A Different Light

In the Land of the Incontinent

Ruth Harrigan — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 18:07:37 +0000

In the Land of the Incontinent
There are many islands
Surrounded by the Ocean of Shame
Each has its own flag
Mine – a sabre in equipoise over a leg bag
Ready to cut off a strap or a connector,
Slice through the whole damn bag
Strewing the contents asunder
Wildly proclaiming the freedom to freely piss
Wherever
Just once.

There are many solitary boats in the Ocean of Shame
No ocean liners at all
Small sailboat masts wave and wink,
Rowboats rock and collide with each other creating
A momentary, instant camaraderie expressed with shouts of
“You’re in, you’re in!”
But each sailor steadies his own course
No one has thought to start a boat club
Or regatta races
There is no winner’s cup
No banquet

Everyone hurries home to her own island
As darkness falls
Lowering the flag then
Tripping and rolling over
Boxes of catheters and diapers
We all have our own treasure and bounty of
Devices that stick on us and in us
Bags that bind us or hang off us
(Generally defeating the purpose
Of their names like Freedom
Some continent marketing genius
Came up with).

I want to water flowers, draw a new yellow brick road,
But instead struggle with valves not meant for those
With limited dexterity
And wind up spraying my socks
In the quiet of a bathroom over a toilet I no longer apparently need
But am not allowed to sell
To pay for all this paraphernalia

My island is open to anyone
If you happen to sail by
Bring your own supplies
For I often run low
But I promise you will not go home hungry
Or feeling quite so alone
As you set out on the Ocean of Shame
Which I hope some day enough of us will rename
By flying our flags high.

It is not the rose’s fault

Ruth Harrigan — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 18:04:54 +0000

I remember yellow roses in his hand

As he feeds me brie and berries

Under a cherry tree

Pink petals landing on his hair

After my lover died

Someone told me that if I tried harder

I wouldn’t be so paralyzed

They didn’t want to feed me

I suppose

A gardener clipping a rose bush avoids the thorns

Learns unnecessary pain is a child’s game

That spilt blood blends with red roses

It is not the rose’s fault

Nothing comes of supposition in the realm of gravity

for those who think the degree of paralysis

can be controlled by whim

What might they say about

such grounded things as thorns?

Put the gloves away

bleed red on red if you must

I choose yellow and pink roses

Watching petals float higher than my arm can reach

So Many Similes

Ruth Harrigan — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 15:51:23 +0000

I’m overwhelmed by similes
like assembly line widgets
blue yellow red green
a bluebird and cardinal mating in a yellow birdhouse on the lawn

Cut I scream
like a movie director
to a crew who
murmurs , whispers, casts sideway glances
like people at a funeral not knowing what to say
who seek the gray
who speak in phrases three words at a time
as if it’s a victory

Now they know how I feel
Almost

There’s more

Like a black train speeding through the dark night
with no one at the controls
pure adrenalin pumping
over the tracks
cha rit cha rit cha rit clip clip clip
and a man at the next station
ready to jump in front of the locomotive
like now
he steps onto the track
cha rit cha rit cha rit clip clip clip
it’s not what he wants
so he runs
like a rabbit back into the night
the train now where his foot was

Follow follow him
his legs pumping
all the way home
until, as he leans against the front door,
his four year old son asks
“What’s wrong Daddy?”

Like he can answer that ever
Like anyone but the kid ever asks

Cut.

So many similes

When You Stand Like That

Ruth Harrigan — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 19:42:10 +0000

I can’t stand
When you stand like that

Towering over my world
Showing me the way

Your way
Is not
My way

Down here
There’s different air
Lower,my dear, is safer
In a fire
There’s less wind and
Rain hits me last

You may want to bend down.

Gasping for Air

Ruth Harrigan — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 18:24:34 +0000

The Urge
don’t forgive it or excuse it or name it
Sail round it like a cape,
its high waves waving sensually , consensually
sea gulls screaming come on come on

Then Purge
All you hold dear, mostly, Dear Ones
Let them go, roll softly down your chest
Up and over until down and out
You stare, empty, at No-One Who is There

And Merge
Where nexus meets plexus, air grows thin
You realize, grasping your throat
As clouds swirl above
That a void cannot stand, even when it is true blue

You gasp for air
It is enough.

Bits and pieces

Ruth Harrigan — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 18:21:18 +0000

If I flatter you with bits and pieces of poetry
Clever snippets to make you blush
Will you stand and praise the empty spaces
As the walls tumble down around your feet
Forcing you to lift first one foot, then the other
Until you fall face first
Into the rubble
Perhaps into pieces
A shell of a person left
As I scribble on into the night.

It’s Pneumonia Child Pneumonia

Ruth Harrigan — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 18:19:08 +0000

My breath – shortened
Blows your way
Didn’t reach your cheek, my love
Must you strain toward me
Urging my lungs to try harder?

