Heather's Poetry
MONEY
[One]
In those days
When the locusts sang like rusted wire
Broken down at angles
The evenings were long and strange
And I could never lie down for more than half an hour
Something kept tapping at the veins inside me
I held my breath at odd and broken lengths
Thought of high school
And couldn't rest
Even with the strange and hovering doom
Collecting calm all around me
In this collected space
I've waited so long
the flowers have gone all but rotten on the trees
And I'm unsure now of my responsibilities
But all the same, there have been many fences
Sitting ragged in the sun
Choked with weeds
Or standing still and lonely up before me
[Five]
One April hand wrapped in *my* skin
Is reaching down as far as it can
Toward warm grass as sad as dead chickens
And little girls who won't have the thing they want
And still don't cry
Not for anything so valuable as crayons
They save their tears for excess as they grow
To spend on rainy days and boys with winter faces
And I put in my time at the grocery store
Because I hear they sell lives there, and I hope that's true
The old man wrote his check for four years ago
He was afraid of the end of the world
As he pushes stories at me
His blue coveralls cling desperately
To everything around him
And I turn my eyes with an aversion rarely had to money
(Both have qualities about them
That have been pressed into my hand
Thrust into my face
And both have numbers
That sit static in my eyes
And demand solutions
Resolutions
And rarely come out right
And never lift a whisper of advice
And never lay a hand upon my forehead)
I can taste the Sunday mornings in this place
As I cut out words and string them wordlessly together
Until I can't fit anymore
Can't crowd anymore
Then I sit in the corner
And let the tears roll heavy down my static face
I'm a five
And I won't spend well, I know
I'm prone to slip into missing nickels
And meaningless dimes
And so all my dimes are wasted
Locked up in the paper thin of my mind
And that's why the tears fall so heavy on my cheeks
Because a five has weight enough to know these things
[Ten]
Old man looks up and nods
(And *smiles!* I swear not aged a day
But always old)
"Yeah," he grins
"I know'd you'd be back."
And those pines shake *cold* water down my spine
And my memory shudders!
See, old man laid a trap for us
Up ahead in the road
But we don't dare stop
Not here on this mud puddle stretch
We have to go on to where the fences end
And the bent tree tells us we're almost there
[Twenty]
There's a full moon above the path
A stone walk with reflecting pools of rain
And solid moments
Where you can set your feet loudly against the evening
The verse men would say these things are magic
But everything, to them, is magic
With their iambic heartbeats
I am touched more tangibly
By these irreverent fingers of catalectic line
From my whirlwind of lives, I'm running home
To meet the pen whose people glitter on the page
Building me a day
That follows till the evening's done
And for a moment I am resplendent with Ones
Being set free like doves
Out over emerald lakes and parades
Sudden with hope in the morning sun.
(c) Spring 1999
~Heather K. Dooley
DARLING
Sweet face
Eyes down like crescent slivers
Of negative moon on a dusty sky
You are shapes and you are shades
And you are traces of things not found
Elsewhere in life
Shadows not cast by form
And dreams not hinged on sleep
Your thoughts are weighted by stones
To the bottoms of pools
Out of the way of eyes
And safe from dragons
But treasures
To little fish like me
-Heather K. Dooley
23 March 1999
I gather up my butterflies...
I gather up my butterflies
into my fist
and shove them in my notebook
half-wings fluttering and sweaty
and I slam the cover on them
but they don't cry
they just settle their wings
and tuck their imaginary heads
like gray doves in the snow
and I love them so much
but I don't let them know
-Heather K. Dooley
27 January 1999
Structure
My drafts and their devices
They remind me of plants
with chlorophyll veins
like the veins in babies' wrists
if babies were light green
like infant aliens
with skin like the stems of Touch-Me-Nots
she says Your poems are really poems
and mine are just like thoughts
but she's writing amoebas
in her car
with her daughter
and her bumperstickers, she writes
I love
and like love, I am here
and like here, I want to leave
and she comes and goes
like a tide of ocean with no structure
and no veins
-Heather K. Dooley
16 February 1999
SUGAR PILL
From truck stops in the middle of the cold night
She thinks of pouring sugar down her throat before
bedtime
Ruby-throated good night girl
Tiny script like her grandmother's
Parlor rugs,
Satin pillows,
This sugary glass,
And all these rooms like canaries -
Not yellow, but *lucid.*
Whispering through the house
The door that never completely closes
Her darling is off somewhere in love
A mystery to her
She smiles, shakes her head
All this love (and gasoline)
It's enough to take you places.
