Minutes in Life [PREVIEW]
Poems by Kat Schmidt
1. 11:49 A.M. …………………………………………………………………..3
2. 3:25 P.M. ……………………………………………………………………4
3. 3:59 P.M. ……………………………………………………………………5
4. 5:20 P.M. ……………………………………………………………………6
5. 6:52 P.M. ……………………………………………………………………7
6. 12:42 A.M. ………………………………………………………………….8
7. 2:30 A.M. …………………………………………………………………..9
8. 3:25 A.M. ……………………………………………………………………10
11:49 A.M.
JFK airport is the best place to make a scene, hugging, kissing crying my lover goodbye, watching them walk away away to security away to their plane which will whisk them away 680 miles to home to a home I will not see again for another month so I turn to escalators hoping strangers will mistake my red eyes for high eyes for its not even noon and I’m already stoned eyes not infinitely sad eyes not I can’t do this I can’t go back to my empty apartment eyes and when the man crouching tells me good morning, I don’t question it, I just stop and say good morning back and try to ignore his moon eyes but when he says Will you spend the rest of my life with me? his moon eyes are you’re the sun to my moon eyes but my sun is waiting on a plane and I need to catch this train so I shake my head and walk away
3:25 P.M.
I put my mind in the box, tin box-can joy of city destroyers worldwide, and my body stumbled in after. Bumped into by the stumbling Woman in Red, not orange-red not brick-red not blue-red, red as the mind in the middle of the night when I cannot sleep. The Woman in Red, she bumped into me as I followed my mind, and I stumbled, but now I’m looking back to receive her apology. Eyes to dirty floor shoe stomped and smeared smeared smeared with god doesn’t even know what, the apology bashfully given, yet I accept, I know the ways of the bashful for I, too, am from that land, born there still live there in fact. I accept this little apology, my mind sets to running miles ahead of me again, almost out of sight, certainly not in this tin, in this box, it’s not boxed, it works ahead of me always, I’m prone to stumbling bumbling, my mind has legs of its own, long legs thin legs, toothpicks which will break when shoved in sidewalk cracks, and right now it’s miles ahead of me. I begin to wonder if she wasn’t sorry at all. Does she don this bashfulness as a clever disguise, is it her bad habit to stumble into others and mumble empty apologies? Some people bite nails, some leave dishes in sinks forever unwashed, some leave all doors open even to the flies, I’m always never here not really, but this Woman in Red, is it her bad habit to commit tiny acts of violence daily? Perhaps she earlier kicked a dog, or closed a door on someone’s nose, or stepped on someone’s heel as they ascended stairs causing them to tumble rumble roll all the way back to the bottom with a bruise on their bottom? Bruised fruit is still edible, but I digress. Yes, Woman in Red, I know your game, I see your tiny violences unrecognized by all, recorded only by a camera accidentally opened.
3:59 P.M.
Piss sidewalk sidewalk of urinal stench stinky stench trapped in concrete these details I remember concretely: there she was sitting, reading a book, cover of blue, blue I want to rip and set under the tongue I taste their stories with, selling her wares, faux-jewels of rainbow hues baubles of glass and resin resting strung on fishing wire and thin white elastic, meant to adorn necks, ears, wrists, fingers. Maybe they have, or will, adorn waists, toes, eyes, tongues, perhaps even teeth, stomachs, teratomas, nipples, and assholes. Going in or out I’m not here to judge but I will judge her, oh woman of the piss walk, sitting reading peacefully from her book of blue ocean blue, I’ve never once looked at them and seen blue. Perhaps that’s why I crave the taste, we want what we will never have, and I will never have her wares that she sat next to on the sidewalk as if nothing was wrong on her stretch of cracked sidewalk cracked and bulging from roots of trees wearing laminated necklaces begging dogs not to urinate on them in a language they will never understand even with the proper education. But it was wrong so wrong to me, and my nose, it wanted to press charges just looking at her wares was an assault, and the reading woman she never even looked up from her book blued book of blue never spared a glance with her eyes of blue blue of their eyes aren’t blue I need to leave here. Home is not blue.
5:20 P.M.
