Lost In The Margin

I was yanked from the shadows to retreive my 8-peice KFC certificate. I walked infront of 376 people and introduced by name and association.

They want to introduce me to their friend who is a momma's boy in his late twenties. He barely does anything without permission, oh--and he just loves his momma.

Other's aren't as abhorred by this.
I must be, sensitive.
But I am learning, that my shadow
In the corner, out of sight is my home.

------

(But I've seen)
There might be hope for me yet,
If the clouds part and the sun
Mocks my skin, taunting with warmth
And cancer.
Though now I feel lost and outstanding,
I am great at what I do, but what
I do is ultimately unacceptable.

------

Tomorrow is Easter? I almost forgot. Sarcasm is not easily portrayed on the computer. And what I want to say most of all is that I

hear the screen door opening, and we're all home.
Who's opening the door?
What night creature is crawling through the crevice
That I haven't patched; (I'm just lazy,
the tin and nails wait-)
I will pay for that now.

-------

Divinely yours,
BETH

How To Handle, How To Stir


I enjoy this freedom. No curfew, no work, no obligations. How will I be able to forget about my scent of spring air, the initial raindrop in the thunderstorm.

---------


If I were to call the operator right now, at 11:51 PM and ask for Margaret Atwood... I probably wouldn't be connected. But I'm not in my right mind now after a late night and a few cups of coffee. The operator would tell me no, and I'd show up at Margaret Atwood's door a few hours later. Of course I would have no time to sleep so my hair would be wild, my eyes bloodshot and I'd be sobbing after having read her poem, "Helen of Try Does Countertop Dancing" twelve or twenty-eight times. Who knows how the morning would progress. Maybe we'd conversate, maybe she'd call the police while I used her bathroom mirror to drop Visine in my eyes. If the latter is my fate, then while I sit in the cold jail cell I will memorize that poem. It will be scribbled on my stomach, my arms, my thighs... every inch of skin... the officers, the law can not steal my skin. They may take my paper, they make take my pens, my saliva, my privacy, my innocence... they can not force me to hand over my skin. Atleast not without a fight. (I guess I should've just paid for that parking ticket.) I'll memorize that poem, and I'll mumble it while sleeping. I'll sing it and scream it and sob while I laugh. Margaret Atwood, you shook me. My world is convulsing, writhing on the cement floor painted blue in this jail cell. Margaret Atwood, I see you. Can you bring my Visine? Just a small favor. Margaret. Don't ignore me, Margaret.


Divinely yours,
BETH

Strange Poison

He tells me to wear the red dress,
did it really make such an impression?
Or maybe it's the dye, the pigment
is sinfully indulgent.
Or the fit, snug in the waist, low
Neck line. Or maybe it's simply erotic
how similar I look to a 1950's housewife.

---------

Went to the dodger with my mom. I called her mom by accident (I call her Paige or Pagina usually) and she scolded me. It seems like when I call her mom, she reacts like a mother.

We talked about poetry. A hushed topic at home.

---------

I went to a studio to get my senior pictures taken. I felt really laid-back... the photographer was hyped because his camera wasn't working correctly. So while he mumbled to himself and sweat a lot, I sat there like a stone pillar and waited for him to push the button.

He kept telling me, "Arch your back. Arch your back. You need the drama." And I wanted to say quietly, "I bend my back the wrong way. I have poor posture, I am always hunched forward. Hiding, writing, reading, laughing... Arch my back? Something I do... Something I do when..."

I felt like an ass sitting there paying someone to take my picture. My father has a camera, why couldn't he just take it. Sacar las fotografias.

--------

Wishing things were simpler. Instead of patterns, why not solid colors or black and white. Why not one flower instead of bouquets? And flip flops instead of bulky,

---------

This girl told me once that I have problems with commitment.

The truth is that I am cautious about what I invest myself in.

Or am I lining the truth with lace and pearls?

----------

My mother is not ashamed of me. She is not ashamed of my poetry, my obsession with sensual verse. And I feel that now, I do not need what I need before. I suddenly have someone. She was there all along. I smile because I do not think I'll ever be lonely again. Paige.

----------

Divinely yours,
BETH

Nobody Knows You're My Plastic,

Fantastic Lover.

Today explains my:
curls, personality, ability to reason (or lack thereof), love of life, anger, passion, inability to manage money... everything.

I
AM

IRISH.

And today is the one day, for me. For my father. For his biological parents. For their parents. And so on.

So I'm wearing green. And a celtic knotwork necklace. My hair is wild. My eyes are green. And I'm not drunk. But the Guinness Cake is warm and mom is working on the Donegal Pie as we speak.

I would really appreciate $20 to treat all my friends to coffee.


----
The woman across the street is pregnant. She talks to no one in our neighborhood. For the longest time I thought she was an exotic dancer or a car saleswoman. She wears large shades, oversized sweatshirts and her hair long (with blonde highlights). Why do I know she's pregnant?

