molly.com
Sunday 17 April 2005
Cheap Trash Stars and a Mistaken Moon
Hey, the other night I looked up and I know I saw Venus. Brilliant, pulsating, bright. You’ve long looked like a constellation of cheap trash stars instead of a real star or planet. So that’s how I knew it was Venus and not you.
I’m throwing thoughts around corners, here. Am I once again mistaking my muses? Thinking the devils I dance with are angels instead? But I knew the truth about you long ago anyway, you did the one good deed of telling me. So perhaps I’m not mistaking muses again, rather just pretending that I have angels.
I do have angels, don’t I?
I wake up dreaming we don’t hurt each other any more. You know how it is, how everything in life and love and perception changes. If you look up at the sky and see Venus you might think you’re watching MTV. The natural and inventive lines of life are getting crossed. The goodness of our souls gets tainted by time and judgment and fatigue.
If happiness were a mask, it would be known as mine. You know it’s true, you’ve seen me wear it. I dress up in enthusiasm and joy as if it were a precious garment. I show it off, I keep it beautiful, at least in the light. It’s fortunate I’m usually hidden at night. I can wrestle with you and pretend no obvious blood is left behind.
Right now, I am looking closely at a handful of tomato seeds. I’m counting them and wondering whether the procreation potential of a tomato is predefined?
As in: This is how many other tomatoes you will potentially give life to, this is how many seeds will dry up and fall to earth.
As in: Here are fresh new tomatoes, crisp and bright and almost sweet.
As in: We talked about it and did nothing for so long the sweet grew mellow and the seeds did not grow.
When I get too nervous I look for the edges of things. I am looking to see if the edges are still hard and that reality is in sharp focus. When the edges start to waver, I know I’m either dreaming or reality is being distorted by pain or medication. Or I’m hearing voices of the misguided muse and devil and angel and forgetting my own voice.
I want the simple seed I played with in my hand these past years. I want what is new and fresh and contains potential. This is how I knew it was Venus I saw, and not some moon. Everything else is cheap trash stars and there is a star or perphaps a planet here that shines very bright.
I’m sorry, but I knew it wasn’t you this time. It can’t be you this time. It is not you. This time.
I do have angels, don’t I?
Filed under: faith(less), poetry & fiction
Posted by: Molly | 13:01 | Comments (8)
Nice, juicy, plump … tomatoes.
It is a bit frightening how tomatoes have a few chances to reproduce with their seeds, and once they’re gone, that’s it. Glad humans aren’t like that.
Matt,
I think humans are exactly like that. All my prose aside, I think that’s my message.
love/m
We all wish we had the chances back that we didn’t take. We all imagine things are better than they are. We all wear our ideals as a cloak to cover the imperfections beneath.
I love this piece. Nice work.
But it is not procreation that follows, it is birth.
Your tomato is pregnancy. And the cycle has already begun.
A single tomato is but one of many opportunities for the tomato plant and already is a successful outcome.
Hope this helps to add a new perspective.
Keith: Thank you so much.
Steven: I like that you say the tomato is already a successful outcome. That, I think, is a wonderful perspective.
It’s not what might have been or should have been, but what is here right now, I think.
[...] That just make you happy. Case in point: MightyGirl talking about advertising in Vegas and Molly wondering about her angels. This is what it’s all about.
[...]
But it is not procreation that follows, it is birth.
Your tomato is pregnancy. And the cycle has already begun.
A single tomato is but one of many opportunities for the tomato plant and already is a successful outcome.
Hope this helps to add a new perspective.