Carnation

In a field of flowers
Saulo chooses a single carnation
White with red tips.
He bends down, cuts it off
From its roots, turns
With a gentle smile, places
It behind Camela's ear.
What a way to live
To die in a woman's hair.

by E. M. Soos

Christmas in Southern California

A red shopping cart narrowly misses my toes,
I stumble an excuse me, navigating
Through Target. Ten days 'til Christmas
Every register open and full.
I'm grateful I can't read people's thoughts
The lists of gifts, anger at strangers
Shock at prices, worries of bounced checks
Hope for a mother-in-law's approval.
I love these people through the discord
The one connection in my scattered tree
Roots. Just like Target, I have no main room
Where everyone meets. Family in different
States, friends in different cities, love indifferent.
We all come together at the check-out counter
Pay our dues, say our hellos and goodbyes
Pass the beggar, tell our lies.
I watch the frowns disperse.
In the land of sun and pavement
We cannot find a single rose
To stop and smell.

by E. M. Soos

The 91 Bus

Jamie stood alone by the dim streetlight,
Watching for the 91 bus.
She felt his presence too late.
Dirty hand on her mouth
Knife to her side. She didn't struggle
Let him push her into the baby blue van.

No seats in the back, he made her lay
Down. To her left a pile of blankets
On her right an empty McD's wrapper.
He slapped her face over and over
Getting his hard-on; peeled her
Orange layers, tossing aside her skin.
He dug into dry undergrowth.
Jamie turned her head
Stared at his white Keds
Her mind a rolodex of images

Her professor's face tonight
When she came in ten past eight
(still in her work uniform)
History class would save her future
Get her family out of this neighborhood
(but even rich kids have pedophile grandpas).

Papa watching the ten o'clock news
(she wasn't on it yet)
Waiting for her return.
Leftover rice and frijoles in the fridge.

Mami's old pink sweater
(Jamie almost wore it tonight)
Forgotten in the hall closet.

Jamie's thoughts encased her in glass
A sapphire in the hands of a thief.

by E. M. Soos

I'm Not Even Here

We went searching, looking
For a speaking apartment
One that would tell us our love will last
Call us friends, accept our lovemaking
In every room, laugh with our inside jokes
Shade out the calling Jehovah's Witnesses,
Their non-judgmental looks of pity
When we say we're not married.

We stepped into Pinecreek Village
White walls, new marble tile
Close to the freeways, college across
Every store in walking distance.
We'd never have to leave
Every desire peanut butter.
It's perfect for your skin. Safe

Place to raise kids.
They'll rise along with ignorance
Be afraid of the ghetto, never have to eat Spam
Measure themselves with possessions
Think to want is to not get
Hollywood Barbie for Christmas
Never be ashamed to bring friends home
Not even know their sheets match.

My flip-flopped heart still wears sandals
Even as my feet are pinched into dress boots.
My breasts still sag in this push-up bra.
I pretend to like Beyonce, but
I come with Joni Mitchell.
You say we don't have to stay here forever
Well, darling, I'm not even here.

by E. M. Soos

"V"

Each time I talk to V
I am pulled into her world
The moon to the earth.

She's lost another baby
In another fight with L.
He chased her to the bathroom
Shattered shower doors.

Two months V stayed in bed
L nursed her
Back
To his side.

The bit lays loose on her tongue.
He fondles the reigns lovingly
Mounts her, runs her weary
Squeezes her spirit
With the heel of his boot.

At the end of each day's ride
She enters her stall grateful.
Laps water from his hands.

by E. M. Soos

Shower

I got home tonight, 12:33 A.M.

It's already tomorrow.

I didn't want to start my day

Wishing it were already over

The night sky nearing brightness.


I'd like to step in your shower

Let your drops, molting leaves

Fall off my arched neck

Dribble slowly down my breasts,

Stomach, thighs, knees

Until my feet are swollen red

Weighted by your touch.


I want your sweet warmth

To loosen my back muscles

Release the boa that constricts me.

Catch my breath.

Lose track of time.

Laugh at soggy fingertips.


Your fingers tip me.

I'm blindfolded and spun around

Ten times.


Tipping

Falling

Tipping

Falling


You catch me.


by E. M. Soos

Share, Shallow, Shalom

You're a pretty girl, he said,
but you could be hot.
Some make-up, different hair-do.
I wondered if he thought I'd thank him.
Should I get a boob job while I'm at it?
Figures he'd take offense,
Was only trying to help.

Thanks for your thoughtfulness,
all us lowly girls need guys like you.
Guide us. Where do we begin
to impress your kind?
Your insect mind?
When I die, I hope you're available
to apply my make-up.
Then my eulogy can include,
and she's a fine piece of ass,
mmm mmm.

by E. M. Soos

Night Walk

I sprint up the tiny hill, an island
in the rolling park.
The winter brings darkness
at 5:30, everyone snuggled inside
eating potatoes and steamed carrots.
A mouth full keeps the peace. The war
stops only to care
for this basic necessity.

