Aurelia
She hated going over to the old woman's house, but they told her she needed 'regular scheduling'. Check her blood sugar, make sure she's eating, and give her a bath. That was the hard part. She could never get the water temperature comfortable enough to suit the crazy bitch. Every minute or two she'd have to fiddle with the faucet adding hot and/ or cold water as she listened to her complain in silence. When it was over her uniform was soaked. She needed a another nurse to help her, but the case manager said Medicare wouldn't pay for it. 'They don't pay me enough to do this job' she thought right before the old woman let her in in through the front door, only to blasted back by the strong smell of urine and feces. The thermostat must have been set on 80 degrees even though it was already 85 outside which made it worse.
'How are you feeling today? ' she asked, trying to be polite.'Have you taken your medications? '
'Of course I‘ve taken them! ' the old woman snaps back adding 'Don't scold me! ' before she's even given the chance to check the pill planner to make sure. She knew she probably hadn't. The old woman couldn't even keep up with what day it was. Upon inspection, sure enough no pills had been taken since Sunday, and here it was Thursday. 'Can you tell me what day it is? ' she asks the old woman, muting the television. The number of decibels she always had it set on made her want to stick needles in her eyes. The old woman stubbornly ignores the question as usual, her powder blue eye shadow giving her a flashback of some 1970's B movie she might have seen. No matter…she'll give her a cup Jell-O and one of those Ensure thingy's that she keeps in the fridge so that she wont throw up her meds. She takes the pill crusher and begins to pulverize the blood pressure pill first, followed by the heart pill, and clozapine mixing it into the Jell-O and hoping it will disguise their taste. She sits down on the couch next to her to watch her eat trying to think of what to say when the old woman chimes up.
'What is this you are making me eat? It tastes awful! '
'Just a little cherry Jell-O that‘s all. I promise. Please try to finish it.'
'It's suppose to snow' the old woman says, 'you really should dress more warmly'.
'I will mom. I will.'
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Knight's Offering
PART I
The lone knight rode upon his horse heading towards the town
A stiff wind cut into his face while rain was streaming down
It soaked his hair as he sat there teeth clenched and bone core cold
On his way to kill a man; A pagan, he was told
It wouldn't be the first one and it wouldn't be his last
The battle scars could prove that earned in wars where faith held fast
Where men were sworn in duty by an oath to live or die
To serve the God Immanuel while holding banners high
And the only single function was to honor and obey
Where word was bond and kinship strong unlike it is today
The Truth was all that mattered, there was little coin to gain
The kings had drained the coffers and the land was run by Danes
But resolute he stayed his course and spurred the stallion on
Repeating to himself again, 'Be swift and then be gone'
PART II
The enemy was in a home he'd raided day before
[...] Read more
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Room 122
Tossing her leather bag onto the bed she waits stretched as tight as a drum. Her heart feels like Thor's war hammer is beating against it. The tension in the back of her neck is making her crouch forward.
Sit up straight, she says to herself.
Don't say too much when he walks in. And DON'T look him in the eye.
The eyes are a dead giveaway. A window to the soul.
When he comes in look over his shoulder like there's something behind his back you have an interest in.
So many memories...
God, you're a freak. What are you doing here? It's plain.
Love? No, you've lost your mind. That has to be it.
But, he say's he can't wait to see you, so everything is going be ok. God would have intervened if it wasn't ok.
A faint knock.
Don't answer it. Wait! Don't go. Go. No, wait.
Answer the door you idiot! He came all this way to see you.
He towers over her dominantly. Her knees go weak.
Don't chicken out now.
You're so beautiful, he says. Your hair is a little shorter, but you look the same.
She takes his hand. She's shaking inside. Does he feel it? She doesn't want him to think she's a little girl.
Shut up! You ARE a little girl!
Would you like a glass wine? she asks. Thinking she's in need of liquid courage.
Yes. Do you have a bottle opener?
Yes, I always come prepared.
