Letter #48

Hey Dad,


How's it going?  Not like you can tell me.  Just thought I'd ask.  We were in a giant wine, beer and liquor store in Olympia today and I thought of you.  You would have loved that place.  I bought cider and fruity wine.  I had two ciders tonight.  I got kinda loopy.  I'm such a lightweight.  It's the meds I'm on.

Random photo:

So, here's the thing.  I tried to friend T. on Facebook.  You remember him, yeah, you never did like him much, did you?  He disappeared on me.  Disappeared his page.  Either his wife got to him or he's an asshole.  You know what I'm thinking.  Yep!  I was just trying to be friendly.  Yeah, I broke up with him over 22 years ago.  Cancers have long memories.  So do Virgos.  That's all I'm gonna say about that.

So, I thought I said too much to my new friend, S.  Cause I didn't hear from her for a long-ish time.  But she wrote back to me.  Yay!  One online "friend" stopped writing to me because I had a mental illness.  Hmmm....  You know how it is.  I should be in an attic somewhere watching a black and white TV and eating TV dinners.  LOL!  I don't even watch TV!

I had a great day in Olympia today.  We dropped J. off at the train station.  She's headed to California for a week or two.  I hope she has a good time.  Me and Chris went to Trader Joe's, the little oriental grocery, the wine shop, and Joann's.  I bought 5 McCall's patterns for $7 and some canvas covered boards to do arty/crafty stuff on.

another photo:

Thanks for listening.  It's been a stressful week, life, whatever. 

I almost ordered some fabric, but I think I'll wait on that.  Maybe next month. 

Sleep well...

LOVE

Anne

April Poem: "Since I Stopped Caring"

Since I Stopped Caring

Things have gotten worse.

These are not my battles,

I finally realized.

The war rages on, downstairs,

it seems inevitable.

I am above it all.

I no longer raise my voice.

The three of us, a choir

of the damned.

I remain silent, count my ammo,

guard the stairs.

It’s not my battle, not my war.

No one’s on my side,

an army of one.

The bayonet sharper

than the creases in my uniform.

Night after night,

I stand at attention.

“Words will never hurt me.”

The morning brings fresh casualties.

© Anne Westlund

prompt:  “Since (blank)”

April Poem: "The Well"

The Well

It’s dark here, wet

with the scent of mold.

I’ve been here long years.

I live on treacle and dreams.

If you could but lower

a rope with a swing

and drag me upwards,

that would be nice.

The shines once a day,

for an hour.  Your face,

a white moon peering down.

My jailor, my lover.

Eyes following,

you drop crackers and jugs

of water in a basket,

disappearing into the depths.

So tired of living in this well.

If you could call it living,

which I don’t.

Yesterday, you set boards

against the side.  Tomorrow

it will be hammer and nails.

I must get out.

My fingers touch the ledge

of stones, just out of reach.

A sharp tug is all it takes.

Then you’ll be down here

with me.

Will you be surprised

when I use your dead body

for a footstool?

© Anne Westlund

prompt: write a message poem

April Poem: "Aegean Discovery"

Aegean Discovery

On this cruise ship

with a bunch of folks

who can only complain.

They don’t like the food,

the drinks are too expensive.

It’s either too hot or too cold.

They paid too much,

cabin in steerage.

I stand at the prow

take in the sun, the breeze,

seagulls.

I can see fish swim underwater,

escorts to the ship.

The crew, unobtrusive, do their jobs.

The tourists grumble.

The ocean too wide,

the ship too small.

A stomach virus sweeps

the boat.  Sick passengers crowd

the rails. I escape

that fate.

My brother says, “the end is near.”

Am I the only one hoping for more,

for sight of land,

the farthest shore.

© Anne Westlund

prompt:  write a voyage poem

Letter #47

Hi Dad,


I'm listening to Metallica on Spotify.  That's kind of like an internet radio station, only you pick the songs.  I miss you a lot.  It seems like you were the sane one in the family.  Now you're gone and we don't have a referee.  Sigh.  I'm not getting much done tonight. 

Mom's watching Criminal Minds, which us kids call "Screaming Murder" because there's lots of screaming and serial killers on the show.  Chris is watching Good Will Hunting.  His TV died today, but he had my old little TV in his closet.  He got it hooked up to Dish. 

Shells and dried leaves 1:

About sewing:  There's this Mad Men sewing challenge going on, the third one.  There's no way I can sew that well.  I'd like to be able to sew a 50s dress like that anyway.  It's not really my style and I don't have a clue where I'd wear it.  It would still be cool.  There's a website where you can order custom 40s/50s/60s style dresses, sewn to your measurements, Iheartmycloset.com.  I'd love to get a dress there.  I hate doing the whole nylons and foundation garments thing.  Suck it in!  Heehee!

I don't think I'll be sewing tomorrow at any rate.  I'm not "mentally prepared."  My head's not in the game.  It's all about the Book Fest and the social stuff that goes along with it. 

Shells and dried leaves 2:

Anyway. Wish me luck! 

Sleep well...

LOVE

Anne

April Poem: "The Start"

The Start

Beginning

            is the hardest part.

At the start

            when you first dare

            open your heart.

Hope, yes, hope

            plays its part.

To catch his eye

            you play the tart.

Waiting, oh, I hate

            this part!

Our eyes meet and linger,

            just the start.

© Anne Westlund

prompt:  write a beginning poem or ending poem