandra Thaxter
July 2007 for Peg
Call 504 519 4100
shortaquarter shortaquarter
short a nickel
short a dime
shortaquarter
short a nickel
short a dime
How’d you come up so short?
How did you come up so short?
In “Katrina’s Parlor”
there is shit on the gold framed mirror
the red satin curtains are dragging in it now
everyone’s shit flowed down here
through here
into our kitchens
into our parlors
times-could-be-better in the 9th Ward
short on reconstruction
no land, no house
not even a mule
missing links, missing papers, missing grandmothers
The road out there is long and lonely
clouds above
staircases to empty blue skies
a sign:
“Donations accepted, Not Charity 504-519-4100”
“Katrina’s Parlor”, and other references from photos at the “Kamoinge: Revealing the Face of Katrina” exhibit Calumet Photo NYC
sandra@thaxter.net December 2007
short a nickel
short a dime
shortaquarter
short a nickel
short a dime
How’d you come up so short?
How did you come up so short?
In “Katrina’s Parlor”
there is shit on the gold framed mirror
the red satin curtains are dragging in it now
everyone’s shit flowed down here
through here
into our kitchens
into our parlors
times-could-be-better in the 9th Ward
short on reconstruction
no land, no house
not even a mule
missing links, missing papers, missing grandmothers
The road out there is long and lonely
clouds above
staircases to empty blue skies
a sign:
“Donations accepted, Not Charity 504-519-4100”
“Katrina’s Parlor”, and other references from photos at the “Kamoinge: Revealing the Face of Katrina” exhibit Calumet Photo NYC
sandra@thaxter.net December 2007
Listening to Nora Jones
Listening to Nora Jones
Light streaming across the silken sea
Halfway rock three miles away
is in sharp focus
She sets the tone
resonant not sweet
melody without romance
smoothing out the wrinkles of the day
I don’t know why they strike me that way
the simple piano octaves
a line of melody
a note held just a bit longer
The sound of still motion
Watching the light change
white boats are tugging on their moorings
bows pointing east
like a flock of birds
flying into the wind
the sunset orange Halfway rock lit like an ember
Light streaming across the silken sea
Halfway rock three miles away
is in sharp focus
She sets the tone
resonant not sweet
melody without romance
smoothing out the wrinkles of the day
I don’t know why they strike me that way
the simple piano octaves
a line of melody
a note held just a bit longer
The sound of still motion
Watching the light change
white boats are tugging on their moorings
bows pointing east
like a flock of birds
flying into the wind
the sunset orange Halfway rock lit like an ember
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