The Guest Room of the Heart
Michelle Rau
Smashwords Edition
A print edition of this book is available from online retailers or the author.
Copyright 2011 Michelle I. Rau
dba How Do you Spell It Productions
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you'd like to share this book with someone else, please refer them to Smashwords.com so they can purchase their very own copy. Thank you for your support.
***
Table of Contents
Praise for Guest Room of the Heart
life
open for breakfast
somebody has to get the day going:
contractors with their pickups full of tools,
two cups of coffee
to flip the sun’s breaker switch,
to open the valve that starts time flowing.
we are our own caffeine.
we are the drive to make, do, fix and act.
we are the spark, the ignition.
under our hands darkness brightens,
motors purr into life,
doors unlock
and we're open for business.
***
dawn
this is why i am a morning person.
they say that dawn breaks
but it really just dawns
like any other realization.
first there's darkness,
but it's not complete.
we can't tell when it becomes light
so we have to listen
and watch for cues.
the birds usually figure it out first,
witness those crazy pre-dawn roosters
and all that.
then a cloud lightens and brightens,
the delicate yellow and pink of potential.
but it still isn't light yet,
we have to wait for the blue sky
to make it official.
or maybe we don't.
maybe it's just a cloudy day
and we have to wait and trust
that the sun will be there
because it is.
***
the big predator in the sky
dogs get wiggy when it storms—
clinging lurking whining hiding trembling—
when it's their job to protect us.
what's the fuss?
i think there's a big predator in the sky
whose rumbling growls menace and presage
the blinding flash of slashing claws
and tearing teeth.
when your enemy is as large as the sky
and can't be grabbed by the scruff of the neck,
to suddenly find yourself prey
and get pissed on in a most undignified manner,
that just tears it.
the big predator in the sky
electrifies our nerves
and dogs have more hairs
on the backs of their necks.
it must have opposable thumbs;
how else could it fire those gunshots?
you can keep your place
in the food chain, dog,
and i'll take mine
under the fresh driving rain.
***
harsh mistress
there aren't any new clichés
that can be said about the sea,
but i'll tell you why she's a harsh mistress.
she scours with salt,
abrades with sand,
corrodes with absolute power.
she distorts driftwood and rounds rocks,
tosses seaweed to shore with contempt.
trees grow in strange shapes to avoid her,
and her salty wet perfume pervades every place.
all this before she ever reaches the ships
and before mermaids,
her earthly representatives,
enchant the human race.
her tides can't be managed like menses
or placated like PMS.
paper might cover rock,
but it's soaked by the sea,
and water always wins.
the sea's always on top,
outlasting every marriage
and breaking every human contract.
i can only breathe in the sea,
she makes me exhale in another direction,
turning my breath to her own ends.
she lets me think her pearls of wisdom are my own,
so i'll take her on my tongue every time.
***
tidepool
a snapshot in time,
one moment between
the sea's flooding of the senses
and the rushing loss of retreat.
it could be a tiny inland lake
but for the sand's inconstant
and shifting boundary.
this starfish looks real,
but beware the barnacles beneath
the slippery seaweed.
take a good look.
the water reflects you now,
as much a part of the ocean as it ever was,
and sooner or later time rejoins the tides.
learn what you can
like a child on a field trip
then send your mirror back to the sea.
***
j'éclate
like and unlike venus,
i emerge, adult,
from currents.
i spring forth fully formed from my own forehead.
i have always peeled bandaids off slowly;
now there's no time, not even to heal.
scars follow.
trees fell in the forest and i did not hear.
fallen leaves nourished the soil, regardless. now
i am a redwood thrusting forth, thick and fast,
from my own seed.
realizations dawned while i was in the dark.
embers glowed but did not rouse. now
i am a conflagration springing
from my own spark.
cocoon slumber soft as silk
but strong as steel.
wings shed shells, shattering.
nests ignite, implode;
sticks splinter;
fibers shred.
a tsunami surging from a splash.
a concerto bursting from a chord.
a storm thundering from a raindrop.
myself, emerging from myself.