I didn’t call you, I said you could call me, call me, call me anytime, line’s open baby. I love you. I tell you this to infinity I love you. I don’t like to call you it sets off his beast in my brain and sets my hands to shaking, quaking even, and my heart, oh how it sets to running, clawing at my chest like a caged chimpanzee, and then there are the sweats, don’t make me mention the sweats. I love you and I’ve said so right? And I said you could call me. Line’s wide open, you often call me after work, and that makes my heart sing like a free bird at four in the morning, you know the ones you grumble about them all the time, they interrupt your beauty sleep these birds of black air. How can they breathe? Sometimes I can’t breathe can you? So you told me you were off work and I said you could call me. I won’t call you and I kept waiting, but you never did. Call me that is. I can’t say what you did, I only know what you did not, you did not call me, and have I said I love you? I guess I’ll spend today without hearing your voice. I swear I won’t starve. I’m not in so desperate of a condition. I wonder, though, and as it wont to do, the wonder blurs into worry and the worry sets off the sweats. Does this make it anxiety or is that a more chronic ill? Anyway I said you could call me, and I didn’t call you. Did your mom call you? She loves you so much. Whenever we text it’s about you as if you’re the only subject we have in common. Maybe I’ll text her about breathing or sleeping or dreaming or blinking. I didn’t call you. Maybe your boss called you. You’ve worked til after 10 before. Turned around on your drive home before and clocked right back in, back in I say, and oh what a night that was, cold green beans for everyone, even the cat, but she prefers peas and grew quite rowdy at the offense. I hover fingers over call icon. Ring. Ring. Hello? Hi. I love you. I never call you. I said you could call me.
6:52 P.M.
White dress woman on street white dress framed by long dark hair long dark hair in contrast to white dress and white stuffed dog stuffed under arm in the other suitcase handle and bouquet white wrapped paper spraying warm petals over city skyline and the suitcase black as hair black as heeled boots peeking under white dress tipping pale leg showing through side slit in white dress and she walked over crosswalk white stripes on black asphalt all color was flower all feeling was awe.
12:42 A.M.
Midnight light in Walmart parking lot as I receive his love, perfect and reinvented. Dark washed asphalt makes anew this slurping tongue pressed to ice with a real-estate man hissing into grimy phone pressed to ear circling a car several spots away. He is background chatter for cicadas. We are our own magnificent cacophony. The moon doesn’t approve, but she doesn’t have to. This moment is us.
2:30 A.M.
Change rattles in pocket I check my bag not me my bag my only sound footsteps footsteps footsteps and two sets reverberate off humming lights looking back is a mistake when there is only forward there is only forward but he looked back circled back words coated in candy artificial sweetness artificial innocence stripped compliments of innocence apologies of truth several steps forward he circles back I keep trying for forward and he keeps circling for back forward back forward back it’s the same in a loop a loop of fear gnawing on heart screams in brain bees in veins bursting forward splattering tile with purple lipstick smacked lips spit caked crackling calling for forward fear settles into rage settles into it’s the 28th settles into not another one no not today I refuse it today couldn’t refuse it December 28th: Break-In January 28th: House Fire March 28th: Mother’s Birthday May 28th: Mother’s Car Accident, Partial Paralysis of the Face October 28th: No, Not This I refuse this time forward exit sign glowing red hell red heaven red burning in the skull red I’m sorry I’m sorry you’re just so beautiful I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m just trying to flatter you I’m sorry I’m sorry You are so beautiful I’m sorry I’m sorry I loop closer too close too close too close he’s too close Exit sign turnstiles stairs purple lips dark hair exit sign oh god of false hope he keeps circling back I am alone alone with him alone with turnstiles we both head for turnstiles he’s pushing through them pushing through my brain grey matter chunks smacked between teeth would be kinder I fear I dart to the left run down stairs take Option B hope B stands for Best hope B stands for bastard stop circling me stop cornering me with ring of sweet salt stop he pauses start I keep pushing forward hear clunk of gears of turnstiles of sweet freedom of glance up he’s on the other side mouth open O not Option O I never think so far ahead open yelling yellow teeth bared and running I keep running tripping over self over who am I self I’ve forgotten everything but self preservation of self and stop at bottom of stairs look up he’s gone space left where he once stood and stop I wait space remains silence remains and I venture up slowly up stairs beyond turnstiles the other side bathed in harsh glow: two MTA employees arms crossed talking don’t spare me a glance have I stopped existing have I been trapped in hell in his circled whirlpool in him in outside above cold above ground I am outside I am alone
3:25 A.M.
Hotel reaching sky reaching heaven drowning in hell drowning in stopped elevator stuck stopped death hands slamming door slamming locked metal slamming echoes into air into desolate metal clangs and the throat the throat the throat slicked hot red salted screams screams gnawing chainsaw below floors down flesh chewing chainsaw gnaws victims I cannot see scream meeting screams meeting screams meeting slamming hands into cold metal meeting flesh floor by floor meeting cold metal metal metal all around metal in mouth metal in flesh ripping rending chunks meeting metal meeting crimson sprays meeting red blooms then the shot clear true shot meeting home meeting screams meeting chainsaw meeting floor meeting fear fear does not subside shifts in tone shifts in hands shifts in throat shifts in metal metal groans shifting floor by floor and the bruises open open to hotel reaching sky reaching heaven drowning in heaven burning in hell.