Fig with a bellyache

I must be honest with you. Half my motivation for coming here was for the figs. And what was your reason, I wonder, that you invited me out here. Was it for the loneliness you’ve felt as your husband can only be visited temporarily, or the desire to feel young again by choosing what to put before your eyes while hiding the mirrors (I’ve done the same), or do you feel our time is coming to an end.

I’d rather not think about it. I’d rather think about the figs. How I will spend hours down in the deserted garden harvesting these tiny candies filling the casket of my belly till I bloat with a bellyache. And how I will make jar after jar of ginger fig jam until
I’m quite certain I won’t be able to close my suitcase without kneeing it into a closed submission. Ill make my attempt at a homemade fig newton recipe. You’ll stand guard lest I crystallize the fig remains once more in your “65 year old stainless steel pan” that you and my grandfather sold at dinner parties… that you and my grandfather sold at dinner parties… Did I tell you about the time your grandfather and I sold stainless steel dishware at dinner parties?

I’m amazed. And now it’s over. You’ve never been big on goodbyes and yet your lingering stance and continual conversation makes me restless. The suspicion that this could be the last time I have with you paralyzes my emotional attachment.

And all I can think about is the figs.

late nite

 

It began,
the night,
slowly, meandering,
over the black solid river
the sound of creations praise plummeting through Verde’s fly eyes

The unseen rolling waves are pulled in by my arm unfolded
while I try to distinguish all of my thoughts to center on you

I part my eyes only to peek about my new surroundings,
closed, and opened again to reveal I have traveled a distance I could not run

Tricks are played,
the river runs tangled in a mass of black hair driving past too many times

whatever happened to that place we found?

We’ll say a dog veered into your path and we’ll say the sharp curve of the road was as surprising as the                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               notes left

Given up,
the welcoming gravel offers a place to turn back,
no sound of footsteps and yet a man appears

The shriek of cursed words are more of a shock knowing they came from my own lips and I want to see past your                      dark eyes, the twitch, into the man and away from the darkness but I’m a mess and I’m fighting the victory I                                already claimed

Your discernment grabs the hand of this small child

the peace and comfort is cleansing

being healed… I am healed

 

Settling back into the fog that rests upon the complex a part, my sea legs are found firm if you want to
call me out to walk on water

The bench talks and from it chimes the Lord’s heart through melodious tunes

Close I am far away, the hour I can no longer fake

A story of late, long much revealing, laced with emotions that utterances cannot convey

I’ll draw my attention to what is simple, two cockroaches crawl in circles, one following or chasing the other?

Just stop.

 

The Tomato Garden

You love me because I was given to you
but I don’t think you like me

We rarely talk these days and when we do its always short
never going below the dry crusted earth we have formed

Had it always been like this?

Times past, in the days I was formable and small
we spent time in the garden

I measure the past in memorable events
sight and sound were my friends but touch I never knew

Our family

Was

 falling apart

Maybe I knew it as a child

Maybe that’s why I turned to food for comfort

That day in particular, I was recently reminded of

A tomato red tankini, the thin mesh material exhausting itself to cover my bulging tomato tummy
and your words
what were they now?

A recipe of displeasure and disgust.

Tomato tears rolled down out of our garden, bouncing and bounding over the rolling hills that landscaped my preteen body
and with another brick my wall was formed, my idea of beauty defined.

Written by Martha Savage

FOR NIKKI AND NIKOLA TESLA

 

 

HE TAUGHT ME ABOUT ELECTRICITY.

HE TAUGHT ME HOW IT MADE

EARTHQUAKES THROUGH

THE CITY AND ON UP MY THIGHS.

HE SHOWED ME HOW TO COIL,

TO CONDUCT HIS ENERGY

AND POWER SOMETHING DANGEROUS

ON INTO THE MORNING.

I BECAME HIS MAD SCIENTIST

LOVER BEFORE I UNDERSTOOD

THAT HE SPOKE IN THREATS

AND FACTS,

BEFORE I REALIZED IT WAS TOO LATE.

WE HAVE TO BUILD A WALL

BEFORE THE MONSTER

BREAKS THROUGH.

Relation

The Eternity of God, and Man’s
Frailty

 

You have always been there for me

calling me into your arms

Trying so hard to
grow up, I was taught that being an adult was to be cold and distant, closed
off and without emotion

Strength was defined by isolation and independence

And so I avoided coming to you

Walking in that direction meant that I had failed, that I
wasn’t perfect, and that I was showing signs of weakness

 

Before the children of men were taught these ways, you were
God

You asked me to return

For a thousand years
you asked me,

and for a thousand years I refused

I had to do it on my own

Asleep, I was carried off by the flood of lies

 

Shutting my eyes I dreamt up a beautiful carving out of
marble, an impenetrable fortress

All creation proclaimed, “out of stone, you are not”

Crushed… you taught me:

we pass away as quickly as we came

and finish our years with a sigh

Our life shows nothing but the labor of hard times

 

This heart of wisdom will count the days until you return
for me, O Lord,

and poured upon the unsatisfied will be
the beauty of your work.

 

 

Reason

When will I see your face again?

Your presence is what I need to be sustained.

In the stillness, I feel most alive.

In silence, freedom is found and oppression is left behind.

I won’t go back to the old ways.

Days spent in hatred and complacency were the fog of my
past.

You are what drives my fears away

Of becoming the woman I would despise to be

Before I knew who you were, your name was my breath

Each exhale is a prayer asking to know you more

Even if there was nothing left

If there were no one left

You would be my bounty

There was a time when I didn’t believe I could trust

I had grown so cold

Looking I saw flesh and blood, feeling was only wishful
thoughts

My mechanism of protection

Exhaust couldn’t define your dealings with me

I am your piece of work

O creator, speaks your creation, “acquaint me with your ways”

And I will run close behind

My soul lived as much as it could in shadows

Smothering my spirit until it was overpowered, left in my
own possession would have extinguished entirely

How quickly you are to act

Your concern causes me to blush

Why is it that I continue to look for love when it is right
before me?

No man will ever compare to you.

Salted Peanuts

Salted peanuts, dragon curves, the push and pull of the van
on North Carolina back roads and I am closing my eyes and breathing heavily

Not close enough to be compared to my one night stand with
the watermelon vodka demon, sickness still stands over me

How do I renew my mind in the current predicament?

The quiet landscape and mechanical flutter are usually
soothing, so I’ll try to jut my head out the window but the blur of the foliage
whispers, “don’t do it” and I try not to read the words I type out

Karly remarks about Tomboy our GPS and her flaunt of the
road ahead,

She has it so easy, sitting up on the dashboard, coloring
our course in spirals of red. I daydream about squeezing her cord until she
screams, “uncle!” and directs us to a straight path

Luckily, were down Max Patch Mountain rd., back on paved
drives, and I don’t have to carry out that bloody burden for the sake of us all

The dense car disease lightens considerably with the promise
of Asheville ahead while Eric scans the static radio hoping to get some
reception and decides upon pop 104.3

I catch the words, dj, floor, some woah oo  oo oh’s so I decide sleep will be my outlet
this time.