The Writings of a Ginger

I awoke to guns and silence
waiting to feel if he’s alright.
Because I’ve got a boy in this war
and I know that I can feel him yell –
when he does it rips the clouds
until it gets to me.
At night I know I fight beside him —
I take bullets until I
wake up dead.
Because I’ve got this boy in a war
and I wonder if he feels me yell –
its reflected in the sun in hot shrieks
and burns his skin with me –
I stroke his face with red fingers.
Because I’ve got a boy in a war
And praying is no guarantee.
I fear the color red
and the way it splatters him –
when I close my eyes I gather
all the pieces of him.
Because I’ve got this boy in this war
and I just want to make him whole.

I see you in the setting sun, 
the last words of sunlight
shouted across the darkening sky,
rumors of purple and yellow
that cry from me to
wherever you are, so that
you may look up -
at my sky,
at my words,
at my whispers in pink -
and hear the yelling
that ruptures my chest,
and feel the beating of my heart
in the palms of your hands,
and know.

and I’ll show you how to flirt
and which boys to ignore
and how to add that dark line on your lids
and I’d brush your hair
and teach you how to braid
and give you bows to stick in your hair
until there’s twenty on top
and you’ll love tutus
and dancing in the living room
and you’ll refuse to cut your hair
and I’d pretend to be mad at you
but secretly love the way you battle bangs
and I’ll make you tea
to get you to open your eyes
and you just need to breathe
so you’ll know I fell in love
with your pale and purple skin

We went cheap used car shopping there in Anchorage.  Well, going car shopping in Anchorage implies both used and cheap.  It was hard on all of us.  I felt as if we were a recent widow suddenly out dating.  But we needed a car.

Considering there were five of us now, it seemed necessary to buy a van, but soon after counting money we saw that a sedan would better fit all our bank accounts  In the third car lot, we found a suitable SUV.  It was beat up, rusted and a green that looked like Neil had just puked on it.  Emma wrinkled her nose as if that green stunk as much as it looked it would.  ”But it’s… gross,” she said.

I shrugged. “We’re just needing transportation.  It’ll do the job.”

“I could try to paint it,” Amber offered.  ”We could put a pineapple on it like before.”

Virginia shook her head. “This thing doesn’t deserve the Pineapple.”

“How about mangoes?”  When we all looked at her with silent questions, she just shrugged and blushed.  ”Just an idea.”

“we have to name it something,” Neil said, “don’t we?”

Virginia clapped her hands. “I got it! Bertha.”

We bought Bertha and spent the night in Anchorage.  Early the next morning, we gathered round her to decide seating.

“Well, there are five seats so technically we could each get our own seat,” I said. “But the backseat will be a bit cramped.”

“I guess seats are a new thing,” Amber said.  ”we didn’t have that in the Pineapple.”

“I’ll sit in the trunk,” Neil offered, “with the luggage.  It’ll give me space to play my guitar.”

“Are you sure?” Virginia asked.  ”There is a seat left for you.”

“Well considering the thing lacks any kind of working radio, it’s probably best I play.”

We all nodded in agreement.

“Alright then,” I said, and unlocked the trunk. “Well, Neil, hop on -“

The trunk door raised, unveiling a sight that stopped me talking and almost made me scream.  Laying on top of our luggage, slowly waking in the morning light, was a man.

God likes to hide from me,
giggling as I search everywhere
but behind the curtains;
He sits on the couch with His
hands over His eyes, insisting that
I cannot see Him -
He cannot see me. 

Page taken from Macroeconomics 7th edition by N. Gregory Mankiw, page 176

After crossing the Alaskan border finally, we experienced one of the most terrible losses we ever would.

The pain began when the air conditioner and heater broke.  Soon after it was the stereo. The steering wheel began to take more effort to turn. Only a few miles from Anchorage, the Pineapple broke down for the last time.  When the mechanic gave us the bad news, we all stood in silence, even Neil who had grown as attached to the beauty as we had.  It was like an elderly family member that you know is going soon, but you still can’t believe they’re gone when they pass. In the parking lot, Neil grasped Virginia’s hand.  Amber cried silently but openly.  Emma stood, stoic as ever, yet with a sadness to her that I had never seen before.  I tried my best to hide my own tears, though most likely didn’t succeed.