***
visual feast
i stocked the fridge,
but no one told me
i had to stock the walls
or i would starve.
white space is full of potential
but it's not filling.
now i imbibe with my iris
these shades, shapes and shadows.
now i eat with my eyes
and feast on these frames.
i dine on these designs,
i lunch on these lines,
i can taste this texture.
i gorge on this green,
i drown in this brown.
my gut growls for gold.
i'm yearning for yellow.
i'm ravenous for red.
you, artist.
you didn't know your greeting card
would be the last thing i see every night.
nourishing my dreams
is a huge responsibility.
i want to know that you washed your mind
before you prepared my spiritual repast.
you, photographer.
you didn't know your mountain at sunrise
would be the first thing my lover sees every morning.
he needs a healthy breakfast.
i want to know that you saw god
when you pressed the shutter.
we are what we eat.
we eat with our eyes.
make sure what you serve
will energize.
***
you sure?
are you sure you don’t want
some shiny blonde,
twinkling and sparkling
like a strand of christmas lights,
bright and cold as an LED,
illumination without ignition.
are you sure you don’t want
some rare redhead,
a thick full stereotype
whose skin traced between freckles
is cool and smooth as porcelain.
you'll surely find a tempest in that teapot.
are you sure you don’t want
some common brunette
from her walnut tresses
to her oak table legs.
it’s wood that fuels fire.
stack her thighs on your lap
and strike a match.
***
conversations, part i
no i haven’t been drinking.
no i’m not stoned.
it’s true you’ve never seen me speechless before,
or naked;
that doesn’t mean that speechless never happens.
some lines can’t be recited aloud;
our bodies don’t speak english.
with this much tension,
you can’t trust this comfortable silence.
with these premature meanings,
you doubt a pregnant pause.
i wish to defy scientific explanation
and dredge diatoms from silt
without a ripple on the surface. for now.
when the bubble bursts, you’ll hear it.
if you don’t already know
what my knee is saying to your hand,
perhaps you don’t need to know.
***
thanks for the spackle
it’s no accident;
spackle
fixed the holes in my soul,
caulk
filled the cracks in my composure.
sandpaper
smoothed out my own rough edges.
it’s no coincidence.
they’re an extinct species here
in this old house in north america.
tools were left in my bed;
what’s been left in my walls?
someone must have missed a nail hole
where Spirit shines through.
it’s no coincidence
that the drywall’s worst
in the bedroom
and the closets are too small
for their own doors.
no wall is long enough
for a bed this large;
the ceiling should be twice as high
to hold this much light.
paint hides a multitude of sins
and this room might take three coats.
it’s bad feng shui
to hang a mirror in your bedroom
but it’s good feng shui
to hang one in your heart.
***
sonnet for low tide
i walk barefoot, calves creaking,
along a trailing line of dirty foam.
even the hermit crab's not home,
ocean's bounty dead and reeking.
sand dollars speared by gulls, greedy.
barnacles close their shutters tight.
footprints decay in sand and fading light.
retreating waves leave thirsty spirit needy.
no glass floats arrive, no crystal ball
to say which falsely rising wave
will bring the salt and water i so crave.
which of these laps? 'twill be the last of all,
this to be the one that turns the tide,
this to bring the sea back to my soul, inside.
***
lilith & eve
well, when i was with him, he never
honey, you don’t know the half of it
can you believe that he
do you remember how he
he used to do this thing, you know
who died and made him god?
did you ever notice that
he did what?
but you never wanted kids, did you
did you ever
so have you heard from him?
but you two were such a good match
did he ever try
you let him get away with that shit?
remember that little mole
he never pulled that on me
does he still have that
no, i’m wearing it now
***
carving out time
i carve my life out of free time,
and carve free time into my life.
a chip, a moment,
each tiny stroke texture
in a bland and featureless existence.
watching the sun rise over coffee,
wiggling my toes,
pretending to be asleep,
taking the scenic route home:
these are the tools
with which i sculpt my days.
give me an unstructured afternoon,
a giant slab of time
as solid and pure as marble.
i will find the opening in it.
say no to a life assembled in pieces;
glue weakens wood.
mine will be a continuous whole,
every chance a choice
about what to take away
and what to leave behind,