pens make noise

Dear God Will you be with me when I die? Were you there with my mother? She died in an ambulance with an attendant who prayed for her as she left her life behind. She did not die alone. Jews are not supposed to die alone. But how does one have any say in that? How is there any control over that moment? Is there a choice? I choose to die now. Not later. Not tomorrow. Now. Unless I pull the trigger my choice is a moot point. My mother did not choose her time to die. Or maybe she did. But she was not alone. And perhaps. Just perhaps. You God were there too. © Karen Casady 2019

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inevitable the cat returns not from whence she came but from where she will be  a place where she has been before and now again she strives to fit in with finesse unique unto her  booting beings around her into spinning lackluster orbits that collapse and slink away while she  switches and swats for amusement and  satisfaction as she settles in wherever she so desires making contentment look easy © Karen Casady 2019

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onward forward backward sideways head long brings up the rear faces front trail sweep never leads leader never looks back keep it going the line swells recedes gross as it undulates slight as it retreats  the whole of humanity balled up into one sucked through a straw spat out as eternal trash © Karen Casady 2019

just like a dream  the words disappear wisps they float away caught up a current lurches picks them up letter by letter now disparate now illegible reamed into utter nonsense  flattened by mortar  and pestle  rolled into a ball dough pounded baked burned kicked aside to hover in the corner ©Karen Casady2019

tension is harmful sleep is restorative eyes close deep healing breaths filtering tendrils of comfort trickle into your belly soothe the soreness meditative droplets mizzle through your gut relieve the ache relax the disquiet  soon sleep replaces fretful awakeness sending you off on a journey of muddled dreams forgotten but for a stray afternoon thought that hovers for a moment before flitting away again © Karen Casady 2019

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back to the beginning the very start a lone table playlist blaring tune it out instead hear the silence the conundrum of words pounding the page before the time of friends of jolly discourse poured over cups of dark roast and chocolate croissants split into bits for sharing before the time of fine cars pulled up close the grinding of motors and retired race car drivers reminiscing about top shelf liquor before the time of colored hair extensions and costume jewelry seeking the approval of old Persian men who fall and fall away crushed under squealing tires and nasty little dogs lost only to be buried in a simple  shroud below a bloated dead race car driver now back to the lone table the incessant quiet of blaring music and words colliding creating a racket in a long closed notebook ©Karen Casady 2019

She says, “what do you need it for.” Classic. I expect to hear  nothing else. So like her.  Rote by rote. Automatic. Not comforting. Except maybe to  reassure herself. So as not to feel her own shame or blame or pain. I say, “you are right” because for once she is right. So many times before a fierce need arose to defend my choices. How dare she comment. How dare she stand as judge. How dare she cast doubt. Cast doubt. Cast doubt. Maybe because she is long dead and I only imagined her words that my reply “you are right” burst forth. I don’t need it. It will gather dust and die with me. When all is said and done no one will care but me. Me. Me. And that’s the point isn’t it. I don’t need it. Not really. But I love having it. I. Love. Having. It. © Karen Casady 2019

I hardly notice It crept up on me Not unexpected Yet it surprised me The larger significance Obvious The lesser more Poignant The good company  Gone And with them the Art That adorned their walls And the walls of their forbears My forebears Paintings that inched into my life Sculpture that enlightened my soul That at each visit awaited And satisfied my anticipation That over years inserted themselves into my awareness Integrated themselves into my life’s framework The good company always Voices travel  Pinged satellite to satellite until they reach my ears The art remains silent But for brief fleeting mind apparitions ©Karen Casady 2019