Sammy follows me, panting
jogging her age.
I turn to watch her, four legs
six perhaps. In the moonlight
we look half our age.
I feel mighty, winded.

It matters not what we look like,
me running in Converse and blue jeans
Sammy without her collar.
Scaring birds from their nests
they caw out their warnings.

We do not run for the exercise
to go anywhere, to get away.
We run to feel like wind, we move
trees, shape clouds
tap windows.

I sing, Sammy politely ignoring
my pitch. She sniffs at nothing.
God watches from a lilac.
He doesn't know what he's missing
I think, attempting a cartwheel.

by E. M. Soos

Tuesday Storm

Dark hovering clouds
survey the landscape,
search for earth untouched;
dry arms outstretched toward heaven.

Red and orange catch eyes,
God unnoticed until wet.

by E. M. Soos

I Found My Beauty

It took me over again, two days ago. My enemy. I locked myself in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and couldn't find beauty. My body felt heavy, bloated, embalmed. I wanted someone to find me, drain my pus-filled skin. I sat on the closed toilet seat in my green satin pajamas. I wrapped myself in bubbles, wanted to worry about no one, but the pictures wouldn't leave my eyes.

I see a man who loves me, kisses my scars. I pushed his sadness away, hoped I could be happy then. My heart still mounted that black winged horse.

I see another man from whose happiness I feed. I suck joy from his words. I can't help wondering if I'm exposing him to my craters, hope he doesn't fall in. He should be under the kitchen table laughing with his three year-old nephew, drawing with chalk.

I see my little sister, nineteen years old. Dropped her classes this semester. Lives in a layer of dirt. Wild mice in the walls. Dirty litter boxes. She escapes her new home with a bowl. Smokes until there is no stress.

I see the porn star, the smirk in her eyes. John and Zak try to "enlighten" me, to show me that porn never hurt anyone. I try to see what they see. I see two people having unprotected sex. "But they've been tested. She's gotta be on birth control." I see a woman whose career is fulfilling man's lust. "But she makes more money than all of us." I can't help wondering about her future as the camera focuses on her waxed vagina. What if she has children? Will she proudly tell them what she's done?

I see a homeless woman trying to sleep on the beach. It's three o'clock in the afternoon. She stays near the parking lot as if the ocean doesn't welcome the likes of her. Families walk along the waves. John, Zak and I play catch, our baseball mitts sandy. I want to feel joy from this playful throw, but I can feel the woman's eyes on my back. She stirs restlessly. Her bedroom is my playground.

The picture bubbles were pierced when the phone rang. The hard toilet a haven to my softness. I made myself stand up, take a shower, eat, spend the day with my sisters. We spoke of dreams, the future, none of us fulfilled where we were.

I drove home last night. Got stuck in traffic. Wanted to be alone in my room. I opened the front door and was greeted by the man who loves me. I didn't stop to hug or kiss him, kept unloading my car. He stood by my side, helped me silently, a faithful dog waiting patiently. When I finally faced him, I expected to hear his fears, his doubts. I waited to hear the blame. None of that came. Instead he thanked me. He felt that if it weren't for me he wouldn't have come this far and said even if we didn't work out he was grateful for the time we shared. I cried at the words. We talked like the old friends we are, and I loved him again.

Today I woke up. The mirror still shows my swollen neck, my crooked nose, my unused body. Today I smiled. I see beauty. I had been looking in the mirror, waiting to see what my friends see in me. I laughed. How could I have forgotten? Three days ago I convinced two grown men to play hide-and-seek. A six-foot three-inch man tried to hide under a blanket.

Today I found my beauty, not in my mirror, but in the eyes of my enemy.

by E. M. Soos

A Visit to Monterey

"We argued for about a state," John says, sipping his Malibu Rum and Coke. I just had to laugh at the words, even as my hands trembled of you.

John regrets letting her get away. I regret leaving this town. There's nothing like regret to excuse drinking to drown.

I walk by myself, memorizing each dusty step of the PG trail. I remember walking this path after lonely days of work. The waves still crash on the rocks. The smell is the same, salt mist dangling, clinging to flowering cliffs, and I think of how I came here to shrug off the day so I could come home and greet you with a smile.

I sit off the trail now, watch the green and blue waves, lean my head on a wet rock. It shields me from the cold breeze. I cry with beauty. A fly lands on my shoe, washes its face. I wonder what or who I was in my lives before this one. Why can't I be this beach fly, know nothing of love or sadness, feast on the shit in life?