She has an eighteen year old son. And a plaid stroller on the front porch. He doesn't need the stroller.

She's single. Or so it seems.
She's always been a mystery. Comes and goes at uncanny hours: four in the morning, nine at night.

I've never talked to her. She's looked at me a few times... when I've gotten in the car and slammed my head in the door, swore loudly; she looked. Only those shocking, strange times, though.

Enough.

Divinely yours,
BETH

Just Like A Woman.


We're staying.
I'll buy a car and run,
But not too far.
I always want to come back.

This girl had a Dylan shirt on today. I don't know about her, but I thank god that we are still a youth that desires Dylan's music. What will happen when we decide we're too good for that?

I rolled around on a cart.

I am watching my dog's tongue lick his lips again
And again,
And again... there might be
Sugar in his mustache

Compared to anger,
I'm not nearly as afraid of Nuclear Warfare
At least when it's drops, cracks open, explodes,
it's done.
But anger lasts... a deep burn,
Being scrubbed twice a day with a wire brush...
Scrubbing raw...
At least a nuclear bomb isn't anger
Sitting next to you in the car
On a Wednesday night.

There is something about eggs,
and packs of cigarettes,
The shapes amuse me.


Divinely yours,
BETH

Wrinkles In Socks.

I know that I am stressed because my neck won't budge. But there are days like yesterday and today that put a mental block on noticing the stress. And I thank Hannah, Shelly and my sister, Jen, for that.

Also, mother earth for the sun. And the wind.

The wind.

Why is the wind so profound and important to me?
It's in most of my poetry on my mind constantly.
I bet,
Somewhere I was lost in a wind storm.

So yesterday Shelly and I spent a while convincing Hannah to ditch school work because, "Are you going to be alive in the next five minutes?" and "Screw those people trying to give us grades, trying to tell us whether or not our parents will accept us this time around." It worked.

We spent yesterday around, in the sun.
Then some old man took a picture of us.
Thanked us.
We didn't know he took a picture of us.
And it is creepy. But I'll ignore that.

Today, I slept in until 11:40 (oh lord, yes.) and then I woke up and Jen and I went out. Again, downtown. For tea, then across the square for coffee and conversation about: men, marriage, managing money, fury, family, finances, babies, bandages, bags, bones, sex, swearing, simple things, traitors, telephones, tarantulas, learning, lack-there-of, laughter and life.

That pretty much covers that.

School work tonight. I took an evening nap. That was nice. Listened to Joni Mitchell, that was nice. Partially finished a lot of stuff... that was nice. My hand went numb, that was nice.
Thought about, thought about
The possibilities,
That was typical.
Lit a candle and choked on smoke,
That was atypical.
Closed the door to focus on Macbeth,
That was grueling.
Abandoned my work to write my thoughts,
That was ...

Hey man, thoughts.
Let's talk about thoughts.
And what I'm thinking right now.
Right now I wonder what a family is for,
And why I can have a family like the other people.
The other people who's family is so united,
that their siblings wouldn't miss a beat.
And then there's mine,
And we're lost, wandering across
A continent, a country, a state,
But no where close to one another,
Because we might feel too oppressed ...
BY WHO?
Not me, not me.
What's this all about and I've finally found
my answer: that I give up.
And I will never try for them.
Try to be a sister for them.
Try my hardest to adapt my behavior,
So I'm not so
obnoxious to them.
And that is my first
D I V O R C E.

Divinely yours,
BETH

The Main Question Is...

(The first time I wrote this entry, it was sad and angry. I put the lap top on the foot stool and looked at what I had typed and realized... why? It just doesn't have to be like that.)

You know, I don't know how much of a "city" person I am. But I enjoy being versatile. Because I know that I can go from Ashland, Ohio to Muncie, Indiana to Harrisonburg and finally to Fort Wayne, Indiana... and I've survived.

I guess as I've gotten older (hah. 18, so old?) the 800 mile drives are not as exhausting as before.

Saturday morning we drove through the mountains of West Virginia. Oh Lord was that beautiful. You know, I think I'll always remember Mom and Dad listening to John Denver at the top of that mountain. To my left was the drop... so clear, I could see the shadows and highlights on the mountains. To my right, the mountain with it's frozen water falls and herds of deer. (Yes, herds.)

Ohio is an interesting state. Generally, as a Midwestern state, it would be flat. Not so. As you move from south east Ohio to the western side, the mountains slowly flatten to a gentle roll.

The Ohio country side is unique. The barns are completely different from the barns in Indiana. And it's sad to say that this is the first time in years that I've traveled through Ohio during the winter. There has been flooding in the past week and then the water froze on the fields. It was literally a large sheet of glass. I remembered it immediately and was glad that I was able to see it again.

Indiana country side is serious business. Agriculture is one of the biggest economic factors. The fields are "up to snuff". There is not on tractor anywhere. The farm houses and barns are tidy. The fields are tidy. The cows have sporadic tufts of fur, but even the COWS are tidy in their small herds. (Yes, herds.)

