The
Visible Woman
Just Types
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct. 31, 2004 —
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm starving!"
"I could eat a horse."
"I'm stuffed."
"Put a fork in me, I'm done."
"Let's have lunch."
"How about a snack."
One must eat.
But it is more than that, isn't it?
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
30, 2004 —
When there are rooms where you never go.
Except to pile things up.
When there is space you have to cool.
With no one to feel hot.
When you walk into a space.
In your own house.
And wonder at what's there.
You'd think you'd move to a smaller spot.
And rent storage somewhere.
Just rent a cheaper place.
To put stuff to forget about.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
29, 2004 —
We go to the store.
We need stuff.
The store wants to sell us.
On inpulse.
They stack the wares.
Declare a sale.
We need the store.
But our needs are not the same.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
28, 2004 —
The sky darkens.
Rain falls.
Enough.
To postpone.
Duties and delights.
Creating a space in time.
As unpredictable as the weather.
For a moment.
The euphoria.
Like an empty drawer.
Waiting to be filled.
Then the disappointment.
Of more wasted time.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
27, 2004 —
He took out his handkerchief.
And offered it.
Against her tears.
A monogram stared back at her.
Later when she discovered it in the pocket.
Of her black blazer, her favorite business wear.
It was all an affront.
That she was made to cry.
At the unfairness of the male world.
And that a tangible symbol.
Of the well-oiled masculine mystique.
Now lay in her hand.
How she had wished for that easy extra freedom.
Being male provided.
Stronger, less prone to tears.
Given more opportunity.
Still.
She could see. Easily from her father.
That gender could still let the shyness through.
But her father never carried a handkerchief.
Because he spent his days emptying bed pans.
Moving patients. "Old veterans," he said.
Avoiding germs.
His own future turned not by gender.
But by poverty. Lack of education. And expectation.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
26, 2004 —
I dream the gadget doing its thing.
Entertaining.
Communicating.
Recording.
But.
Even at its best.
Something is required from me.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
25, 2004 —
It will take time.
For me to find.
It normal to see you thus.
Riding high in your SUV.
The cell phone attached to your skull.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
24, 2004 —
Love your friends.
Love being alone.
Love cleaning up.
When everyone's gone.
Enjoy the talk.
The food, the fun.
But oh so glad.
When it's all done.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
23, 2004 —
Do it once.
With lots of thought.
Do it twice.
You really ought.
Do it over and over again.
Day in, day out.
It's either a sin.
Or worth a shout.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
22, 2004 —
Imagine yourself.
With plenty of time.
Money enough, too.
Imagine you are happy with it.
That's even harder to do.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
21, 2004 —
Driving down the street.
Imagining cleaning out the garage.
I will have it spit and polish.
Recycle stuff.
Sell it.
All orderly and in line.
In my mind.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
20, 2004 —
I pick up a postcard.
There's a new play on the east side.
And this brochure.
Touts photography shows in Houston.
This clipping has a link.
Read the page.
Put it in Favorites?
Add it to a links page?
It takes too long to decide.
Where to save the clipping?
Another clipping, saved because it had info.
About passport renewal.
I'm doing it now for next August.
Because I don't think I'm likely to travel just now.
It's in the mail.
Toss the clipping?
Only after saving the Dept. of State URL.
Oh this envelope.
Has some family pictures.
Should I scan them?
Or wait and try my new scanner?
Put them in an album?
Stick them in a drawer?
Oh, here...I clipped a recipe.
Should I cook something?
Or toss the clipping in the drawer.
With scads of others?
Is it any wonder??
That cleaning up takes so long?
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
19, 2004 —
One more thing.
Piles up.
It's hopeless, I'm sure.
But if you put one thing away.
It must be progress.
Or, at least, motion.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
18, 2004 —
I live to work.
Until I don't.
And then I ask:
Why do I live?
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
17, 2004 —
Sunday.
Why are people at the Jewish temple?
Which fast food places downtown are closed?
The bus schedules must be different.
The people at the stops
More desperate-looking than usual.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
16, 2004 —
Downtown.
Night life.
Derelicts.
A concentrated world.
The buskers.
Don't seem to really be trying
Just glad to be there.
The conventioneers, too.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
15, 2004 —
To fly.
To never die.
To be a child, always.
It appeals.
But.
There are flaws.
The FAA.
Outliving your funds.
The drinking laws.
AUSTIN, Texas, Oct.
14, 2004 —
Fur or feathers
Flesh and Bone
Left DOR
On the road, alone.
We are bored.
We guess.
What it might have been.
And are disappointed even.
When it's only recap tire shred.
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