Hello new World

I Am Karen
Karen Hallenbeck-Sikorsky-George BSRN
July 26th, 2007

Red and black cheap game board, plastic pieces, one lost
Between the coffee table, that little girl could be platinum blonde
Somewhere in between, she rides that rocking horse with glee
Does not cry, smile, or laugh when you want her to, she is
A clone of your youngest sister, but she thinks like you did
Driving back and forth, a week at a time, claustrophobic

I'd be, but anxiety ridden I was watching
Mom and Dad beat the hell out of each other
Their voices no longer scared me, silent dream
Go away, but the fist punched hard, in the face

Down she goes, chess is a foreign place, maybe I have no class
Or those who birthed me thought it was not necessary for I
Was pushed by that abusive bitch to be a secretary and my
God brain took me ivy league, up and down like jump rope, subtle
Clinging vine, but I'd spin on vodka or gin, just fifteen years old
Black out drinker, I'll soothe your beast, and his animal too

Children play, can't define innocent, for my white
Virgin's dress was soiled, with blood from birth if
You want to see a doll face pout, lick her lips and
Leave the natural gloss of angel dust behind, for me

Ripening pumpkins on the sticky vines, fall air cooler and at
Dawn the wet cool drops of dew saturate my pale finger tips
The bus is late, the sun rises higher in the sky, that invisible
Clock tick tocks, and my shapely six year old legs do not yet
Know what they do, and the circle widens as the world comes
In my secret place, no hide and seek left, your child is like me

When she isolates, nods her head yes but knows
Adult thought, she is still able to portray child's face
But in day glow moments that Clockwork Orange test
Stains her cheeks red, and you rip her fishnets off

After all a little girl is not a paper doll, a mannequin product of
The "before and after" prostitutes, a sign of our times in the
Years before, abortion as birth control removed the freedom of
The seed to grow, live, and gender specific fertilizer lost value
The trains pass here so loud you can feel them screech right
Between your ears, and your brain cannot be heard in words

I love you (lilac) blossom scent, your finger tips push away
That stray blonde tendril of hair, those blue eyes know in
Spite of the "fib", the words of your Mom (calling me Mom)
I am that being (Grammy) from Texas, the one on the phone,

Extension of a generation past, and I'll sing to you if you truly
Ask me to, I'll hold you to my most slender form and comfort
Those pre adult thoughts, that speckle your innocence with
Rat poison burden, the "ifs" can quiet just like a hungry belly
Sops up whole milk and graham crackers, soggy but filling, I am
Not even close to the PawPaw theory, he fears the

Truth, the rainbow that crosses this foggy haze here in
Richmond, Virginia down beneath that bridge where old
Drunks hold worn paper bags of sour alcohol milkshakes
They forget to use a straw, the fat ones we get at McDonalds

Let even the most parched throat speak eternal love, and
Your child's voice says "I am thirsty" and the endless spring rain
Falls down, we run barefoot (you and I), and the smooth pebbles
In that stream behind the pine tree, cool our hot feet, is it yet the
Summer of our discontent, and the railroad clock strikes five
"We better get home" your mother is waiting, tapping her foot

I am not her child, but I am your family you may not
Know I am yours for my child's smile tells you
That flowers will bloom for us in a blizzard snow north of
The desert, but no mountain is large enough to keep us apart

"I love you sweet pea" and you giggle as I tickle your ribs
You skip like I do, skinny as a rail, you dance with grace
I hand you one pink rose, your breathe deeply and then the
Story that will light up your smile is told; I call you "Goofus"
You're beautiful and know it (we are kindred spirits)
Would you like to take a walk with me again, you say yes...

Thank God she loves me too
I'll give her all of me, and fly like
Confetti towards the western sky
Just this one time, oh yes
Again and again...
For the record I am not Karen,
Kayla...

Chopped Melon
Karen Hallenbeck-Sikorsky-George BSRN
July 26th, 2007


Cold, slippery, pale orange cut in cubes, once round now soft
You taste sweet, and summer touches my tongue even now
In the cold winter morning when alone I warm myself, the silence
As that six o'clock train bangs past my windows, reminds me
I live in the city, no longer does that infinite blue West Texas sky
Take the sadness in my heart away, for somehow I came home

Those people crossing the street are in a hurry
The bustle of cars pushing and shoving up that
Steep hill, remind me that big cities never die they
May fester and infect many, but remain alive

Steam rises from the factory over there near Church Hill, there
Are so many people awake, some just getting home drunk or
Working a night shift, the sun rises so pale it is almost white
Shrunken, but the heat of this cold winter day, and soon the
Freezing rain forecast will blanket the cobblestone streets, and
I will return home hungry, perhaps frozen cold enough to run

