All content rights reserved by the author.
custsupport@journalscape.com
| :: HOME :: GET EMAIL UPDATES :: Angela E. Moore drawings :: EMAIL :: |
|
Ondine She's got everything she needs, She's an artist, she don't look back. She's got everything she needs, She's an artist, she don't look back. She can take the dark out of the nighttime And paint the daytime black. --Bob Dylan 2006-07-07 6:02 AM Who's Your Angel? Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) |
|
I've been praying to the arch angel Michael, visualizing leaning my back against him during the day. He holds me and enables me to move, to fight off the demons, his wings spread wide. At night, those wings wrap around me, protecting me so I sleep and the nightmares have stopped. Last night, I dreamt David was digging tunnels under our old house. He was doing it for Joe, but it meant he had no time for us. This is not a metaphor. David spent most of the last years of our marriage in the crawl space of the house, connecting our computers and the music systems with cable. When I'd ask him if we could all go do something together, he'd look at me annoyed and tell me he was busy. So, last night he was digging. But then something happened and he realized what ever he was digging for was impossible to get to, so he stopped and moved into this big apartment complex and was teaching Joe how to photograph a beautiful white flower in the foyer. Angela said, is this where you run? I looked around and wondered why David had been digging all those years. Why had he wasted all those years and our marriage. I asked him and he said, because you were on the computer, hissing. I screamed, I was on the computer because you never would talk to me, or go anywhere with me. I was on the computer because I was lonely. His face went soft and he said, you're right. My landlady has not been forthcoming with the security deposite. Was trying to be nice but gently assertive, but yesterday got worried she was shafting me. Talked to Jenn, who told me to go to the realtor about it. I called the realtor and left an angry message saying I was not okay with my landlady's behaviour. Received an email this morning saying the landlady wants to meet me today with the check and could I please in the future deal directly with her. Maybe some day, I'll be able to choose a gentler, kinder angel at my back. For now, it's Michael and me. Joe is writing a paper at school, comparing George Orwell's Animal Farm to today's political insanity. A year ago at this time, Joe was in a walking coma, hearing voices in the shower, and spiraling into a paralyzing abyss of psychotic depression. Paladin and Postulant A middle aged woman, much like myself, my shrink wears sneakers from her morning walk. We sit in an office above spruce trees, a cemetery, and freeways fleeing north and south. She offers me tea, a middle aged woman, much like myself. I want to run, I say, to follow the traffic snaking beside the graves beneath too green grass. “But, your war is not done,” she answers. Wind blows through the clouds above head stones, refracting light. In that disjointed moment, I see through the façade of a middle aged woman. Much like myself, her hard armor flashes silver. Beyond the forest, the shrines to the dead, I follow her into battle once more. |
|
Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top |
| :: JOURNAL HOME :: SUBSCRIBE TO THIS JOURNAL :: Angela E. Moore drawings :: EMAIL :: |
|
|
© 2001-2010 JournalScape.com. All rights reserved. All content rights reserved by the author. custsupport@journalscape.com |