The Mother, Daughter and the haunted ghost

There is a closeness between my mother and sister
I witness with a rattled yearn and weep the night
To quiet the starved adolescent craving is to
loosen a flat sheet in memory.

It is the way they yield into each others
karmic space, twirling between the generations
enacting a replay of womb time
enacting a replay of my time as if without womb.

I try to catch Mommas' gaze for a resurrection
ignored tantrums fail to incite, fail beyond the shadow
pieces of us and I struggle to phantom myself toward
be a big girl for Momma. be a big ghost for Momma.

The living room mantel testifies an evolution
a preferred pictorial proliferation
Sister's immigration and the end of the first act
swept inside photo albums couched just outside of important.

But I hang next, hold pleading hands cupped
meander over and over an requited prayer.
Sharp intuition begs for mercy but I wait for Momma
wait but never want, wait but never forgive why
a couplet instead of a holy hallowed trinity

Three

Three

for Oona, Brian and Jeremiah

You are like mustard seeds
that I wished upon after hip hop
angels whispered in my ear.

Never had a green thumb
just a red heart, and white filled
nipples that nourished you
into yourselves.

You are light, constant
willowing in my arms
I thought I'd never leave my night
never leave my night.

You are babes with mouths
that utter truths, I want to pull you
back into my womb
for that is when we danced.

You are gifts wrapped in a
mixture of hues from plantations
that tried to keep you from
coming over to this side.

You are amazing remains of my labor
I'll never work that hard again
never get paid
abundantly.

You are my stars. The one's
I wished upon at Girl Scout camp
somewhere between the can of "off"
and tie knots on logs that hold us
over broken waters.

(c) 2007-2009 Charlotte Young Bowens
This poem was published in Shenandoah's Fall 2008 issue

buried in boxes (poem)

He is a mountain-ness man. Looks
nice enough. I'm dressed anew and
extra pretty clean like the house
with freshly plaited hair.

I enter the front room marching
as if a church aisle. Momma and the man gaze
upon me, for I am "show and tell." Maybe special
I smile as practiced and shake vigorously.

Momma tugs the limp doll of me and demands
I say "hi" to the man named, this is
your father. I look for her, to him, to laugh perhaps
for him, to her, for signs of dream in sleep.

But you said he was dead. I thought you said he was ...
Words unleash the sunset of eyes, Momma pretends to chuckle
he groans, her legs uncross, her hand is swift
one palm covers my mouth now emptied.

Momma pats the non-existing wrinkles
of my polyester dress. this is your father lunges forward
hugs me hard, I hold hands collapsed at sides. I perch my chin
over his shoulder and consider my little brother's wallpaper
fingerprints.

Now a box fills his lap. A gift for this is your daughter. The next day
I look inside for answers. With every box thereafter I look inside
a search, a reason, something about why my Father has come back
to life and why he is gone
again.

