Bellynotes's blog

I look for you

I look for you
in lines of print
in frames of film
and day and night dreams too
I don't want to find you
but i so very often do
and i try not to look at your eyes
try not to imagine them
try not to remember them
looking into mine.

Eager, as ever, to keep hold of the spider web threads that tie me to home, I seek out news. Always news. "What news is there from home?" The city comes to life for me then. In the retelling of christenings and graduations, backyard parties and drives in the desert, I see home through another's eyes. My old eyes. All the while, through the excited whispering of the chisme of their six degrees, I smile. I am quiet, with my head held high, afraid and hopeful. I listen for your name.

The mail comes and I carry it to my room. Flopping onto the bed, arms dangling over one side, heels kicked up and swaying behind me, I flip through glossy pages of a homegrown publication. Pleased to see the mountains and amused at the society photos, I am also mesmerized by the turning of the pages. I want to stop and toss the whole piece away from me. I don't. Instead I look for your initials, for the names of associates who might lead my eyes to you, the words that will warn me if your face waits on another page. I exhale when I reach the end, relieved that you are nowhere to be seen. And disappointed.

My writing world is of new media, of tech meeting art, and home thrives in those circles, my circles. But they are the most treacherous for me. Every link, every video still, every shared post on my beautiful city makes me hesitate. Are you behind it? Will your voice give life to the narrative? Were your hands on the camera? Will your name appear and warn me to turn away? Or without warning will your face appear--your profile, your jaw line, a view of the city taken over your shoulder, or your silouhette in the frame? That's when I do turn, cast my eyes down to lessen my focus. I tell myself, "Don't look. Don't look at him." Pretend not to see.

Pretend it never happened. It's better that way.

And yet I look for you...still and, perhaps...always.

This must be what a lifetime sounds like

Listening tonight to Miles' Flamenco Sketches, spurred on by, of all things, a tweet from a friend, I'm struck not for the first time by the storytelling in the tune. And I think to myself, this is what a lifetime must sound like. Up and down...sadness tinged with youthful lilting of the horn...hope and resignation...along with regret and its accompanying apologies...tumble gracefully down the piano keys...pleasure in the smallest of things, the most inconsequential of memories drifting as the brushes circle the skins...sunsets and the laughter of friends when we were younger...the laughter of children now that we are older...the bass strums...wisely looking back on a good life that is yet, and always, incomplete.

but of course

i would choose to be alone
rather than endure the uncertainty of another's potential
i have my own potential to run down
to wrestle and twist into reality
and it takes all my time and determination
not to stray from the path

still, it is lonely
or will be
or may be
on my horizon
i see empty rooms
and i know i should make plans
for human kindness
when i need it most

for now i'm content with friends
with dreams
with my own pleasures and secrets
there is joy in being alone
in having the only hands
to touch my body
in imagining love
as it could be
in remembering it
as it was
even if it doesn't come again
even if it doesn't stay forever

lest you forget what momma said

An unwelcome advance delivered sweetly from a friend who won't take offense when you brush his hand away, who still persists in the twilight of dawn to mutter into the hair at your nape that you are beautiful, that you have great legs, but will agree with you when you suggest that he is just lonely, and this all means nothing, and it's really silly and unconscionable, given the circumstances, to even consider entertaining the thought...serves as a tragicomic reminder that men do really want to sleep with every woman they know.

a pull up from a dead hang

i dislike my soft parts
they bother me
i want to be compact and powerful
streamlined
able to slip in and out of the keyhole
i just don't want things to jiggle
to fill my hands
or the hands of lovers
i want to be solid

understand it's not about 'smaller'
'thinner'
those are silly words
i've been skinny
but it was not right
i felt weak and sickly
and wrong

no angles protruding under skin for me
my collar pronounced and cheeks
sunken
sad
no thank you
i want to be muscle and strength and
tone
with just the right overlay of cushion
to make skin soft and smooth

to keep hips in their place
and curves simply tamed
small breasts, yes, but altogether
real
and always at attention
to do all this and feel
in command
of my body

it's a matter of art you see
i'm the sculptor and the sculpture
my own muse
and i just want to do myself justice

wasting here

just dreamt i was a lioness
battling back at a serpent in my midst

how dare he belly crawl into my circle of shade
how dare he slither through the grasses to find me
he knows i will end him if he comes close
he just wastes my time

watching him slip toward me
to his inevitable end
i'd rather he go away and take his life with him
such a bore to have to dash him against a tree
he knows he doesn't stand a chance

but he persists
a fool or martyr
i've no cubs to fall prey to his trickery
my mates are well protected on their own
how dare he even consider me
how dare he demand my attention

his time is already over
he's already wasting here
and tomorrow the carrion fowl will have picked him clean
and his bones will lay scattered and bleaching
just beyond my circle of shade

taking note

an unexpected, but much needed, and very rare evening nap on the sofa tonight sort of threw me. am i really this tired?

i've returned to the sofa twice more and both times the same cat has returned with me. this makes typing difficult right now. but it's comfy to have her curled against my side.

i need a place just to write. to be anonymous and collect a new crowd. and that's what this will be.