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Written by Diana, on 10-12-2001 03:21

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clearing our shared sink one more time
shaking my head when i see how messy it is
i pick up the cleaner and spray like mad
acting like there's a disease in there and it's contagious
i sit impatiently, waiting for it to do it's magic
two minutes are up and i'm scrubbing away
thinking, why am i doing this? i don't even use this sink
it'll just be dirty tomorrow, i should wait until it's truly mine
when my sister moves out in a month
then i think this is the last time i'll clean up after her
partially happy and secretly sad
that we'll never argue over bathroom rights
never more will we race for the door, clicking the lock behind us
but then i see how fast the soap is working and I slow down
trying to let this last effort linger
trying to remember our petty arguments over who got spots on the mirror
who let tooth paste drip in the sink
I'm almost done, the soap works too fast
trying to think about what else i could do
maybe i'll clean her room for her??
wait, i'm not THAT sad.

(college poetry assignment)

Last update: 10-12-2001 03:21

Written by Diana, on 09-12-2001 19:24

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a wicker basket
has been converted
into the dog's toy box,
constantly rummaged through
for the best,
most tasty bone available.

so many toys,
some ravaged and unrecognizable
others sparkling new, never touched.

a stuffed gopher with pink feet,
the mouth torn open so wide it appears to be screaming in pain,
for it's guts have been removed.

I guess Santa's ordering off the internet this year,
his feet are gone and his rosy cheeks aren't rosy anymore.

and Rudolph's nose no longer glows
and the song he sings sounds more like an expression of blind agony,
for his eyes have been temporarily removed.

a cat toy in the shape of a mouse
no longer smelling of catnip, smells more like wet dog.

a tasty beef bone
that's now growing something flaky and white,
no longer useful as a dog bone.
fits more as disposed garbage at the dump.

three tennis balls
missing their once-bright yellow fur.

toys unused, bones un-chewed.
squeaking mini rubber shoes,
rawhide bones and footballs,
a fire hydrant gone untouched by a dog's sniffing nose.

now the basket sits outside
in the rain
temporarily occupied by
a potential black widow.

(college poetry assignment)

Last update: 09-12-2001 19:24

Written by Diana, on 09-12-2001 18:14

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memory troubled me
I was living a lie
my life was a field of battle
but it was JUST FUCKING FINE
with me

Happiness is a choice
like an underwater history
representing Byzantine complications
of desire
found
by my great tap root
of an imagination

I've been told
of gritty,
gnawing,
shitty little instinct
but I do not fear it:
I have been there
And nobody believes me

it infiltrated everything
you wake up
afraid you are going to live

but my life no longer overwhelms me
they ask if my perspective
is just a diversionary tactic
could it possibly control you?
I shrug.
Hell if I know, I say

Curiosity,
of course,
killed the cat.

(college poetry assignment.  can you recall what books these lines came from?  every line is a quote from a book I read while in college, prior to december 2001)

Last update: 09-12-2001 18:14