I Was Once Useful

We are not like the smaller towns.
This city leaves its refuse
on the sidewalks and street corners.
The things, even the people
that it’s rejected are left
on display for the tourists
to see and judge by. They think
we must live lavishly with
how much we waste. We just don’t know
what to hold onto.

Oh, the Colors!

Carefully, so that I wouldn’t snap the rubber on my face, I pulled the large mask over my eyes. “This isn’t as fun as diving, but at least you’ll get to see a few things.” I nodded and flapped my newly flippered feet. I had never see anything other than the minnows and sand crabs that hung around in the shallows, nibbling at our toes, so even “a few things” would be interesting.

We had picked a good day; they sky and water were both clear and bright blue. I could almost see to the very bottom of the ocean and that made me giddy. There were mysteries down there, bright and colorful, things that we only saw in the pages of National Geographic or those documentaries on the Discovery Channel.

“Ready?” I looked at you, anticipating the cold splash. I nodded, almost over-eager. “Ok, on three we’ll go in. One. Two.” By this time your smile had grown just as large as mine, probably at seeing my excitement. It was a contagious feeling sometimes. You drew out the last pause, building up the energy. “Aaaaand…Three!”

I held my breath when I slid off of the platform even though I had a snorkel and could have breathed easily. I looked around for you first and saw you kicking up waves, moving away from the boat, holding your plastic-coated camera in front of you. I turned and headed the other way, keeping my eyes peeled for anything of interest.

It wasn’t long until I found a school of what I were sure were called Angel Fish. Bright yellow, black and white stripes hurried around, only inches below me. If I'd wanted to, I could have reached out and grabbed any one of them, but I was content to watch them flutter around in the blue.

When I looked up again, I saw you only a few feet away, watching me watching the fish, holding your camera in front of you. You had a grin on your face and I knew that you hadn’t brought it for the sea life.

Vespers.

Couples curled on the few patches of grass,
sharing homes with roosting pigeons.

There is no shame in a city like this.

We will sit three feet away
from each other for hours, neither
making a bold enough move.
I will imagine our life together and he
will listen closer to his music. We'll leave
together, but not for the same place.
My arms are open for him.
He is three feet away and will not move
any closer.

I try to smile honestly
because I know that it is beautiful
and I know there is a difference but it is so hard
when you have left me,
so full of sadness.

So I am still learning how to forget about you,
but everything here is yours. You would have
loved it, maybe even loved me,
loved who it has made me become.

I am not in love with you, but I miss what we had.
I hope you are better than the last
time I saw you. I hope you are on your way
somewhere good. And yes,
I hope you miss me or at least
think about me from time to time.

Your birthday is coming up.
The streets are wet and empty.
Things are starting to smell of mildew
and that doesn't make me want you any less.

I want to feel myself in your arms.
It is winter and the flowers are
struggling to grow. I have forgotten how
to tell you I love you I love you I love you
I love you.

from my journal

Between You and Me

I start the day, a Friday, by cleaning the house, making it acceptable for company. Of course it's never untidy; this occasion simply calls for more meticulous care than usual. You're already at work and your boss has greeted you with an amicable pat on the back and a mention of his anticipation for this evening.

Once the house is in the proper condition I begin to prepare the meal for the night: salad, sautéed green beans, seasoned broiled potatoes and a roast; iced peach tea and red wine with dinner, cocktails before and coffee and tea with lovely oatmeal lace cookies after.

When things can be left on their own I set the table for you at the head, myself to your right, your boss at the other end and the other guests dispersed throughout. The fine china and silverware will already be at each place before they all arrive, along with neutral floral centerpieces and low candles.

I arrange the serving platters and place them in their respective storing areas--the fridge for cool items, the oven for warm--before changing. I dress in a tea-length number with pearls and understated pumps--very different from my day-time attire.

You come home and change while I arrange the beverage cart. The guests arrive and enjoy their drinks, which you expertly prepare. As they finish their liquor I'll finish the table, setting out the food and arriving in the dining room with the roast just as they reach their own seats. You carve it perfectly. The conversation during the meal is light and cheery and eventually leads to more positive attention from your boss.

As the evening wears down and the guests all leave I'll begin to clean again, clearing the table before pulling an apron over my head. While I scrape dishes over the sink you come behind me, rest your hands on my hips and your lips on my neck. A perfect evening.

As These Things Go: Persephone (as a housewife of the 1950s)

This wasn’t what I asked for. I mean, of course it wasn’t. They call what happened to me a rape. I don’t know if I would go that far with it—he never tried to force himself upon me. There was hardly time, anyway. He begged for me to love him and made me stand at his side, but sex was for naught. And for the better. My cries would have matched those of the dead and their grieving kin who still lived above. So long as things were as they were I stayed quiet and kept my sorrow within.

This didn’t keep it private, of course. Without my mother and without the sunlight I quickly became pale and withered like the plants my mother was neglecting in my absence. I could only imagine her pain mirrored my own.

And then Zeus struck a deal. I could be freed. Of course, we knew that wouldn’t be the case. He wouldn’t let me go so easily, even at his brother’s will. So with one pomegranate seed he managed to keep his hold on me, even if only for a mere four months each year.

And that was nearly three thousand years ago.

Of course thing are different now. After all of that time, how could they not be? I think, though, that people don’t understand that. They’re still telling the stories from before, from when things were too new and too easy. They don’t seem to realize that the gods do change too.

He’s made things better, of course. He wears a suit now instead of those old robes and togas. It’s much easier for him to work like this. And he runs things more like a business. There is paper work and his demons get coffee breaks and vacation days and Cerberus has their own caretakers. Thing are going quite well for them.

And as for me…

I say that things change, and they do, but sometimes one would be surprised by how little it really is.

Oh, yes, I still have my eight months of what has been called freedom. And the four months that I am here—they’re certainly different. I would almost be inclined to say better.

The time I spend above hasn’t been so wonderful since he first took me away. While my mother and the world rejoice over my yearly return I can hardly match their bright joy. I only know that my time is limited—longer than that I spend below, but regardless, I will have to leave so soon. And more recently I’ve learned to appreciate, to sometimes even enjoy our time together.

After five hundred years I learned to tolerate him. I took better care of myself while I was below. I still hated it—I still do, over all, but it has gotten easier since.

After one thousand he came to me. We had spent every day of my imprisonment together of course but this was the first time he had expected me to behave as his wife. It began awfully and he is still violent with it. I have learned how not to resist him, though. And he is always gentle afterward and holds me lightly. Sometimes I feel as if he would never let go. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t want him too.

Only recently has he expected me to behave as I am made to daily. He assigned me keepers to assure I hold my place. I am meant to me his woman, his doll. Despite his not needing it I am to prepare meals and keep things clean. I have to anticipate and attend to his whims and smile while I do so.

I see these women when I am above. They seem happy with their men. And their men even seem to love them. But do they feel their women’s breaking hearts when they lie with them?