We accompanied it to the junkyard, and there held a memorial service for our fallen friend.  We brought candles and incense, and dressed all in black. We girls stood together, none ofus wanting to be the first to speak.

At last, Neil stepped forward and said a few words to the Pineapple. He mumbled in his thick Southern accent about love lost and how everything happens for a reason.

Then Emma spoke. She spoke eloquently and more beautiful than any movie scene. She spoke about love and loss and the mechanics of life, the hurt in losing a dear friend. Her voice broke once, instantly sending Amber and I into tears.

Then Virginia spoke, mostly making jokes and car puns. She always used humor to make those around her feel better.

And then Amber stepped forward. In her shaking voice and through her tears so spoke about the Pineapple with all her love. She spoke about friendship and the love that accompanies it, the strength that rests within these bonds. She spoke about how these bonds may break for one reason or another, but that the love will always be there.

I felt it was my turn, but didn’t step forward. All the words I could have said was already spoken through my friends. Instead I hugged them all, even Neil. Neil’s hug was strong. Virginia’s loving and war. Emma’s supported me. Amber’s made me cry even more.

Losing the Pineapple hurt me more than I had ever hurt before. But feeling my friends surround me, I knew we would all make it through the terrible day.

Rain falls like drops of perfume,
filling the air with the scent of lace
and night. It sticks to skin
like humid hugs and kisses.
Refuge is found in satin sheets
and hushed giggles that flood our hearts

until they are no longer hearts
but ponds of cliches and cheap perfume.
Protection rests under shields of sheets
and a quiet of delicate lace,
broken only by the rain’s rough kisses
on our roof and soft murmurs into skin. 

The center of the world is our skin.
We are the slow beating heart
that fills this life with breathless kisses
and pumps bland love full of perfume
and satin and soft lace,
all through veins of satin sheets.

Our thoughts have been threaded into these sheets,
woven with the dreams we breathe on each other’s skin,
edged with the beaded blue lace
we hope will one day clothe our hearts.
Lit by candles of white perfume,
they are more beautiful than impulsive kisses.

Life exists only within kisses.
Moments of importance only those in sheets
and memories triggered by the smell of perfume.
Emotions crash on the shores of our skin
while dreams interpret our hearts
and play us nights of loving lace.

We live tied together by lace,
enwrapped in our whispers and kisses,
pinned down by our hearts,
tangled up in thin sheets.
We do not have separated skin,
our life defined by perfume.

Our skin holds the perfume of each other,
our clothes only lace and sheets and the love
within our hearts, echoed by the rain’s cold kisses. 

I am soft and yielding,
molded by your desires.
Tell me what you wish.
Is this position right?
It hurts my knees but
I won’t say.
It seems to make you happy.
Dominated, I am your field,
you may work me as you wish.
My voice cries, it rips my throat,
as it screams your name;
my heart yells it, too.
Fingers yearn to grab hold
and never let you go,
so that you may remain
forever in me
and I forever happy. 

In morning times, I think of you.
How your arms reached out,
like half awake sunbeams
pulling me to you in restlessness,
silently asking me to let you in.

In noon times, I think of you.
You always complained about brightness
with mumbled swears and
sweaty hands that take mine to
calm me as I fretted about my
slowly melting makeup.

In rainy times, I think of you.
How you pulled me through storms
as I laughed and held you with
the strength of trust in every finger.
And you kissed my cold mouth,
I treasured your warm tongue,
your fingers in my wet hair. 

In night times, I think of you.
How I laid wrapped in your arms
like a third blanket.
We remained so entangled that I felt
our flesh had no boundaries.
And when we did drift into sleep
you possessed me like the moon the sky,
every word of love a star to accompany me
that my nights may no longer
be dark and lonely.