A hot bath to soak (alone,) and read a book
Dinner is hot, and anything that goes in that way
Will fill me up, and I won't need a nap anymore
For I am healthy, strong and the candle of hope mine

Tulip bulb somewhere in New Jersey comes back, years ago
Planted with crocus, gentle ferns, and Belgian block stone
In a home we could have lived in forever, long past the time
When the children grew up, but we came down here to the
South where I was a child, not Roanoke, but Richmond with
It's screaming faces, noise, fetid sky like vomit dried, and

Stuck in place, who was to say when my
World turned upside down, and the death
Smelled its way through my body in the
Pain (RSD) that will never go away, I'd return

Thank God I do not stand homeless and frozen on
West Broad Street, littered by other sick bodies on the
Clear icy sidewalk, posted like tacks on the bulletin board
In a brick school house, the dying bodies live on and on
A soup kitchen offers little comfort for the living dead, but
You might hitchhike to the Salvation Army in Midland, Texas...

The clouds are hard to discern, my eyes burn
Are tears forming or is the pollen from last spring
Present to remind me, it is not quite as clean as
The land of infinite skies, where I married again

Found momentary grace in God's will by the passionate lips
Of a man hungry for his fill of love, but unable to accept that
He might only be my friend, for his disease in a world gone mad
Is a product of man's sin against man, they might call it
Bioterrorism, but HIV is the gift of lust, and the descent of racism
Allowed it's deathlike tentacles to grasp a continent called Africa

First...I hear a song I wrote playing in a cafe and
This time I do not wonder why man steals, rapes, or
Destroys, for words spoken in music may be the last
Question you ask on a day like any other when
Life ends, and the spectacular reality hits as your dying breath
Eases on dry lips; that every moment of time spent in over
Fifty years will pass in less than a half minute, and the fear
Drops like a weight, and the peace enters like new blood
Your eyes see for the first time as you take your last step
Love unconditional given, and that light is the only passage

To the beginning of infinite knowledge, and we all
Can see that red tulip bend under that sudden winter
Storm; it will freeze into a mosaic form and on the
Next day remain whole, to remember this my miracle

There is very little milk left, and I cannot sit here complacent
Like a fat, well-fed cat on the hearth of a warm fireplace to
Purr and sleep, no it is time to pull on those tight snow boots,
Slip on those woolen gloves, find my keys and venture down
Not to slip and fall on that sidewalk, but drive up the hill to the
Fan, and shop among others who punched a clock and are

Home from work for the night, tired and
Almost ready for bed, clothes laid out for the
Next day, television quietly blaring some story
Close enough to believe, the sedative for rest

Blushing I recall when sex was a fix
Dying was the answer, and that first marriage
Destroyed a girl who never had a chance at
Being a child, today I write a check, yawn
Carry that bag upstairs, lock the door, because
It's just time to go to bed...

Shoe Untied
Karen Hallenbeck-Sikorsky-George BSRN
July 26th, 2007

The airport is so cold, and the loud noises of jets forcing their
Way up and down runways is the boredom revisited of a world
Traffic bound, constipated with busy and effortless technology that
Delays the birth of a child, in a world population that deletes the
Living from pre birth to elderly state, the life breathed into us is
Scheduled, and if you miss your appointment, you might be without

A home, not a roof or four walls, not a brick or
Frame structure, but a place where one warm body or
Being exists in reverent respect for the silhouette of
Another, and there might be others who live too

Never could I make pancakes, in shame I would hide if the children
Said "Mommy make pancakes please" but their father could create
Round milk toast colored mounds, as smooth as the skin of a newborn
Perfect circles in a hot skillet lightly frying in olive oil, they were just
Something I could not digest, and even today I remember what could
Not be done (by me), and I can make eggs, toast, cereal all for you...

There are people marching forward, they are not soldiers
I like their similar traits, but remain apart, so aloof and will not
Accept their invitation to enter, partake in their schedule for
It is simple to me to carry on what I brought with me, to you

That blue dress you wear is a bad color for me, but the sky picks
Up the song it sings, and you become a happy person wearing it
That man is getting closer to you (is it your dress), and I wave
Good bye and enjoy walking away from your place, you can pick
My brain another day, and if a diamond ring is on your finger
Tuesday then I might be busy, take a trip, and go away...

Chocolate ice, is it a necklace, an ice cream cone
Ghost above, fireman below, the flames are melting me
Snow cone dream, it is an orange ice pop and am I
Just hungry, or in pain for the last rainbow

Is impatiens on a gentle summer day, the thunder pounds down
No rain, the humidity builds until that last gasp of air is suffering
Sweat pours down me like the storm, somewhere far away a tidal
Wave builds, strongly falls, and a mile is washed away, not my
Home, not yours, but strangers do not wave good bye before God
Pastes their names on His clipboard, they entered early but

Are right on time, today is the day
Oh everlasting life...