3 new poems

Jeannie's Horses

I ride jeannie's horses and pretend they are mine
like I have pretended things
my whole life long

pretended to not care when
the old, large, ethnic lady at the corner store
said things about a backwards young girl
too shy to speak
and i heard her words
not really understanding
but, somehow, knowing

pretended to be part of a crowd of girls
I couldn't even recognize
outside of their
Catholic school girl uniforms
and stuffed bras,
smoking cigarettes on a playground

pretended to want men that I barely knew
just for the reward of, just maybe,
possibly, being held
for just a little while
those fleeting moments
of pretend caring,
after the sex was done.

Insomnia

I fight them
the demons in my head
come out to play
as what is night
peaks
at its middle.
they ride a coaster
in my head,
sometimes, trains
or fast cars,
jets leaving a trail
across my sky.

eventually,
I am left without a choice
but to stumble down stairs
I fight the bit
for as long as possible
till the inevitable

,
the pacing begins.
I am working on two
different tracks
wearing the tiles,
paths through the
oriental rugs.

I am convinced
of my wickedness
my weariness
my pressing state
of insanity.
there is no wiping this
slate clean
no return
to a less-complex
Self
a less-troubled
Being
a child,
worn tired from homework and play
eager to dream.

the ritual
of bedtime
the sameness of it
now i lay me,
guardian angel,
watch over me,
Hail Mary,
full of grace,
our father who art in heaven,
stay with me always

till my prayers are
the mumblings of a mad woman
delirious,
heart racing,
peaking,
exhausted,
finally,
inevitably,
the window
the silence
sleep.

Sometimes She Spins

sometimes she curls
up in a ball
knees to breast
arms wrapping knees
head bent, neck rounded
rolls herself up and around
in the spacious king bed
in bedclothes of satin and silk

sometimes she becomes
a dervish and spins around the room
sometimes she is a top
hers colors spinning so fast
onlya blur and the music of it, she
dances around the finite space
dizzying herself with her own kaleidoscope,
falling, clumsy, to the floor on boney knees

sometimes he says
I need, I need, I need, I need
and she turns up
the humming in her head
finds a closet
closes the door
opens her silent mouth to speak
then
watches how it mimes a scream

sometimes she wakes up
in the daylight
without memory
without apprehension
without fear
and begins again
and again and again.

karensaint