Sad, sad girl, she said
riding the train for the second time that day,
about to go under the bay
I don’t know why I do the things I do
I met a man and
we drank a large quantity of
natural wine and
walked the steps to Coit Tower together to
read the magnificent poetry of
Sarah Menefee
And when I stepped off the plane recently from my
gloomy travels to Pennsylvania
the air in California, it smells like flowers
It’s rich in jasmine
it’s a honeysuckle kiss, its
the presence of magnolia,
I’m intoxicated, dizzy
this life is making me
a perpetual exhaustion
a constant transaction for more wine, always
finding time for new men and a
broken staircase that needs a mend
I almost stumble but somehow never do
I’m afraid of myself,
I’m Ginger, Jennifer, Curtis Burnett on a beach somewhere
veritably repetitious
I’m a danger to me, to the men I meet and
never fully love
I don’t think I know what that feels like
Sad, sad girl
on the train again
the floor is dirty, mine eyes
perpetually heavy
thinking of the way he reads his poems and the two earrings he wears,
he’s delicate
he’d bring out the good side of me,
though I won’t taint him with my insanity
I prefer to duck under tree branches rather than take
the easy way in, or at least
that’s what mom taught me
She’s up and down the Willamette River,
docking her boat wherever she land that day, she
doesn’t pay to live in a moorage, she’s
part of the transient river people of Portland and
her life has purpose because she’s
always giving herself to others, though
I don’t think she’s seen her own dreams,
walking up and down that beach
Sad, sad girl, I too give myself to others,
probably more than I should, but I
have’t forgotten my own purpose and
I don’t think I ever could because
it screams at me,
drags me by the hair,
stares me down as I look away, when
I try to lay in bed all day or
hide amidst social interaction or
sexual satisfaction
to be in my body and escape my mind, to
drink away the time that
I feel so bound to
I never liked watches
I don’t want time strapped to my wrist, but daddy —
in the midst of his mid life crisis — said he’s giving me his Rolex
and it’s a sweet sentiment
if I can carry with me his dark skin, his enthusiasm,
my love for him is greater
than time so limits
and it’s time to move on
time to let time move me, to
fall back into it, gracefully
Rolex on wrist
twisting the pieces of precious metal around anxiously,
a nervous twitch
But she’s got the gift of wide open eyelids, so
gaze at the world
lovely and horrible as it may be,
sad, sad girl