[...] Read more
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Part 1 ~ Teachers
The young girl looked around her room with satisfaction and ease. Breathing a deep sigh she noticed that everything was exactly as it should be. Her bed had been made with military precision so that she sat on the floor to read, do homework, or play while there. Under no circumstances could she disturb the little coverlet that she had so carefully smoothed out wrinkle free. It's edges where sharp, clean and in line with the four walls, something she had tried duplicating from a picture she saw in her mother's J.C. Penney catalog. There was comfort in it's symmetry. Even her stuffed animals were lined up in neat little rows from left to right, the larger animals progressing towards smaller ones, and darker colors giving way to lighter shades. She had carefully named them all and it gave her much pleasure to look at them sitting there at attention, but she wouldn't allow herself to touch them. They, like the bed itself needed to remain flawless. She had just walked home from school where she was failing. Thank God her parents didn't know, but in the back of her mind she knew they would find out soon enough. She had hidden her report cards from them all year, but the fact was, they had never even asked her for them. Didn't they care how she was doing in the 6th grade? She worried that her teachers would hold her back next year, but back then the system rarely did that. The one thing she looked forward to at school was seeing Mrs. Bell. She felt like Mrs. Bell was the only teacher who ever noticed her. This might have been because she was the only Caucasian teacher and she the elementary schools only Caucasian student. In Hawaii most kids went to private school, but her parents couldn't afford that. She reckoned Mrs. Bell knew this and was probably taking pity on her. Now, she was on the floor, piecing together the torn fragments of paper that she had watched her mother throw into the waste basket, wondering what punishment would befall her. She preferred 'restriction' over the belt, but it wasn't up to her. Her mother would decide and then her father would administer it. Methodically she puzzled over the jagged edges of paper, matching up words and gingerly taping the card back together. It had taken some time, for her mother had been thorough at shredding it in her rage. 'Sweet Jesus', she thought, 'When is she going to learn to use matches'? She had to read the handwriting once or twice to ensure she was really seeing what she already knew. She exhaled heavily, the filthy words and images the man had written to her mother filled her with a combination of disgust and relief. She placed his card in between the mattress and box spring of her bed and went to organizing her closet, picking off small pieces of lint left by the washing machine.
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Rarest of Families
Describing our family requires a poem
For they fill me with feelings I never have known
Each moment I'm with them I'm given a gift
That touches my spirit and makes my heart lift
It's Goodness, and Patience, and Truth they inspire
The essence of Love, importantly dire
It's the rarest of families you ever will find
United as one for now and all time
The head of our household is someone so great
When I'm in his presence I've been know to shake
His quiet demeanor is just a disguise
A hint of the wisdom I know it belies
Whenever you prompt him he'll speak of his past
And lives every day as it were his last
Forever creating, his all and his best
Goes into his work in the shop or at desk
So kind and helpful to people in need
Faithful to God who planted the seed
[...] Read more
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Part 3 ~ Rain
It was the rainy season. The little girl could hear rumbling sounds off in the distance as she watched rivulets of water stream down her bedroom window. Flashes of lightning were casting shadows on the bedroom walls resembling scary claws that she was convinced were going to get her. She could hear the wind wooing like a ghost outside and she could feel it building, a panic in her chest that put her into a frozen state of fear. She thought her heart was going to explode and a sharp pain began stabbing her under the armpit. "It's ok. It's ok. It's ok", the little girl repeated her mantra as another strike hit the atmosphere. BOOM! It sounded like a bomb had just gone off startling her into the now moment, shooting a shot of adrenaline straight into her veins. Her mind snapped back out of it's thick quicksand trap and panic gripped her. Pant, pant, pant, she was hyperventilating now. Stiff and unable to move she tried with all her might to raise the sheet up over her face but her arms wouldn't connect with her brain. She‘d shut down. Pretending to be invisible from the wall claws she thought that she might be better off dead anyway. Who would miss her? The only one she could think of was her daddy. He'd hung the moon and was in the next room, but mother said never to get out of bed before morning unless is was for life or death. She knew there would be hell to pay if she knocked on their door. Her mother was as unpredictable as a snake and you never knew what to expect next. She'd run off for two weeks and had only come home a couple of days ago. The little girl had been walking from school daydreaming about how much better things were with her gone. There hadn't been any yelling or screaming or spankings since she'd left. Her father was a bit down in the mouth, but she could fix that. She was sure. He loved her best and that would conquer any sadness he felt from her mothers absence. It would just be she and Daddy and her little brother. They would live happily ever after away from the wicked witch. But, somewhere in her heart she knew it was too good to be true. He would take her mother back just like he always had before. So there she was walking home barefoot in her little white tank top with orange shorts and pixie haircut when her mother pulled up beside her in her car. "Hi, Sissy! " she exclaimed as if she had just seen her at the breakfast table that same morning. The little girl was shocked to see her and didn't know how to respond. "Hi mom" she said in a deflated voice she didn't recognize as her own. "Get in" her mother said cheerily. "I'll drive you home". Warily the little girl got into the front seat. Her mother acted just as happy as vanilla pudding until the little girl finally got up the courage to ask. "Mom, where have you been"? "Oh, I went to Kauai" she said with no other explanation. The little girl knew that Kauai was a plane ride away from Oahu and was surprised. She had gone to Kauai once for summer camp and remembered what fun it had been for her to get away from home. There was horseback riding, and hiking among other things and she pictured her mother doing those same things for some odd reason. Lost in this thought the passenger side door flew open unexpectedly. The little girl realized that she must not have shut it completely when she got in and it must have come unhinged. Her mother had not noticed because she had her eyes on the road, and the little girl was terrified to tell her, but she was more afraid of falling out of the car. "Mom, the door came open" she said and as quick as a cobra her mother backhanded the girl across her face, cutting the bridge of her nose with one of the heavy rings she wore. "Close it." she demanded and the little girl did as she was told wiping blood and raindrops away from her face as they headed toward home.