She trips on the rug
Knows what she's never quite said
Writing before bed
In a hard-backed book
Printed with bugs and butterflies
(It's what girls think is pretty these days.)
She listens at a door
To one asleep
Alone in a narrow box
She always stops too soon
How good it would be to speak again
A smile and a lifting of the chin
Forward through the rooms.
~~(c) Heather K. Dooley
13 November 1999
OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL
People wander onto stage
Like dry leaves
And say their parts
And wonder on their way.
Yes, God, I listened
I will be here at the close of day.
~~c Heather K. Dooley
02 December 1999
UNIVERSAL PATHS
In the lab today, at my computer
I had a sudden vision
Of pillowcases full of butterflies
The wings were tired, beating
Against the cool linen
It wasn't sad;
They could have flown away at any moment. . .
These are universal paths and I believe it.
I've had a such a vision of this road
At sundown and the treeline
But I was fettered all the while I was here
I remember back when I could spend all day in a
churchyard
Reading babies' names and picking flowers
Now I keep appointments
To keep me going somewhere
Because otherwise, I'll sit right here and starve
I can feel my car being hit broadside
I can smell somebody's campfire
I remember being raped and going to jail
Standing on top of a mountain, free as a bird
Wishing the kids wouldn't play in the street -
Screaming when I heard the scream
I remember the stage and the dirt of the street
And sequins
I remember hatboxes
In a room in the rain
I woke up in an upstairs bedroom
My lungs filling with smoke
And not really understanding
That five years was all there would be this time.
And suddenly I want to call a very old number
With a very new reason. . .
Or none at all -
Let's go pick flowers,
Let's walk through puddles.
(c) 10 February 2000
Heather K. Dooley
YELLOW
Arrogant bastards
Lying in the smell of books and old flowers,
Secret gatherings and hard liquor:
Stay in your yellow house and freeze
Wither in the sun of other people.
(c) 02 April 1998
poetgirl417
SUDDENLY I AM TRAGICALLY HEARTBROKEN
Kaitlin walks across the lobby and to the paintings on the wall
Studies them and reads the captions
And doesn't look at me on the way over or the way back
Once we sat no further apart than the two sides of a back seat
And I took pictures of her while she slept
Because I thought she was so pretty
And I would never be that pretty
Even though I was mythically odd
And made guys stop dead confused on the street
I would never talk the way she could
And I would never relax the way girls like that did.
Fuck it, I lean back against the wall and exhale imaginary smoke
And suddenly I am tragically heartbroken
And T.S. Eliot is gone
And it's a scary hundred years later
And he's nothing but dead
He doesn't live on paper
In our hearts or in our heads
He's a dead man from a hundred years ago
And I love who he was so much
His smoke and fog and women in corsets
That for once, in real life, I understand real death.
It's a sad thing to take your heart out
And set it down beside the road
Where you used to catch the school bus
And then to walk away
Looking over your shoulder at the poor beating thing
All lost and warm and growing cold.
Fuck it, I lean back against the wall, exhale imaginary smoke.
~~(c) 14 March 2000, poetgirl417
SUITCASE
When the suitcase was empty,
they carried it to an upstaris bedroom
and set it down on the wooden floor.
The window was open but nothing ever came in.
Outside, the wind blew and blew;
unseen trees rustled in the dark,
and windchimes sparkled randomly each permanent night.
It became a question whether anyone knew the room was there
as the years passed and the wind blew
and no one ever came back.
It was the quiet fate of transience -
a subtle punishment for never growing legs.
(c) poetgirl417, 15 June 2000
ARGUMENT
There is always that wonderful moment
after the man has hurled his shoe in irrational anger
over a railing and down a flight of concrete steps
into the garden,
when he must humbly walk down and get it.
~(c) poetgirl417, 19 August 2000
MU Campus
NIGHT IN A DORM
Just knowing that I could go to him right now
and say, "Marry me,"
and he would marry me and take care of both of us
for the rest of our lives
and I could live in a house and be crazy
and do nothing else.
And the people where he worked would know he had a crazy wife
and maybe only he would know that she was in love
with someone else a long time ago
who she never got over
and somehow he would know that was tragic
and would keep it to himself.
It's scary the things that are possible.
And right now there's this baby girl outside my door
out in the hallway
on the phone with her boyfriend who's breaking up with her
and there's nothing she can do about it
and she doesn't know how lucky she is
and only I can see how precious she is.
In the darkened hallway, she looks smaller than by daylight
and I know if he could see her,
he would drop the phone
and howl outside our window all night.
~(c) 24 August 2000, poetgirl417
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