I stand up and a hoard of flies rush at me. I walk back and a blackbird follows me. He stares at me, cussing, calling me, demanding that I stay. I keep walking. The path narrows and I put one foot in front of the other. A sparrow watches me pass. I wonder why he didn't fly away. My heart bleeds through the soles of my feet, leaving fresh prints that I can't protect.

by E. M. Soos

My Name is Emma

The first craving hits me, a mirror of cigarette smoke. This is the easier one, my hands barely trembling, the first course in a meal of shakes. I look forward to the nausea. I deserve it, long for its vengeance, wish it were the end of a bad dream. I'd wake up and not really be a murderer, an addict, my family's disaster.

The hard jail bench posing as a bed is a cold welcome. The grayness matches my blood. I was scared of the rose petal curtains, the bright white walls of my sister's house. They taunted me, "You'll never have us, never be one of us." I retorted, tried to believe I was better than the drug that held me together, that I could bend back its grabbing fingers, make it cringe, drop to the ground. I was winning that self-defense battle for awhile, until today.

I decided to look my attacker in the face, saw my own green eyes. It wasn't the heroin after me at all. My own hands were wrapped around my soul, and the sweet silk was what kept me from noticing. I drop the hand I'm resisting, run back to the numbing needle.

My sister doesn't know, asks me to watch baby Charlotte. She leaves to buy milk and Huggies. I swim in my honey, roll my eyes in sugar. A loud wail interrupts my transcendence. A baby is in pain. Her eyes squeezed shut, face cherry. What is it, what's wrong? The words can't escape my tongue, stick to my teeth. The noise won't stop grinding, knifing my skull. The hurt is coming from her mouth. I can see it, red, red, red. I want to make her feel fine, taste my honey. I grab my needle, stab her lip. Charlotte, Charlotte. The sweet milk enters her. The crying won't stop. Stop, stop, stop, STOP! I stab the empty needle again, again, again, again, until I can't hear anything.

In the quiet I try to glue my hair to the wall to keep the floor in its rightful place.

by E. M. Soos

Drawing Blood

I'm number 63.
The orange chairs in the waiting room are linked
together. I guess that means the man sitting two seats
down has a connection with me
Perhaps us sickies might go psycho, steal
some ugly-ass chairs, or move them an inch
in the wrong direction.

The red LED's change to 62.
The man two seats down stands up
enters the lab. No revolt here.
We all follow the rules, take our turns.

Sometimes I just wanna take that nurse's needle
stick it through her People magazine
scream I'm a real person.
Sure, I'd be a psycho.

Beats stealing a fucking chair.

by E. M. Soos

Perhaps

Somewhere there's a man who follows the ocean breeze
into a conch shell of lavender breath,
a man who will float in and out of my curled walls
until one day his anchor will fall on my heart.
Today I glance around, wonder if I've met that man
yet. I can't imagine what he might look like
for fear that I'll carve the wrong face,
miss the real wave when it passes over my home.
Try, try, try to fly, I will say to him.
He'll try and fail.
Try and fail.
He'll look behind himself
see that his wings are on me,
can't lift off without my flowering hand.

by E. M. Soos

Bike Ride

Melodious poems caress the soft creases
of my ears, Fiona Apple warms
the headphones, sings of wearing time
like a dress. My pedaling slows
to the bluesy beat, blood flows
through my limbs.

I picture a sweet open field.
My legs wrapped around ribs
of an appaloosa. Fiona's
singing never drowns out
the whistling finches. The wind
covers traffic sounds. A feeling
of love, so pure, for life
fills my eyes.
Equal only to a child's laugh.

by E. M. Soos

Other People's Words

I took other people's words
Stuck them on my wall.
I could love them forever
Live on the sweet sap seeping
Through their rough bark.
I can't feel anyone's life anymore.
Arms full of heavy coats
Can't keep up with their carefree steps.
Wolves on the horizon, and I'm
Wishing for an elephant, strong enough.
I have nothing to give, to leave behind
Except the words on my wall.
Other people's words.

by E. M. Soos

Slug

The day couldn't eat me up
Like yesterday. I sit still
Under the sink of dripping shells
Bury myself a new life, eat the slug
Crawling under my skin.
Don't let me follow you home
I just might stay the night.
Wrap my arms around your feet
Drag my heart out of your soles
Leave the closet light on for the prophets.
Hate me so I can't be with you
So you don't come into my house
The doodling on the wall
Colors men wearing yellow skirts
Swinging clubs at each other
Laughing at Sin's clenched fist.
Hug me though, one last time
As I swallow this bug
Slime and all
And drink to you.

by E. M. Soos

Kitty

As you fall asleep for the last time, will you hear me singing our song? I'll be 400 miles away, but our time zones are the same. 5:30 p.m. The needle will puncture your skin. I'll be singing to the tune of Unchained Melody, "Oh my Kitty, you're so pretty. I've hungered for your purr, a long, lonely time." Will you hear me and go quietly, or will you meow like you always do when I sing you our song?