YOU ruined everything created an impossible situation caused an unwanted reality it will never be the same an altered image has taken up residence embedded itself in my brain Unerasable. Unstoppable. pretending it is not so denial  a lifelong habit an invaluable survival apparatus upended now I can’t keep the thought out of my mind it floats there I attempt to adjust it juxtapose it turn it round and round look at it from different directions I try to see it imagine it  sometimes my mind wraps itself around it ah ha I say almost there I reach for it but no  it can’t be I try again I just want to say something with or without yes and know hair no hair thanks just thanks YOU ruined everything © Karen Casady 2019

you chattered all the way through no stopping you on you babbled  aside after aside not the smallest acknowledgment not the slightest heed lowering your voice you whispered fancying yourself a whisperer to hold your lone listener in thrall or so you thought but not really speaking under your breath for all to hear  and you oblivious to your indiscretion to the turned heads the discomfort of your unintended audience only a kick stopped your inane utterances and in that moment I knew you to be not worth the effort of our love hate relationship that in spite your admirable qualities yes there are some you are rude and inconsiderate that explains a lot that makes you irrelevant © Karen Casady 2019  

No.thing. Nothing. Done Fallen away One more time Of numerous times Been there Far too often A crack A crash Gone Over the cliff To nothing A blank A void to fill with stuff What stuff There is no stuff A void to fill with some.thing. Any.thing. No.thing. Not even nothing Back to the start The onset Creation Flail at the nothing A bug in empty space On its back legs akimbo Sticky but not sticking Treading but no tread Be still just be quiet  Soon the no.thing disappears Dissolves to nothing ©Karen Casady 2019

Full of nothing. And every one caught Has a white belly. Not supposed to happen. Gray. Gray. Gray. Only grey. Not white. Gran dame. No. Gran pere. Someone. From somewhere. Ran away. They mourned the loss. It was never found. Way too small. It crept from its home. Hid.  Hid. Hid. And fell in love. Way back.  Too far to know. Lost in time. And place. Only not. Every one caught has a white belly. Now. Here. Found. Finally. © Karen Casady 2019 

What if… the car the old Dart rusted gold still cared for  twin tail lights below the trunk fitting for a boomer who wanted a Corolla but got a Dart  safer said the givers of the gift  concerned not with cool or cute only with practical and dull still  the Dart had adventures and travels  up and down the state  across the country perusing  mountain forests and placid lakes bearing  its faithful occupant to one spot then another  from place to place until it moved on  jumped into a different existence  parked on an unknown street now  leading a secret life in a foreign language but  sometimes the Dart appears out of the corner of her eye its  gold exterior dulled by the years yet  rife with memories as she passes it by thinking  What if… ©Karen Casady 2019

the hair the hair always the hair rumpled and coifed  a binary dichotomy  perfect and imperfect coincide  exist in sync  resist slapping each other while some shafts lean in and others the contrarians lean out unsettled and mislaid more do then don’t put forth a determined passion  those that don’t attempt a  certain dignity  unruly confusion disarranged continuity shuffled dislocation a.comb.for.god sake.a.comb. ©Karen Casady 2019

Nancy sits on a dirt pile face smudged dark hair askew stray wisps here and there feet bare toes akimbo mud caked soles greeting kindergarteners waving and calling out they trot by her nary hearing a word their own sounds drown her voice as she sits mournful thoughtful wondering piecing it through the bruises the anguish the drinking but the children have spoken absolved her pain decreed that she shall not mourn that she step down from her vantage point and engage the world as though nothing happened ©Karen Casady 2019

the rumble of the jet made her remember her childhood dream of being a pilot her tiny girl imaginings in a long forgotten dance class when the teacher said dance what you want to be when you grow up a pilot she shouted out as she crouched on the worn hard wood of the studio floor and when the music began off she flew among the wavering flowers and delicate fairy queens of her fellow dance mates soaring past mirrors and barres winding through trees and along rivers she peered over her open cockpit noting nothing but free air as she drifted and settled while the music slowed to a single note and then to silence her adult mind conjured up the scene set before the pilot of the rumbling jet flying overhead in the dark early hours of the night picturing the expanse of the night sky that must have presented itself to the captain of the flight and she was sure that she also saw the darkness of the heavens littered with stars and studded with clouds as she on

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