But do not be fooled. Other than Lansing, Detroit and Chicago... Indiana cities are some of the dirtiest places I've ever been. Fort Wayne is disgusting. There are beer bottles in trees and sacks stuck on street lights and on flag poles. Trash was every where. The must hate the earth.

Will I ever fit in there?

There are a lot of stores. The liquor stores or gigantic. You know those ABC stores around the corner? I saw a liquor store the size of Kroger. There were more where that came from.

Then there was the Coliseum. Nothing, by far, like the real Coliseum. It had an airplane on the front lawn.

This trip wasn't about having a lot of fun.
Nothing too fun happened.
At one point, I was bored to tears. Literally. First there were tears, then laughter, then nausea. So I stood in the shower for a while. That didn't help. I sat outside the hotel door for a while hoping for someone to walk by. There were only two other people at the hotel that night. (Seriously, dad found that out from the chick at the desk.) So I walked around.

I mean really THINK about ME without anything to do. It's NOT a good situation to be in. I paced... and paced... and paced. Nada.

So we left Fort Wayne this morning at 8. I said goodbye as we drove towards Ohio.

Some things I saw today:
-Nuclear power plant. The same one I've seen every time we go through Ohio. It's a friend now. And today, the steam coming from the stack was beautiful against the sky.

-A man riding his bicycle on the road below us. He wore a red plaid coat and yellow beanie. A long beard. I wondered where he was going because there's nothing on that road. He must've been traveling.

-The man at the gas station who flirted with my mom. She dug it like crazy. He dug HER like crazy.

-The woman at Subway that I scared and made her cry/laugh.

-The geese around the gas wells.

-The tops of factories in Mansfield.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I love industrial cities in Ohio. I guess it's because I grew up in one.

The rail roads. The sound of trains.

What's funny is that I really connected with Bob Dylan in his book The Chronicles Volume One when he said, "There's something familiar about the sound of train whistles." He continued to say that it made him feel close to home. And it was strange that after being in Ohio all day, I realized that I feel comfortable when I hear train whistles. And conductors seem to be friendly.

So we're in Marietta, Ohio tonight. This hotel is weird. It's nice but at the same time it's not. It has nice beds and clean sheets. But the toilet doesn't flush very well and Mom just touched the handle of the coffee carafe and it shattered.

I like the heater.

It's freezing in Indiana. Freezing across western/central Ohio. Cold in South Eastern Ohio. What's it like in Virginia?

Well,
It takes seven hours to cross Ohio (stopping twice to go to the bathroom and once to eat lunch.)

Uh, blah blah blah. I'll be home tomorrow.
Blah blah blah... I want to eat dinner.

Divinely yours,
BETH

Oh, What Now?
What am I supposed to do, now?
I've worked so hard,
To avoid the old-fashioned crushes...
The ones that make me weak in the knees--
Like I've been drinking burning liquor,
Trying to keep it straight when I drive,
The yellow lines and the side walk,
So chaotic and out of control,
The wheel jerking left and right--
The windsheild cracking into a million peices
And when I'm ready to scream,
I sober up...
I sober up,
And I see him again,
His green? blue? eyes, it doesn't matter--
I see him again:
I'm drunk.
What am I supposed to do, now?

-----
(Shelly. I love you... but it's strange. I hate you too. And we'll just mark another guy off the list.)
-----

Divinely yours,
BETH

Fin De Semana

Mom and I sat in the church van and talked about my restlessness.

She told me to leave with a group of girls or one man.

We both know what I'll chose.

I just need out.
And I can't leave.
One more semester of high school.
Four classes, can't miss any.
Can't be absent.
Can't skip class.
Can't breath.
And when I start to walk again,
My muscles will be liquid
From the deprevation of life.

And will I walk again some day?


Divinely yours,
BETH

Literally Waking Up.

My sunday afternoon nap: four hours and dreams of my family. My real family. Not the family I know now that is spread across america.

I dreamt about my brothers and sister and I sneaking out to drive to Las Vegas.

Simple.

Never happened and never will. It just doesn't work like that.

But I guess everyone is shaped by something.

I'm shaped:
Pastor's kid.

I'm shaped:
Poor, wealthy, poor, poor, poverty.

I'm shaped:
My children, all of them, who have parents in prison.

I'm shaped:
Violent cities, seeing people shot in the chest for nothing.

I'm shaped:
Small towns, I was six, I slept at the park on summer nights.

I'm shaped:
Literature, my love for it, my love for all of it.

I'm shaped:
Janis Joplin. Jimi Hendrix. There are no words.

I'm shaped:
My mother. My mother who never quit being a flower child. Liberal, dancing in the back yard, haikus in the rain, people gathering mother.

I'm shaped:
My father. Staunch republican. Pastor. Irish. With the irish temperment.

And so... what's shaped You?

-----

Okay, so here's the truth:
I could really go for some taco dip.

Divinely yours,
BETH