“Starting from the Middle,” “Heap of a Human,” and “First Love After”

“Starting from the Middle,” “Heap of a Human,” and “First Love After”

Starting from the Middle

Life came out of me

a gush of red

Moon-pale I waited those eternal

stretched seconds

for my

arms to be filled

with you.

 

Looking at the end—

a twisted rock-solid path down which we'll gently

stroll together.

Hand in hand,

you're squeezing so tight

I think I might burst inside

but I will gently smile and wonder if you can see underneath

your mother's thin skin;

my secrets are yours to keep in a box

under the squeaking floorboard

my mouse-like steps awaken you,

it must be hard to breathe.

 

Searching for the beginning

fingertips feeling for signs of it in the dark:

it's cold to be ice,

to be hard; it was

sadness frozen that told me to run for my life,

run into my life,

to slip back into it

quickly

before it would be too tight to fasten comfortably

around my waist.

 

In the beginning there was an earth and a sky

to create—my job,

was to fill this space

with you.

Heap of a Human

Change your password,

Take down the framed photos,

Pull out his winter clothes from the top shelf.

When you see the worn pillows you got for your wedding

Focus on the faded velvet,

Not on how they made your first apartment look decent, grown up.

Think of 17 years as enough

Not as a milestone to be met with another 17.

When you remember the dimple that was always for you

Think of how happy it will make a woman who can enjoy

the rest of him along with it.

Take your time when you fall asleep alone in your king-sized bed

Don’t try to fill it with another warm body

Even if you swear you love its owner.

Your password is still his last name,

The one you never took as your own

And every time you turn on the flame under the iron skillet

You think of how he cooked for you as you nursed your babies

How he raised his hands in the air looking for a bowl for your placenta

after he watched you birth your child from the hallway

How he tied your babies to his back and

How he played guitar and sang for you night after night

As you nursed your newborn to sleep.

When you decide to leave,

When you decide that you are ready,

Don’t forget that everything in this house has a tag

has a date

has a moment or a thousand

attached to it:

The mugs he’s been trying to trash for years that you still hold on to.

The cutting board you’ve been scolded for using the wrong knife on.

The table around which you sit tensely because nothing can come with ease,

Not even a simple family dinner.

Remember the magazines in the bathroom

that hold articles he asked you to read but that you never did,

The side tables he hates because they came from your friend he once kicked out of your home for no good reason

The estate sale painting covering the kitchen wall that he didn’t want

until you twisted his arm and stomped your feet like a tantrumed child

because you thought some color on the wall

would make things prettier.

Easier to wake up to every morning.

Before you leave,

Collect your memories in a sack like treasured jewels

One by one,

Pick them up and hold them up to the sun for a moment:

Some will change color,

Some will altogether disappear,

Some will break your heart again

While others will make you tear your hair out.

Take this sack and tie it around your neck for the time being.

Ask yourself if they can all really fit,

if you can take them with you

as you enter another house

Another life

Another man

Another set of mugs.

As you sleep in a memory-less room

Will this sack lie comfortably on your chest

Or will you find yourself a sleepless heap of a human

Who has forgotten that a bag of jewels

can also sit heavily,

Can easily make you forget

That you still

remember

how

to breathe.

First Love After

We stand in your kitchen.

Our bodies move like bumper cars only

We are careful not to hit, not to

Crash into each other as we dance

This dance

This rhythm,

Our feet on the white linoleum

The photos on the fridge are not of me.

About the Author

Naomi Anne Goldner

Naomi Anne Goldner is a San Francisco-based writer and founder of WordSpaceStudios Literary Arts CenterWordSpaceStudios, a literary center that serves writers by offering residencies and workshops. She holds an MFA from San Francisco State University. Her work has been published and performed in various publications and literary events such as entropy Mag, The Blue Nib Review, Bang Out, Litquake, Listen to Your Mother, The Festival Review, and Qu literary, The Hill, and the Smart Set to name a few. Her short stories have also been anthologized and received honorary mention and been finalists. You can read more of her work at naomigoldner.com.