Loneliness

You never understood fear of being alone
Having been alone most of your life

People ask, “Are you lonely?”
of course, but what of that?

“Better to be alone than in bad company”
You know how bad company can get

Still, who knows your story?
Who can sit with a bottle of wine

Remember when? Your journals
Writing is a cast of the hole dug into you

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, December 2017

Wayside

Depression is like a flat tire
Without a spare or a jack
Maybe it’s a hot day
You wait for the tow truck
Miserable in the heat

It’s the same old car
same old stretch of road
You are going nowhere
You can’t fix it
You have to wait

But wait!
Your body is trained
If you put on cycling clothes
Happy chemicals flood the brain
Lift you out of the episode

There is power in ritual
Exchange a flat, tired mind
Get out the door
Get on the bike
The rest will take care of itself

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2017

Breaker

Under the surface
Under the film, foam
Is the sea washing rocks
Wearing them away, slowly

To trace a finger along the surface
Is to invite something:
Fear, resistance, or danger
Of acceptance and desire

Those of us who
Dip our hands within
To feel the temperature
Are not sure what to do

When it is fine
Mostly without desire
To disturb the water
Our own rocks weigh heavy

Disrupt, cause undercurrents
Wish to cause no harm
Only to know, be known
But the deep end, no matter

Temptation will swallow whole
Float dead or thrash
Struggle to get out
Only to beg to get back in

Water will have changed
No buoyancy left
Cast out on the rocks
Body broken heart

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, June 2018

Usual Early Morning Stuff

It is 5am. I fight with the alarm. I fight with the cat. It is hard to leave the bed soft, fresh sheet, downy blanket hugging me back to slumber. He won’t let me sleep in and the 10-minute snooze won’t either. My choice. I set the alarm. I keep feeding him.

I sit up. I strap on the robe and sandals. I set about the usual early morning stuff. The cats weave around my legs as I pee. There are two cats, but she is much quieter, so I don’t complain about her in the morning. The gurgling coffee pot calls to me from the kitchen. I set about feeding us.

Shredded fish and gravy for them, OJ and coffee and ink for me. He eats, and naps curled in the chair next to me. She disappears again. The coffee has been poured into a weekday cup of average size. I put on a blanket against the chill from the degrading kitchen windows.

I begin to empty my mind of anger or poems or scene sketches for a novel I am months from completing. It is slow at first, unsure of my characters. What if I make bad choices for them? These are someone else’s kids in my care- no? They’re mine? Even worse. The white space fills with black ink, mostly legible, with circular patterns of character self-discovery and bad descriptions.

The paper and ink raw messy dirty dish reality of my kitchen conjures the best times of my life- food and wine and people I love. The space I write and create, the space of warm ovens and cold drinks, of turning spice into curry and flour into bread. It is fertile ground. It soothes my aching soul when the pen digs too deep into the flesh of all that is hidden.

Later the computer will sterilize this but not too much. Only enough to make it appear I am not completely uneducated though my reading list is long and impossible. Writing my flesh then clothing it in gauze. My living room editor life of electronic square blinking screen, cold and efficient, symbol of productivity and work.

The alarm on the stove beeps. The pen and paper are closed. Night clothes come off, day clothes come on, different. Hair different, hot and pasted into place. Breakfast, commuter bag, lunch bag, journal, calendar, coat, hat, boots, mittens… power off, locks on, out into the ally to the street to the bus to the bumper car traffic to the place I spend most of my days, not writing, in a cube farm.

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, February 2018

Drifting in at Night

Day ends in
Hot water bubbles

Lavender scents
Body, I am calm

There is no fighting
Neighbors for hot water

No fighting
Cats over mealtime

No telephone or internet or music
Just my peace of mind

Day complete, time spent
What I accomplished, over

Clean sheets
Smell of soap

My downy cocoon
Speak quietly to God

About all that I did
Ask for help with things

Painful and confusing
Know no answer will come

Until at least morning
Might as well sleep

Often, I do not finish
Fade away with my prayers

Next to cats who snuggle,
Groom each other in darkness

Hum from the fan blocks
Noise of the city

I release into the next
A peaceful life

For one who has known
So little peace

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, March 2018

Movement

Survey material goods
Next door assessed by developers

Rummage to donate or pack
Memories sold to highest bidder

Take down shelves, curtains, waste
Flower pattern wallpaper, carpet demolition

Hired men take it away
Trucks with wood, bricks, drywall

Sweep floor
Sweep neighborhood

Move on, move in
No trespassing

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2003 (revised April 2018)

Across Water

Currents move you
When you don’t know
Where to move yourself

In childhood,
Moments of crisis,
At the end of one chapter,
Beginning of the next

Familiar in their pain
Longing that returns
Over and over
Like waves, the tide

Trying to ‘be good’
Meet expectations
Of your parents
You can never meet them

They are the shore
Currents constantly
Pull you away from,
Where you started

These people
Began your life
They are not the end

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, May 2016