Promise Me, Lydia

Half-moon, a sinister smile between the trees;
Aspen, birch, all the branches from
our childhood play-house now lie scattered
on the Oregon forest floor.
What is there to save, collect like
acorns for baby squirrels?
Boy, what's left of you and me?

The last time we met at that secret place;
the one between moss hangings and owl nests,
you told me why you were being such a jerk,
because you were scared
I'd leave you all alone.
And you had to remind me again about
the promise we made
when we were twelve,
to never let anything tear us apart.

Oh but we're not tiny rulers of
a fisherman kingdom anymore.
Boy, your golden paper-crown is now
discarded on seaweed-rocks;
trampled on, pecked by gulls, crows,
by the lowest of airplane birds.
And what about me; ghost-sunshine,
am I the same Gibson-doll you swore to
protect all those crimson years ago?
What if I'm not, flower-rainstorm?
What if you've lost track of how many
fights, arguments and beer-bottles
our father hurled at our bedroom door?
Boy, you're not a robot; not super-human,
no matter how hard you try to be.
Let yourself be free; let yourself
have fun for once, smile, without remorse.
For me; let yourself be real,
wide awake, a resurrected angel.

But you never want to listen
when you're so high on bourbon dreams.
Pills scattered on the carpet;
you say they're not yours,
you say you're not a ghost
like our dear mother,
Sleeping Beauty in an unmarked grave.
Oh boy, never scare me like that again..

Firecracker-sin, Fourth of July parties
out by the beach; you and I are not like the other kids,
but still, we laugh and drink, just the same.
A girl weaves saltwater-daisies in my hair
and I catch you staring across
the witch-hazel bonfire flame.
I know you're remembering, boy,
when you did the very same thing;
braiding bluebonnets in my faded
sunset strands when you were eight.
“Lydia, you're so pretty,” you said back then.
And it's funny how I remember,
those words made me smile, made me feel
like I was worth something more
than child-support fees in the mail-box.

Our mother was always drunk; always
high off cigarettes, sleeping pills and
regret from 1999 nightmares.
I couldn't count on her to pack my lunch
or tie a ribbon around my waist,
matching colors with my Sunday dress.
No, boy, you were the only one who cared..

And maybe that's why the lines
got blurred between us, that's why
you thought of me as your unlucky Juliet.
But warm fingers on my neck;
when I was tired, you let me
lay my head on your shoulder
as we drove home after another
tiring party, pretending to be normal.
The glinting mysterious Pacific coast
swept by in a haze of charcoal
and blue heron remains.
I only felt safe when we were close,
whether it was right or wrong;
the low hum of a lullaby
in the back of your throat,
boy, the absolutely addictive way
your familiar sand-stone skin
kept me anchored to the earth.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad because
I would reason with the part of me
that was born scared, eternally numb.
I'd tell her; that accidental
little girl inside, “Just one more
year, sweetheart. Then we'll be gone..”

Oh and it was an awesome thing
to think about; how you and I,
would soon be on the open road,
heading out of this moss-covered town,
how we'd rent an apartment somewhere artsy,
maybe a studio-flat in sunny San Francisco.
“Just one more year, darling,”
I remember you whispered one morning; 2 A.M,
as we raced home in the violet-dark.

“Don't give yourself away!” you said then,
your eyes horrified at the thought of me
with another boy, even your best friend.
Oh absinthe prince, you wouldn't have stood for that.
It isn't fair and I told you so but
you refused to listen, wrapped your hands around
my forearms, said, “I'm the only one who knows how to hold you.
Newport-star, tonight is the only chance we get to be together.”
Oh boy, but that wasn't right..

I was your poison; you said
I was the reason you never left.
And all my guilt was swallowed up by
your kiss; cold peppermint, strange.
Concrete jaw-line, lashes on cheekbones;
you think maybe this lust
wanes, the more we do it?
It doesn't, castle-darling..
Hands sweeping beneath t-shirts,
that hot serpent-tongue,
running down the length
of my white throat and the shape of
my small autumn breasts;
eyes rolling back, the purple ceiling
above our heads, a cracked
constellation; boy, I'm still
addicted to you, even now.

But hours later; after
you made your promise to keep me safe,
I had another nightmare.
You were carrying my bruised and
belt-rimmed body through the eerie halls of
our house, your cheeks streaked with tears.
I was wearing that salmon-pink Easter
Sunday dress from twelve years ago,
now ripped, the sash completely gone.
Through the woods you carried me
like a mannequin in a doctor-soap,
like something still worth saving.
Boy, but at the river, your arms were
sagging; suddenly, your strength was
draining quickly from the ropes of
red-blue American revolutionary muscles
running down your fighter-limbs.
“It's only a matter of time before
he gives in," I thought. "Before
he gives up my body to the ocean, lets me drown.”
And sure enough, you didn't mean
to kill me with your desires.
You didn't mean to leave me alone
when you had to work all day
to earn a bus ticket to Detroit.
But here we are now; my eyes
sliding shut, my skin permanently
marked by the secrets of a damaged household.
And boy, it still isn't your fault.
But maybe; just maybe, firefly,
you shouldn't have kissed me like that..

And it was a dream that had me
gasping for breath; sitting up,
my heart drumming painfully in my chest.
And it woke you up, as well.
“What's wrong?” you asked,
your cornflower-blue eyes bleary.
But I just shook my head.
“Nothing.. Go back to sleep, sweet prince.”
And maybe in another life;
we're not so fucked-up, unlucky as hell.
Maybe in another life; we're not so
close, forbidden to be even more.
But for now, you got to let me go..