1998 poetry

Dreaming in Mono

Mom told me to take a picture of an Alaskan Malamute eating a Milk-bone in an alley.
"Make sure to use black and white film," she said.
So I went searching for an Alaskan Malamute eating a Milk-bone in an alley.
Until finally I found one. But he wasn't in an alley.
He was in a field of weeds on a dead end street.
Just my luck - he was eating a Milk-bone.
So I started snapping pictures with my black and white film.
But then this guy that looked like Bill came up to me.
He owned the dog.
I knew this guy somehow, but I couldn't remember how.
I said, "I'm taking pictures of your dog for my mom."
He acted like we were a couple.
"Why don't you love me anymore?" he asked and hugged me.
Confused, I whispered I did love him in his ear.

He drove us to Albertson's.
I forgot about the dog.

There stood Damon - I hadn't seen him in years.
He looked practically the same.
I think he was wearing a pink or red shirt.
His hair was still long.
Jenny, Angie, Nikki, and someone's mom was there too.
They convinced us to go to a luncheon for Angie.
I talked to Damon through the whole luncheon.
I've always wanted to talk to him.
Nikki asked me, "What are your favorite bands?"
I replied, "The Cure, Smashing Pumpkins, and Guns N' Roses"
(purposely saying The Cure and Smashing Pumpkins first to impress him).
He agreed.
The guy that looked like Bill kept nudging me.
He was jealous. I kept ignoring him.

Everyone started falling asleep.
I was worried because I had to get home by 9:30.
But still I waited and talked, until me and Damon were the only ones awake.
I crawled over to him and whispered, "Can I ask you something?"
He knew what I was going to ask.
He replied, "You think you know someone but they turn out to be different."
And that was it - it disappeared - everything disappeared.

Now he sells Kirby vacuum cleaners on Montana Street
and drives his blue Subaru with "Imagine" on the license plate.
He probably doesn't realize I still think about him.

"Life in Mono" plays in my head,
"The stranger sang a theme, from someone else's dream."

Sabrina, February 1998
Inspired from a dream

they talk, she listens

as rain is falling in grayness outside
she whispers softly, "my voice is missing."
she hears the wind that fills her emptiness
while ballerinas dance through teary eyes.
her frown is hiding under a smile as
the words still echo into the silence.

Sabrina, February 1998

We used to wait in the Safeway parking lot on Montana street
for Jeff to get finished with tae kwon doe
we'd sing "Silent Night" and we'd hear the silent beat
of night when the street light filled the car. "Show

me" I'd say, he'd reply I was a tattle.
I'd spin in the gold chair around and around
and around. We'd laugh together and we'd battle
playing pool in the basement where the ground

was covered with Smurf cups. But then our basement
changed. I filled in the holes with a black marker
and he started to run, I never knew what it meant.
The basement was searching for a cure -

so my dad found one, with his Apollo type brain.
And the basement got lighter but each slow paced
step down the stairs was a walk down the lane
of Barbie boxes, Hot Wheels, and car races.

He used to draw pictures of heavy metal bands.
Until dad let the wind carry them to the dump.
I tried to catch them, I reached out my hand,
but I tripped over the hidden speed bump.

Sabrina, February 1998
Dedicated to my brother.
(Written in some strange poetic form I can't remember.)

