...Grape....

Popsicle Girl
Karen Hallenbeck-Sikorsky-George BS,RN
July 2nd, 2006

The paper, it is sticky, white, letters muted, like the sound of a freight train in the
Distance, pushing over hot rails to a distant plain, a powerful meadow in the north of
France, or even in Western Pennsylvania, if it were not for the way you are when you
Are born, somewhere (anywhere) then familiar answers, places, and smells, will
Not assault your senses, drop the rational solution for a problem nonexistent; you
Drip as it melts, you slide onto skin, a greedy tongue hungry for cold, you are
Hungry for the base instinct, satiated easily, but for a moment
By a taste of orange, grape, synthetic cherry, and the flavors are
Telling you slow down, relax, and let me come within you, like a
Man comes to take his bride, in days of old, the history book slams
Shut the door; it opens, and you are home (again), dark hair sending a rush of dark
Memory, sexual pleasure, laughter in the morning, or late at night when the television
Tempts our eyes, but warm (then hot) skin demands our attention, and we give in to
See who will win the battle of sensual output, you have challenged me on all levels
Do you remember the first night you kissed me, and the stars dropped from that
Black velvet sky like rain, inside my heart which was beating in straight time, in you...
French toast at ten at night, is sweeter than breakfast, no coffee to
Wash it down, we drink Coke with lemon and lots of ice, it is amazing
You remember the small happiness we share, now slip off your shoes
The stickers on the West Texas plain will not penetrate our feet, and
We can walk hand in hand in this dry, soothing breeze, fluttering upon our skin to
Encourage the emotions you asked me to give, that you saw building like a torrential
Rain deep in my heart, the first time you went, the geyser blew, I swore I could never
Love again, yet I was in awe of the truth (yes I do love him) and yet the lies of our
WEAKNESS burned our hearts, like singed war songs in a Gothic battle, before our
Birth, do you remember we were given forever in marriage, until death do us part?

May I have this pearl tipped cane, the handle intrigues me, it is glamorous and yet
Sensually appealing, now it is mine, and I hold the handle, walk a few steps and see
A woman in the mirror unable to stand, she is gentle in spirit, and her eyes reach out
To touch my soul, and the pain is deep blue, with black flecks where death has crept
In deep, (so very deep), and the penetration is too severe, "who is this" I exclaim, and
Your loving eyes fill me with sympathy, in moments the cane is broken into a thousand
Wood shard pieces, and the mirror is cracked and foreign
Looking as if a bomb hit, and the vision remains of ANGER
Revulsion, disgust of inadequacy, and you are murmuring
My name "Honey don't, Karen come back" and she is gone
Running ten miles a day it is 1985, she is pounding the grey cement sidewalks in the
Winter in New Jersey, the cold steam billows from her nostrils, she is FREE of the
House, the wifely duties for her 55 minutes of self hell, battling the muscles, all body
Fat wasted, she is lean, sinewy like an athlete trained (and she is) for the marathon
Collapsed at the end, on the pavement, her husband picks her up muttering in his
Unhappy voice as he is forced (on a Sunday) to spend the morning in the emergency
Room somewhere years away it began, never ended, and the
Purging of mankind from her brutalized soul was constan,t she
Bore down giving emotional birth to a perfusion of wants, needs
Never emotions or desires, piling logs of patience on a slow burning
Fire, deep in her heart, where she remains isolated, alone, and PAIN is just a four letter
Word (like FUCK), and when she finds she can stand up, face the unusual music
Blaring from some Indian radio station in Istanbul, she might accept, no matter how
Far she travels, she is here, painting with airbrush strokes, the platitudes of the
Nothingness built in empty blocks upon her life, which towers like a ten story building
Looming in angst, "you are not here Luke where can you be" and the clock strikes ten...

Dramatic romance, women in ball gowns tiptoe gently down the stairs of a castle
There is a king, a young prince, and maidens freshly scrubbed, their faces powdered
In white, deep eyes of violet, some brown, and one with deep blue, cascade like
Tear drops the ball room night, and the manly scent of cold night air assails them
Fragile ladies in waiting, can faint at the slightest inconvenience, and the wanton whore
Remains within their spirit, waiting for the wedding night where virginity ends that one
Dark drop of blood entitles them to a legacy, giving birth
To the next prince or princess, being held at distance by a
Man willing to get down and dirty in a hovel with a big breasted
Wench who reeks of stale beer, the sperm of many to taste
On her tongue in twilight kiss, who would think to accept this, but the primal instinct
Remains the driving force of all people who populate the earth today; the original sin
Placated, downgraded, ignored, and compensated for, when we read the Word do we
Live the outcome, or hear HIS sweet voice in love guiding us onward to the end where
Everlasting life can occur, simple stair steps to heaven, transition from earth to life
You can lay down beside me, you will never be still until you touch, taste, have me
Take that elementary bank book, this stationary rental home, and the
Imaginary river, build that large, cold mountain; climb it until your calf
Muscles burn in pain, attempt to reach the top (without me) and then
Your eyes go blind, and the salt of your tears are like battery acid
Go now, find this truth, eat simply and do not close your eyes again, for God has
Spoken firmly telling us the next right behavior, and now my trembling heart bleeds
For you, lost among three thousand maniac men, you never were a criminal, and
Life beckons us "come forth" and I get in the car, shift into gear, bear down on the
Gas peddle, and soar with intent down the highway of our discontent, floating
Surreally, with great beauty, upon the bed, where I wait for you to enter, me, again...

Be not of little faith, but strong heart
Allow yourself to enter for the doorway
Is hidden, and the key will not fit this lock
Ever again, I love you now, be still...