the inspiror
or ode to a
best friend

she wore a

salvation army,

loved by at least two t-shirt,

faded,

word,

yet still travelin'

blue jeans

and a black feather boa.

she was strutting her stuff,

laughing at the world,

dancing,

because no one else

could find the rhythm.

she wanted to be discussed

at dinner tables

by people more concerned

with outer beauty,

wealth,

image,

than inner laughter.

smile lines speak of

living.

she wanted to

dance her own

life's music.

i was driving

my mother's gold station wagon.

the black,

brown

and gray

interior didn't

bother me anymore,

but instead it was

the fact that

i didn't know

what life was missing.

all the A'a and $'s

had kicked out

the five year old

butterfly dreams

and replaced them

with being lucrative.

the almighty

parent's dream of

a child doctor

...or lawyer,

not a child's

happiness.

living with myself,

moment to moment

gave me a headache.

i was a failure.

i wanted to fade.

i couldn't smile

politely,

shyly

if there was no standing

ohhhhhh......

that red hexagon.

re-evaluate everything

put the car

in 'p',

for park,

cause the thud

wasn't in the

schedule.

i cried.

i kicked myself

slit my wrists

and jumped out

through the open door.

she was stunned,

that great golden

station wagon

he hit her

and she was floored.

the grounded wind

blew her feathers

about like spirits

and damn something

HURT

but she was still alive,

and still sexy as

alleluia!

mwhahahaha.....

she had conquered the car.

rumors about her death

were greatly exaggerated.

i didn't expect the laughter,

the black fairy feathers

instead of crimson blood.

the pixie on the ground

jumped up

and proclaimed its life

to this unfeeling world.

"ha, take that

you big dweeb!"

her fist slammed into

the hood of the car

she had just bested

yet it remained

as still

modern

and glossy normal

as its owner.

i was

the worst off

of all of us.

"you're okay, right?"

i asked,

a verbal

pinch to rouse

from nightmares.

i obviously
missed her wit.

a silence took main stage.
we two watched a
spot between us,
neither trespassing
on the other's eyes.
the world ignored us
and went on getting older,
her laughing outside,
me crying within.

"what's wrong?"
she pole-vaulted the ravine.
the tinkling of moments
was heard.
i took my time
in suspend.

"life is pain,"
i replied,
standing straight as a
board,
doing more damage than
any car.

bones are more
fragile than spirit
but take less
plaster and bearded clocks
to heal.
i was trying
to reaffirm the
nastiness in the
world.
her optimism
cringed in disgust,
her boa wilted.

it was a

sunny afternoon.

the birds were chirping

and life,

for lack of a

thesaurus,

sucked.

her laughter cried.

"why?"

seemed to her

to be the only

answer.

to sum up:
life isn't fair,
so forget it.

my frustration
met her like
heat waves
and she cried
for the world
that stole my
butterfly.

i turned

back to the car,

now that i knew

that she was fine.

she held out her laughter

to the corner of my eye,

sun glinting

blue highlights off

of artificial black

flight.

the boa slithered

with the wind

in agreement

and i eyed it

like the snake that

it was.

my fingers told her
that they longed to
touch it
in the way that
they flexed
on the end
of a hand.

"beauty is in

little things,"

she said,

singing of

candle flames,

rain smell,

fresh out of the

dryer clothes,

and friendships.

"but what about

everything else?"

and it was a

valid question

for in a world

of big things,

stress,

and insomnia,

it was hard

to schedule in

just being

A-L-I-V-E!

"what brings

you joy?"

she asked.

"living,"

i answered

without dwelling

and it was all

i needed

because i

was alive,

had just hit

someone who could

laugh,

dance,

and wear boas in

parking lots

and both of us

were not lost.

yes,
the situation was ridiculous.
she gave me a push
with a smirk
and her best,
zany,
b-movie laugh
and fairy dust tinkled
from my lips.
we clapped because
we believed.
i laughed
because I was there
and with our giggles,
wings shot fourth
like silk scarves
or black feather boas
and two souls
brushed together,
mine and hears
and for a moment
a life was forgotten
and instead we
just lived,
dancing in the parking lot,
because we were ALIVE
and,
to ourselves,
we were beautiful.

comments/complaints/constructive criticism