11 Dec

We have circles under our eyes,

us night shoppers.

We smile sheepishly at each other

for being discovered to be the dark dwellers

in search of our day-to-day

at such unseemly times.

An old and familiar menace

on my shoulder under Target lights

on the toilet paper aisle at 9 PM,

Hello, demon.

You have climbed on

and pinched me

in a tight fold between

my shoulder blades

for far too long!

You come with the to do’s,

the have to’s,

the then and then and then

listing of life.

You shove must at me!

Your discordant chord incessantly

in my ear,

with the drop dead finishing I have created for myself,

yank me out of the moment

and back into the dream.

I say, if you ain’t going to dance, demon, you can fly on out of here.

I will sit in a bean bag chair for the hell of it

on aisle 54.

You night shoppers,

and you

the devastated man buying to supply

a whole kitchen tonight,

Here’s how we are going to do:

You know the sale on printing paper?

You just write it all down;

get all your doing on a list, then

fold it up into an airplane –

See if you can hit me on Aisle 21B where I am buying cat food.

That starving stray cat will cry no more on my doorsteps in hunger,

for he finally made it to the list that I airplaned over to you.

11 Responses to “nightglow”

  1. Hariod Brawn December 11, 2014 at 1:17 pm #

    ʎɐqǝ uo pɹɐoqʎǝʞ ɐ ʎnq ı ǝɯıʇ ʇsɐן ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ

    • marga t. December 11, 2014 at 5:00 pm #

      This is a better version of my paper airplane 🙂

  2. Andrea December 11, 2014 at 6:36 pm #

    Are you kidding me? The blog monster ate my comment! Oh, dang. It was so in the moment too… I wonder if I can find it…

  3. Andrea December 11, 2014 at 6:39 pm #

    Aha! My mistake. Went to the wrong post. Transdimensional Linguistics got it. I shall try again….
    Well holy smokes. And mirrors. But NOT smoke and mirrors. Actually, quite the opposite. Demon stapled to paper airplane, and now, at the checkout, I grab a tiny 3-pack of lighters hanging next to Cosmo, Enquirer, Rachel Ray. What lovely kindling. And up it all goes in flames; airplane, demon, magazines. Someone pass me a cigarette. I have an extra lighter. Was that good for you? Because it was GREAT for me. Yes, I’m getting a little sassy here, but this poem moved me this morning. A nice little nudge over the edge, to show me that, if I choose to disembark from the demon pilot’s paper airplane, I can fly. No parachute needed. LOVE this!

    • marga t. December 11, 2014 at 6:51 pm #

      So so great to set this old push push push pattern into flames. I lived with it so long, I had to stop and say, what is this feeling, what is this uncomfortable feeling; how long have we co-existed? So fun to expel into words and then to have someone who joins me at the checkout for a bonfire – how great! shall we toast some marshmallows? xo!!! m

  4. amandaseesdreams December 11, 2014 at 8:37 pm #

    Miss you 🙂 Perhaps you have not been posting often, or perhaps I have missed your posts in my reader, but it was encouraging to see this one here! GGreat flow and groovy vibes, just what a difficult day called for. PS. How’s that dream journal going? I’ve been doing some intuitive collage lately, which has been super fun! I’d love to make one for you one of these days.


    • marga t. December 11, 2014 at 10:14 pm #

      There you are. Actually, I had spied a post of yours of late, but the life flow has been intense and I have only been reading in snippets here and there and I didn’t feel I could give you my full attention, which I so wanted to do! My brain wants to rest! The winter break is so close, 40 more essays to grade and averages to determine by Tuesday and then I am going to stretch out! Ahhh. Love this picture of you! I have been escaping into sleep but not journaling. Intuitive collage, sounds wonderful. I am curious what that entails. Will you post some pictures? xo! marga

  5. Michael December 13, 2014 at 12:55 am #

    Just what I needed, M. After a flurry of weeks in which the demands of the mundane have damn near zombified me, except for when I run and hide in the coat closet and mainline a Hafiz poem, or remember every madness has a punchline and we’re it, the images you paint of flopping in the bean bag with a carton of toilet paper at your side is like an invitation to practice my stand-up routine– I don’t have one– to a darkened room, or to get out some books full of blank pages and read them cover-to-cover with ecstatic fascination. I’m thinking of spending the weekend out of doors, with my face aimed at passing satellites, and a notepad in hand. Hope you get through the essays and into some clear air…

    How many days do you predict before the cat moves in?