If you can't hear me, I hope at least you remember the sweet things as you go - canned tuna, Thanksgiving turkey, Pina Colada Paletas.

Dream of your favorite things. I'll remember my favorite times with you. Whenever I was sad, you came to me, let me hold you tight, licked my tears. When I practiced my violin, you came to me, sang along, even when my notes were sour. I'll remember how you only liked to drink water as it flowed from the faucet, shook your paws off when you were through. I'll remember the echo sound the walls made when you bounced off them down the hallway, having fun in your own silly way. These memories will hold me, as I wish I could hold you.

Go now, my friend, to the open arms of all those who've gone before you. Grampie will pet you, let you sit in his lap. Tanner will laugh as you bounce off heaven's walls. Amelia and you will make up, CT will share his broccoli, Pearl will taunt you in her four-tiered bowl, Freddy and Fromage will let you chase them, maybe chase you back. But Pud is the one most waiting for you - she can't wait to snuggle with you again.

by E. M. Soos

Friend

Here we are, silly again. Five years
of being apart erased in one laugh.
One understanding look and the devils
are pitchforked.

You probably wanted to show me
just how different you've become.
You may have quit the drugs, gained
some weight, settled in
with an older man, but you can't
fool me. You're still the same
friend I love and cherish.
The one who taught me that life
is just a witches brew, an emulsion,
an experiment without a known outcome.

You used to reach people with your Tarot
cards, sing Leather acapella, eat bean burritos
for breakfast. I could get lost
in your ideas of how we're all made of plastic
or maybe just dipped in it.
Did you think my silence
was a mothers judgment, that I
thought you were crazy? If so, you were wrong.
I sat still so I could hear you,
soak in your dreams, try to hold
onto your level of consciousness
many ladder rungs above my own.

Did I ever tell you that you amaze me?
That I wish I could know like you do?
That your ocean mind flowed into my stream?
I always carried you with me
even when my current rippled
in a different direction.

Yes, our waters have merged
again, and maybe we're dormant
in someone's shit-filled toilet,
about to be flushed. But somehow
that's a Creamsicle on a summer's eve
when I'm with you.

by E. M. Soos

Prayer to Death

Death, the only immortal who treats us all alike, whose pity and whose peace and whose refuge are for all - the soiled and the pure, the rich and the poor, the loved and the unloved. - Mark Twain

I awake from my prayer to death. Feel the cold black marble burn my skin. How long was I on the bathroom floor? Probably only minutes. My joints detest. It had been hours.

My conscience resists this moment of clarity, wants to be brought down again into the picture-frame of insanity where wanting (no, needing) death is allowed.

I want to believe that no one understands. None of the doors around me have handles. Is it the Devil who feeds my self pity into such a cocoon that it's hard to break my head free of the sticky swirls? Or is it the Devil who cuts open the cocoon so that I can remember the world around me?

by E. M. Soos

Sam and Annie

We watch the end of Sleepless in Seattle, you and I. Annie sits down to dinner with the perfect man. She stares out the window at the Empire State Building, thinks of a man she doesn't know.

"We should visit New York sometime," I sigh. "Why?" You ask. I cannot answer. I thought you knew. I thought you'd turn to me, smile and say, "Sure, why not?"

Remember that day I put music to our wedding slide show? I must have listened to I Come to You With Open Arms four dozen times. I smiled every time your picture came up - your face as you held that stinky fish. You entered the room and rolled your eyes. "Are you sick of this song yet?" I giggled. "Yes!" You said.

Now I sit here, covered in a peach blanket, watching Annie and Sam. You enter the room and say, "I can't believe you're watching this again."

I don't understand us sometimes. The other day I was dying for some playfulness, to see you grin, have you look into my eyes. I begged you to wrestle with me, "Let's have a pillow fight!" You spoke about someone getting hurt, something getting broken. You finally gave in, halfheartedly tickled me. I swung my pillow. You sat there. I teasingly gave you a hickey on your ribs. You didn't struggle. I admit you did open up, smile when you pinned me, perk up when it turned sexual.

We made love in the closet, just like that one time long ago. I remember that first time being tender, this time was rough, the floor left its imprint in my back. The magic of the act must have left with the old blue stained carpet, replaced with a harsh tan one, no shag to soften my spine.

I want to believe you're Sam and I'm Annie, but most of the time you're not even Walter. At least he always said the perfect thing, could find fate in picking the right China, loved Annie enough to let her go.

by E. M. Soos