We said the P as kids
P-new-mo-ni-a
Blissfully ignorant of shallow breaths
Or aching lungs
Or night sweats beading on foreheads
Covered by a lover’s trembling hand
Until the morning sun rises
Another day
My breath- shortened
Blows your way.

New Short Story Up

Ruth Harrigan — Sat, 23 May 2009 21:41:01 +0000

Wheezy, a short story about the homeless is up

Weird Arm Thing

Ruth Harrigan — Sat, 23 May 2009 00:18:03 +0000

He called it a weird arm thing
It’s been called
Quadriplegia or
Paralysis or
Spasms

But this is a new one on me.

I look down at my curled hands
After a
Long
Hard
Day
In a world set up for
arms that move and
hands that hold and
fingers that grasp – straight fingers.

With that weird arm thing
Can we touch you he asks
No I say
Don’t.

A Poem of Epic Proportions

Ruth Harrigan — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 12:25:56 +0000

-a poem dedicated to all those heroes and heroines who sally forth fearlessly

In which our heroine is introduced

Our heroine wanders forth on her Wheeled Steed
Clasping only a clay tablet cracked after battle
On which to record her journeys
As she encounters creatures of the dark and light
On a mission to procure Vitamins,
An elixir designed to strengthen and preserve Health
Pills that are hidden in Round Containers
Located deep within the aisles
Of large vaulted places
Where fellow travelers wander aimlessly
Nay, passing by the elixir
Whilst our heroine,
Single Minded of Purpose
Strays neither left nor right
To the Bagged Crunchy Food or Dark Liquid called Cola
But first she must overcome the Obstacles
Both Physical and Otherwise
That block her way
As she ventures forth in her wheeled steed.

In which the heroine encounters the dreaded SUV monsters

Outside the Vaulted Building
Lies a criss cross of white lines on black steaming tar
On which the dreaded SUV monsters sit idly
Waiting, biding their time, their front grills cool and quiet
Whilst others of their kind roam, their metal grills
Higher than the heroine’s wheeled steed.
Their encounters are swift and deadly
As she approaches the front of the Vaulted Building
Some back into her, casting off red lights
As they emit terrible honking noises
And various types of cursing
Aimed at the heroine who dashes left and right
Only to arrive at the road surrounding the building
Where SUV’s travel with a speed so terrible
It makes her wheeled steed shake.
Yet she holds her ground, aiming to cross
No matter that her life is in mortal danger
Knowing that upon the appearance of a smaller
Black and white rolling apparition that has
A red dome on top the SUV’s stop all movement
Allowing her to cross.

III

In which our heroine is rendered Invisible by those of the High Countenance

Our heroine must first enter the Vaulted Building
Sometimes there is a Button one may push that magically opens the doors
Or she can rush in behind another who has set the doors ajar
Otherwise she must find a way to ram the entrance open
A piece of wood, nay, any object works with the weight of her wheeled steed behind it.
Once inside, surrounded by rows of Objects meant to distract her from the elixir
She follows a well studied path toward the Vitamins
Avoiding those who wander from Object to Object,
Stopping in front of her only to stare blankly
Their journeys sadly gone astray
But this is of no concern to our heroine who sallies forth
Toward the aisle of the Elixir and seizes the rounded container
Hiding it as she goes to barter
With those of the High Countenance
Who stand behind Counters so High and Frightening
That one may not glance upon their visage
Nay, they stand in a world apart, Unseeing and Unfeeling
As our heroine takes her place in a line of those purchasing other Objects.
Predictably, one of the High Countenance speaks to the man behind her in line
Intoning “May I help you?”
Our heroine bravely utters “I am next”, fearless and forthright
Unabashed by the casting of the Invisibility Spell.
“I did not see you,” is the expected and dreaded response
And thus the bartering commences.

In which our heroine recounts her Deeds and Battles after safely returning Home

Do not imagine that our heroine’s battles are over
As she must once again escape the dreaded SUV’s outside the Vaulted Building
And endure their squealing sounds as they stop, left and right,
Their heated grills rising above her head
Their curses loud and frequent
These are the memories of battle that must be recorded on the clay tablet
Our heroine has now strapped to the back of her wheeled steed.
Once home, she finds it is dark
Her fellows greet her,
Offering her solace and companionship
By the light of an Object called Ever-Ready
Our heroine casts shadows on the walls to show the SUV’s dreaded attacks
From which she escaped unscathed
Showing her companions her journey through the Vaulted Building
And her safe passage home.
It is all good, they intone in one voice,
Whereupon our heroine passes around the elixir, the Vitamins
Before they all climb, crawl or are lifted into their bedding
The last one keeping watch and immortalizing our heroine’s tales
On the cracked clay tablet,
A Journey that Must be Told, passed down
Generation after generation
In defiance of the SUV’s and those of the High Countenance
And all others who would keep our heroine on her wheeled steed from her purpose-
To find Life’s elixir and bring it back to those in need.

Sleep well, our heroine, until you journey forth yet again!