I am reposting (from July) this poem for Halloween; it is my true life horror story
Protasis
Forensic ruin seeped into my life
through the doorway to my future
no one was on guard
at the arrival of the dangerous ones
some were close at hand
others I never knew would come
wedging the gate
Tragedy requires back story
a lifetime of striving
by sixteen I was
working eighty hour weeks
food service pays in varicose veins
and suicidal ideation
even in the young
by eighteen I was broken
poverty and neglect were culpable
Years of struggle and abandonment
that words merely cheapen
Sisyphus my companion
days blurred by petty change
nights spent running down concrete corridors
out the backdoor of the American mall
into empty parking lots
trying to see in the dark
Epitasis
Two years of saving
promotions, evaluations, and initiations
got me to the promise
of higher education
a private school
where students really mattered
my professors were my peers
the precious, spoiled kids
their well pressed lives
well, I didn’t fit in
My senior thesis in college
liquid nitrogen flash freezing green buds
the mortal and pestle grinding
separating into its elemental parts
strands of Deoxyribonucleic Acid
sent through gel electrophoresis to find
Random Amplified Polymorphic DNA Markers
refining, comparing, determining genetic relatedness
a taste of things to come
it was a year of upheaval
a year of final tests
Joy ambushed me with an engagement
to the man across the hall
he created space,
showed up with love
grateful, besotted, and delirious
I allowed myself to imagine
white dress, black gown
two rites of passage united
emanating hope
Our congregation of families darkened
by dysfunction, divorce and illness
friends devoured themselves
and one another
a poisonous spider struck
leaving necrotic spots –
these were our wedding gifts
We planned to graduate,
get married, launch careers
create a home from scraps
broken but our own
a garden growing out of burnt earth
all these naïve shoots
were overshadowed
by the advent of murder
Weeks of accusations
of horrors and of blood
stained brown in time
a young woman’s life
obliterated by greed
her destiny slaughtered
for only nine hundred dollars
her legacy so shattered
I can’t even remember her name
We were awfully estranged
no one could be together amidst
celebration, mourning, and fighting
while the killer fled the nation
bullet pierced her brow
eradicating her last thought
Justice demanded a trial
traumatizing images displayed
prejudice tore at the jury
three days we deliberated, almost hung,
through the apathy of one,
in the end the juror
didn’t want to choose
she caved to watch her soaps
judgment rendered a life sentence
Catastrophe
Juxtapositions that made no sense
death/new life; union/dissolution
all chaos conspired
a close range shot
titrating stress hormones
each moment hard won
The surreal landscape expanded
our honeymoon a gift
spent on a hurricane ravaged
Caribbean island all the time
knowing we were ruined
never wanting to leave the
destroyed place
we felt at home in the aftershock
A breath away from homelessness
with the monsters closing in
we fought each other
vitriolic words
directed at the sky
These things I never thought I’d learn
exposed in graphic detail
the intensity of familial
and societal agony
writ large
shrapnel blown into me
The entrance wound looked clean
there was so little blood
it was the exit wound, the obscured one,
that proved the true disaster
forensic ruin seeped into my life
through that tiny hole, a portal to my future
Chromapoetica 
Glad to see you repost it,
I see your insights from your previous experiences, bless your future.
Thank you Ji, that’s very kind of you to say.
I remember this well, Anna. A difficult and harrowing piece for a more sober and real scare, the kind life holds in tomorrow’s darkness waiting, where you never know when you’ll be ‘…A breath away from homelessness/ with the monsters closing in…” unless you always are. Fine writing.
Thanks for stopping in for the repost. I was going to post a photo this time but it made me ill so I decided not to inflict it on readers, Halloween or not. Loved your poem last night but was entirely too tired to talk about it :). I hope you’re enjoying the holiday; we don’t get kids playing trick or treat up here at the top of the mountain. I think they have big parking lot candy extravaganza exchanges at the schools down in town.
Anna, I saw you had a new post but I have to be somewhere in 30minutes. I’ve read this over once, but wow, not really sure how to respond appropriately here- so I want to make sure I read it correctly before I reply in full. I’ll also get a chance to read your reply to yesterday’s post-skimmed it before I went to bed, thanks- again, be back a bit later
Thanks for leaving me a note Fred and for stopping in today. I’m sorry if I’ve stressed you out over the reply; I know this isn’t a pleasant poem so don’t worry if you don’t want to comment on it. This is about an incident that occurred more than 15 years ago.