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Part 2 ~ Times Tables
The little girl felt sick at her stomach. She fought back the urge to vomit and cry as she lay in bed wondering where her mother was. The fear of what lay beneath her bed was not as urgent as the more immediate fear that her mother might not come back this time. Her younger brother was in the next room sleeping. He didn't seem too upset by the fact that their mother had disappeared two weeks earlier. He might have been worried but he wouldn't let it show, and they never talked about it. They both knew that their family was different. The word dysfunctional had not yet been coined to describe what life was like in the Taylor's home. How do you describe hell? All she knew was that they were the family all the neighbors on the quiet cul-de-sac whispered about, and that whenever she would go over to a friends house to play their parents would look at her with softness in their eyes. Her best friend Erin told her that everyone on their street could hear the fighting.
One times six is six, two times six is twelve, three times six is eighteen, four times six is twenty four…
The last time she had seen her mother she was screaming gibberish at the top of her lungs. She was spitting out words with so much force that they were unintelligible, the whites of her eyes making her look like a wild animal. The little girl didn't know why her mother was so angry at her dad, but she had gotten use to it being a common everyday occurrence. She had torn the telephone out the wall for the umpteenth time and was throwing dishes at him. When she ran out of dishes she reached into the freezer, pulled out the ice cube tray and began pelting him with ice cubes. All HE was doing was ducking behind the kitchen table, trying to reason with her to no avail. She commonly worked herself up into a lather over the most insignificant things while her father remained calm. If he had better judgment he would have put her into an institution where she belonged, but all he would do was wait patiently for the unpredictable storms to pass, hoping that he could somehow repair the damage. She never understood why.
Five times six is thirty, six times six is thirty six, seven times six is forty two, eight times six is forty eight…
When her mother slammed the front door behind her, the little girl went over her father to console him. One of the ice cubes had hit him on the head and it was bleeding. She wrapped her arms around his huge frame with tenderness. 'Daddy', it's alright. I love you.' she began to say when suddenly the loud sound of crashing metal and glass drew her attention outside. She went to the living room window and could see her mother screeching backwards out of the driveway in her car, then putting it in drive again to ram full throttle into the rear of his car for a second time. Then a third. What was she doing? That was a new car. One that she had insisted on having like a spoiled child. It wasn't even a week old and she had just demolished it, but somehow she was still able to drive off to wherever it was she was going.
Nine times six is fifty four, ten times six is sixty, eleven time six is sixty six, twelve times six is seventy two…
Alone in the stillness of her bedroom she began to wonder if maybe her mother had given herself an accidental concussion and was wandering around somewhere confused. Her father had gone out looking for her again tonight, asking Erin's mother to come over until he returned. It was getting late, but the little girl kept repeating her multiplication ritual, trying not to think about anything else. If she made a mistake she had to start over again from the beginning. It had to be perfect. She had gotten all the way up to her 10 tables now.
One hundred times one is one hundred, one hundred times two is two hundred, one hundred times three is three hundred…
In her minds eye, the sums began to take on a new shape. They turned into days, and then weeks, and then months until she became aware of the prospect that her mother might not back at all. She stopped multiplying and drifted off into the most deep and restful sleep that she had ever had.
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!