The Mechanics of Being Good

why good things happen to bad people i'll never never know.
now that was a freudian slip
i meant to say
it the other way.

why bad things happen to good people i'll never never know.
but that's the way it goes
i guess.
good people always in a mess
and the bad ones a-ok
as if there weren't any other way
to live.

there is.

no converse distinction between good things happening
and the quality of the people
that absorb them.

or is there?

if the all the cancer patients that don't get well
are "the nicest people you'll ever meet"
does that mean
that "the nicest people you'll ever meet"
are all the cancer patients that don't get well?
that's what some doctors say.

what if being good is killing them?
is it better to be bad and live?

who knows.

- January 31, 2002

Comments

Is it enough

today i let go of something that wasn't mine -- your love. you leant it to me for a while but then you took it back again. i tried to play tug of war because i thought it was mine. but you reminded me it was yours all along to give and take as you chose.

Feelings

please tell me these feelings will end the nameless ones with no face the terror with no name, the memories hidden in dreams. each day they're getting less losing weight not getting fed by my choice. but still they persist made a habit by past munchings on the tidbits i threw them by accident. as they waste away i make new creations in my head to replace them. ones with no relations who will not check my past feelings to make sure they're ok. new feelings with the stability to stand on their own two feet though young and new. let them die. death to the traitors who took away my life. i will make new ones to rise again a resurrection of the just. --March 27, 2002

All creatures black and purple

I don’t like Mother’s Day. As a single female with no kids, it’s the one day of the year I’m reminded, well, of that. Publicly. In the church where I used to go, they’d have a big celebration for Mothers. And give them a single red rose, or carnation. Guess who didn’t get one? Well that is, until finally someone in the church, probably somebody like me, said “hey! This sucks.” And I started being included. But I still didn’t really belong to the club. It’s an odd world for a single woman with no kids. Other people have to find things to ask you about since they can’t ask the normal things. How are your kids? Husband? House remodeling? All the things women love to talk, or complain-brag about, are off the table. So you have to give them things to talk about: an alternate identity as it were. “I’m a traveler. A scuba diver. A photographer. A violinist.” Whatever it is, you have to give them something to ease their plain discomf...

Meanderings

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