Anna,
Thanks. No, you didn’t stress me out over the reply. The past few days have just kind of been invisible for me, like they never even existed, if that makes any sense. Some days I need things to do, and creating routine is something I do- so in effect, stopping in to read, is a good thing for me. Enough about me here though:)
I believe I did read this correctly and this piece is, as you say, definitely not a pleasant poem, and being as personal of a poem as I imagine one could get for you, I won’t leave a novella here.
Personal writings, poetry in particular, when shared, I’ve always viewed as solely done for cathartic purpose. Which I hope helped sort whatever pieces lingered. I know you just mentioned it occurred 15 + years ago, but remnants linger, and words can, and hopefully do, assist as they, and sometimes only they, can. And synonyms aside, it does take a strength and courage to share, and any need one may have to tell their tale(s), those eyes that cast upon such circumstance, are intrinsically privileged to having had the opportunity at empathy, even as breadth of experience differentiates.
Fred having invisible days, intriguing, although I’m not quite sure I understand. During the time period of this poem and before I remember wanting to be invisible (it was my life goal for a while but then I realized it wasn’t a realistic one :)). I wrote this poem a year and a half ago and then significantly revised it in July probably so I could process what lingered. Generally I don’t like writing about real people, it feels invasive to me and I struggled with this one, why did I write, rewrite, share, and then repost?
I’ve talked with other poets about this type of poem and catharsis was our answer too. There are things I know I’ll never share in poetry or fiction and that’s as it should be I think. Sometimes I suppose I have to remind myself of the message of my poem Brutality Between the Lines: that I’m a person underneath all this art. There are however, good reasons I make art and have no interest in memoir. I’m drawn to the connections made through work that is big enough others can tell their own stories through it, the more open ended dialogues available through art. Does that make sense? I want to respect the reader and give them a gift, not get in the way of their experience of art. Now I’m rambling, thank you for reading and your empathy.
Yeah, makes perfect sense. Respecting the reader is honorable and gifts are always nice:)
As for the invisible days, well it wasn’t in reply to this piece. It was in reply to your previous reply, about not wanting to stress me out. But now after rereading, it turns out to be one of those things where you’ll write something that needs clarification, backstory etc, but never provide that, woops:) I. D. is just what I say about many of my days- the backstory is much too long to detail now. now I’ll feel bad because it’s like one of those situations…”hey did you hear about…oh I better not…” lol
That’s the problem with making statements at each other :). Ha, yes well, I’ll forgive you.
people often seem to think that because food service jobs don’t pay a lot, that they’re easy. nothing could be further from the truth.
anna, you may not be bulletproof, but you’re tuff.
happy halloween, girl!
ps–i wun let farblossum turn you into no toad!
Happy Halloween! Thank you for the reread and the laugh :). I believe you’ve got the moxy to keep farblossum from turning me into a toad – it really was a compliment (if a groanworthy (or croakworthy) one).
Appreciate the re-post. Vivid glimpse into a terrifying experience.
(I read it with much care. I don’t feel like making some long ranty comment on this one, as I sense it is as is. I thank you for sharing it.)
Thank you very kindly for the read. I wanted to put it to rest, All Hallows Eve seemed the best time.
tell me things are different now? that the light and peonies and paeans are winning?
it is spring here. the children don masks for sweets and so there is some kind of harvesting festival i guess but it feels incongruent with the fresh green lushness of the garden.
in some ways the poem is like that a clash between the hopes and horrors of life.
thank you for the reminder of how lucky we are when life is quiet and time is finding its season for things. step by step into a wider pattern. best wishes j
Yes, the light, peonies, and paeans are winning and I am grateful for that every day. In the US it is autumn but where I live it is already winter (due to the altitude). I too see it as a clash between hope and horror, choosing engagement, purpose, and beauty has always been my way. There have been times in my life however that, like an avalanche, threatened to bury me. Luckily I’m scrappy and have learned how to create breathing spaces even in the disasters. This poem reminds me where I been and why I travel ‘step by step into a wider pattern’. Thank you for your kind remarks Janet.
I was shocked reading this via email, horrifying…I’m not sure of my reading, i can’t believe you were accused in someway, too terrible, I must have this wrong..poor you…
Oh dear, no, sorry for the confusion – I wasn’t accused, I served on the jury of the first degree murder trial, our legal system operates differently than yours so this may be the issue. E-mail me with any questions and I’m more than happy to clarify :).