Journal Entry of my future lover

June 2, 2012
There is a bit of overcast and it looks as if some wetness dripped ot the ground in the fresh morning air. I've just withdrawn my soul from the cradle of my lover's arm. It is similar to torture perhaps a masochistic but this love is to tender for description that veer on violence or negativity. The back and fort h of my mind but one thing is clear, today is a good day.
Today I search my mind for the beginning, that precocious time when I let this man enter into my heart and three calends have journey with us. We have watched the cyclic annuals crested with our love and passion. It's a record for me because I tend to cut into my intimacy before a year can gather round. I tend to judge people to quickly, too abruptly and too critically as if I am without flaws. I tend to want to keep this heart encased in a metallic structure. But then I learned the other day that when it gets cold enough, metal's strength is as weak as a baby's behind.
This is how he came into my life. I had become so cold that the metal around my soul began to loose it's pliability and it became brittle. Over the years and bit by bit and every so often the hardened substance flaked off like. There had to be a whole somewhere, a space worn and lacking any coverage because otherwise I had no intent on abiding intimacy ever again. I suspect that God's got a plan or some really good jokes. The ying and yang is there for a reason I suppose, all though I had hoped I would nestle into the comfort of my ying for the yang seemed a distant fantasy at best.
I prayed for this lover even while my heart was casted off into a chamber with a missing key. But as they say, if you can't get though the door, there's always a window. I sometimes wonder how I had the courage or even the wherewithal to know, to pray, to want and to finally give in to the thing that I least expected to happen to me. What was that sliver of something, that size-of-a-mustard-seed yearning for more out the human experience. I had comfortably settled into my non-existence, needing very little, only air and nourishment. The loneliness turned into being alone by choice, or so I convinced to myself and I awaited the rest of my days.
I must confess that having a lover isn't a better feeling. It is a different feeling, it is an encompassing of the little spaces that being alone could never fill. My experience at loving and being loved is more of a lateral expansion of my human experience yet there are moments when I step into spiritual understanding more profoundly. And I can see how being alone is not something that cease because you have a partner, no it is just a chance to walk around closer to another soul on the same type of journey.
I had expected after three years for some heightened sense of myself, the world and love but what I discovered is that growth is an internal process and mandated only by the self. Lover, my lover has his own process, we join with the willingness to except each other right where we are on the path and we understand that sometimes we can't be together and we understand that our love is one of the many tools we will need to know fully who and what we really are.
It's more like walking down a path or down the road with a really good friend. I might notice the lillies or he might notice the weeds choking the berry bush or I might bask in the sun while he worships the shade of a tall oak tree. I sense that what we do in this deeply abiding intimacy is live with the fire of desire to be the God's we really are. I can't help but find a sense of sadness at the notion of romantic love. For I suspect that it is empty, void of real substantive meaning but perhaps a path to the true meaning of coupleship.
I am content in this relationship unlike any relationship before and I am a better person not because of him. I am better at getting myself better, better at accepting the perfection in myself and in others. I am convinced that love isn't a one way street nor is it surrendering of power either. No love is as simple as breathing or looking at the stars or watching a plant grow. It is divine, peaceful, easy like Sunday morning and it simply is without any force or work.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

A memory with my future lover

It's this sense of peace and calm and satisfaction and safety, all of which come over me, wash me anew and it's effortless. I sit on the porch and look out on the sun, as it makes it's grand appearance for this particular day. I lean back and a slight turn allows me to see his back. He is standing at the sink. His moves are like a simple flow and I reflect on how we got here. I try to remember the precise moment when I unshackled my soul from the chaos of every day living. This moment is pivotal because it is the primary reason why I am sitting here today. It's the end of a life full of self deprecation and the blossoming of a life full of self actualization.

I smile at him when he notices my stare and his return smile says it all. I gaze back at the wonder of a sky full of the unknown while appreciating the little known I have. He eases up beside me, leans over and kisses my neck. This is heaven. Each kiss is more pronounced, more sensual and more provocative. I know we will end up in each others arms sweaty from sexual passion. But it is when he kisses my lips, that's when I feel that current of electricity radiate throughout my body. This is when I swear I can levitate, perhaps walk on water or fly.

Over four years of this intense intimacy. I have wondered how I lucked on him, this and me. I was a commitment phobe with a deeply rooted paranoia. I had been abandoned way too many times or so I thought. I never people get too close, I kept souls at a distance, that of a football field. There was no joy in being alone but there was comfort when I graduated from loneliness to being alone because there is a difference. Enough of a difference to allow me to fall into the arms of a loving man, one whose simple living is the answer to my soul's longing.

I stroke his back when he sits next to me. I think of him when we are apart but never in a desperation but in confidence that when I return he will be there. We move in stride like an upbeat classical musical or perhaps theatrical music. Our lives intertwine without the choke of entanglement. We pay attention to ourselves, we pay attention to the way the other one enlivens each moment. I can't help but enter the quiet of the moment, I can't help but surrender to the joy of our interaction and I can't help but breathe. With each breathe, I come alive as if resurrected from the dead. I had not known how dead I was until know. I had not given in to the essence of my life force until now and it feels good, much like excstacy.

We part from one another without words. It's a silent gesture woven within the embrace and tender kisses. It is the lingering of our hands until our finger tips fall from inevitable end of our touching. It is the way I turn my back to him and his back to me yet I know that it is not a turn, nor a back or an away. It is temporary, unwanted yet smoldered with a knowing of time's necessary demand.

I jump into my truck and head to work, I can see him entering his car and just before I place my foot on the gas, his wave is haphazard but not from neglect but from something inside the both of us. The way in which we realize that our souls will never truly part, it's just an illusion and we play the role with the actions in support.

I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!