I (Still) Don’t Know.

Image“Eeire” is not quite right. “Freaky” makes it seem a little overblown… maybe “serendipitous?”

Yeah. Serendiptious.

That’s what I would call looking up to realize that in a city with hundreds of thousands of vehicles registered, you’re behind the exact same vehicle that prompted a blog post several months about signs from the universe. The same car, same license plate proclaiming with that loaded phrase that carries so much weight with me.

And nipping at its heels, the same unanswered questions, the same desire to find some hidden, emotional significance, the same residual feelings that leave me feeling raw and wrenched apart.

Leaving is not Enough

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell
by Marty McConnell

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.

I Don’t Know.


I heard those opening violins right trailing out of my speakers right as I pulled up behind the van.

I froze, staring at the license plate, wondering about the synchronicity of it. What it all meant.

Because for someone as emotional and watery as me, every little coincidence had to mean something… right? I was always searching for some deeper, hidden, sometimes unfathomable significance.

Make peace… my heart whispered, before my brain could slap a protective hand over its mouth.

Ah, that old romantic idea: Try to fight for resolution, peace, and call a cease-fire. Try to explain myself one more time in a vain attempt for resolution. Not to win anything back or regain old ground: just a simple, optimistic effort to rid the world of just a little of that fierce hatred I still felt rippling in burning waves across the empty space and radial silence.

A different version of myself might have tried to explain yet again, but when it came down to it, I kept arriving at the same conclusions: I had to leave. We weren’t right together. And if I really cared about this person, is was better to remove my brain’s gag on my heart and let it speak freely.

And deep down I know that I will never be forgiven or understood, no matter how I try to explain it.

So my whole heart wished him well, while my brain switched songs and drove away.