    • marga t. December 13, 2014 at 3:30 pm #

      Oh, that’s it! Your stand up and ecstatic readings of blank pages is the source point that can be found even in the mundane – the anti zombie antivenin treatment. I have a few teachers who have taught me how to dance in the subway moments of life like this:

      Trying it out daily, with Hafiz on the pizza box drum kit, I am — right now with those last stubborn essays.
      (You are so right on with your kitty question. My heart is breaking for the little guy; he wants so to move in, but he makes me sneeze. He and I will continue to dance on the front stoop, for now. Know anyone who would like a cool cat?) Happy Michaeling to you, this fine weekend!

      • Michael December 15, 2014 at 2:35 am #

        Thank you, Marga. My Michaeling largely consisted of wading through a swath of professional backlog as well. I’ve come to the end of it as I’ve come to the end of my willingness for this particular slice of everywhen. (The conceptual design of a retrofit fuel forwarding system for a power plant is largely in hand.)

        There is a story I failed to tell you last time. We had a back porch kitten friend that my wife wanted to move in. Our previous back porch adoptee had passed away, and we were enjoying the ability to leave the premises for more than forty-eight hours without needing friends and allies to make house calls… because once you enter into such a covenant, you have a commitment to uphold it– you know this deeply and without question– and it can’t just be called off because of family crises.

        So, anyway, I wasn’t prepared to move in a replacement just yet. My wife was away, however, one weekend, so it was my turn to fulfill the oath. I entered into the relationship directly, and I realized quickly that he was a fine creature in every respect. When my wife returned she found us lying on the sofa, each of us with a bowl of vanilla ice cream, watching television. I received a stern, but playful talking-to; however, I had obviously done the right thing. He passed away about two years ago, but he was the most loving, devoted creature of any type or sort I have ever known. We still miss him.

        And say, what about that Ese, anyway?


      • marga t. December 15, 2014 at 12:52 pm #

        Were you the one to offer such nice alliteration as, “retrofit fuel forwarding?” More poetry in the everywhen! Do you get to sit at a cool angled drafting board, sometimes?

        The weight of relating, the responsibility of commitment – years of love and care in exchange for the momentary cozy bro time in front of the TV with the ice cream. 🙂 I love the Carson McCullers story, “A Tree, A Rock, and a Cloud.” Do you remember ever reading it? It is one of those tales I carry with me, as now everything seems to be in relationship. We as humans jump right for the big ones with other humans, yet as awareness grows, the exchange actually taking place with such things as trees, rocks, clouds is quite advanced – now to cats – that is epic!

        How heart-warming it is to me to have a friend such as you who remembers such details as previous posts about Ese! There is a complex story from July involving flea infestation, a heart-broken original human companion, and undoubtedly karma and grace. Shall I try to tell a quick version or are those key words enough? End result, Ese is in healing mode with back home with his human owner Chandler.

        The difference between Ese and Tigger for in-house companionship is that strangely, I am (seemingly) allergic to short-haired cats and largely non reactive to long-haired cats. As I was reading your response, I was fighting the urge to rub my eyes non-stop since I forgot to wash my hands after giving Tigger a pat on the head and love tickle around the face. Given these reactions, I cannot envision him inside without a large personal price. Yet even just a door-step contract weighs on the heart; is he cold? Can we go out of town for Thanksgiving? Can I help him find a home?

        Wish me luck, the last 10 essays and class averages await, today, the drop-dead deadline. I couldn’t help myself from escaping to the outdoors with our sun and 60 degree days, an artist talk, and a crazy play this weekend. Worth it worth it worth it!

        Here’s to a whirling workweek where fuel retrofit functioning finally fruits FAB!

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