the blueberry

All of a sudden, the phone rang.
It was Dan.
I thought he would want to talk to Ryan, but he started talking to me instead.
I felt fat.
"Did you already get a gift for Bridget?" he asked.
I said, "I think I did but I'm not sure."
"If you haven't, she needs new dishes because ours are dirty."
"That's a good idea," I said, "but I did already get her a gift."
Dan sounded disappointed. I think he was too lazy to wash the dishes himself.
I hung up the phone and was surrounded by people at a party.
This girl was talking to me. She had an egg head. One of those pretty egg heads that make you jealous.
I said, "It's unfair, all the good looking people have egg heads, and I have this big basketball head. I look like a basketball."
She acted like she understood me. Her bangs were grown out. She had on one of those skimpy black dresses, the kind that only really thin people could wear.
I continued, "Egg heads are people with oval shaped heads and long foreheads. They can grow their bangs out without looking like a penguin."
She looked over at me and I felt like a giant blueberry. Like when Violet ate the gum, even after Willy Wonka told her not to.
"Haven't you noticed how all the actors and actresses on TV have egg shaped heads? They all do, except Tiffany Amber-Theissen, she has a basketball head."
She nodded like she was listening. She reminded me of Leesa, only she wasn't Leesa. She kept starring across the room. I'm not sure at what, but I'm not sure about anything.
"... and Alicia Silverstone, she has a basketball head."
This time she didn't notice I said anything. She just kept staring across the room. Her hair was long and perfect. She was holding her drink with both hands. It was a martini in a big clear glass. There was a green olive on plastic red sword. I imagined stabbing her with it.

Sabrina, February 1998
Inspired by a dream

[ w h e n h e c o m e s h o m e ]

the stereo turns off as the garage door goes up
the tv flips to jeopardy, everyone leaves the room, and his water cup
better be placed by the sink, his diet mountain dew cold in the fridge.
in comes his rubber feet - slosh, slosh, slosh - he's crossed the bridge
between work and home. he throws his happy face mask to the floor.
he yells, "hello? is anyone here? mary!" and opens the closet door
putting his truck keys in the exact same spot he puts them every day
he wanders through the kitchen, ignoring the bills on the counter to pay.
but i'm sick of hiding. so i peek my head outside my door, and tiptoe to the living room.
"hi," i say. "where's your mother? she's never here. get me a cigar from the broom
closet, ok?" i go to the kitchen, and my mom pops up from the basement.
"mare? is that you? is dinner ready?" he calls from the chair of cement.
i grab the cigar, and smirk at my mom's rolling eyes and glance at my toes.
he goes to the back yard and smokes. the screen door screeches to a close.

Sabrina, February 1998
(Written in some poetic form I can't remember.)

My real life started with
the song "Paradise City" by Guns N' Roses.
In the front seat of the Explorer I'd see
the world through Jeff's eyes
and I'd watch the day say good-bye
to the night that was filled with black.

Sara's favorite color was black.
I remember making her go with
me to Instant Music to buy
"Epic." She'd always dance like Axl Rose
while we both laughed and I
would desperately try to see

Ryan Rowe, who had eyes like the sea.
The sky usually wasn't black,
but it was through my parents eyes...
And I danced through high school with
my Purple B'z coat and my rose
colored imagination of Damon who walked by

with his ice-cold glare. "Good-bye"
I would whisper to him, falling into the sea.
I remember listening to "Every Rose
has it's thorn" under the black
sky in the Butte High parking lot with
Joe Wood during the Soc-Hop. Off my eyes

fell the purple Lennon glasses to turn into eyes
that tried so hard to say good-bye
to the past... Then Josh came along with
his Marky Mark smile, trying to make me see
the world his way - but I still wore my black
Cure shirt and high-top Converse All-Stars. I rose

to the top of his mountain tearing off each rose
petal and throwing it into his eyes.
Putting on my black
shirt and baggy blue jeans, waving good-bye
with a big ass smile. Hoping he'd see
me walking away with

Ryan who wore a long black coat and lived by
Angie. He gave me roses and his eyes
were painted sea blue. He was the one I knew I'd always smile with.

Sabrina, February 1998
(Written in some extremly difficult poetic form I can't remember.)

eyes

there are eyes in the wall of the pool table downstairs.They saw Jeremy laughing at his bungi jumping escapades and the time that he stole the car and got killed. maybe the spaghetti made him jump too high when he spun in the oval shaped thing at the park. and the eyes at the pool table saw Chris and how we used to use the same pool stick. and Jeff used to play magic touch by Aerosmith and he'd sing, like he was cool. he used to beat me at pool most the time but I did beat him once. Sara used to take the pool sticks apart and it would make my dad mad but everything made my dad mad.

Sabrina, February 1998
Free Association

In the dark alley
The stray orange and gray cat
lives In the green dumpster