And, a little emo from Amylea

Kate's playing the new RadioHead CD, and the songs are making me a bit lethargic, nostalgic, acerbic, and other -ics. And I've been thinking about how much I hate December and Christmas and family-ness for obvious reasons, and this emerged. Needs some work...too much in the confessional mode, and that's so 1980s. So, not for publication or anything, but I wanted to save it here.

five years ago
curled up on my mothers couch in a week long sigh of relief
time pouring out of me
unafraid and steady, sure wheels settled firmly in the driveway
I breathed in the world with out a mask, hope coating my skin
The creak of the floorboards as she padded back and forth
her cough punching through the cold air
the soapy noises from the kitchen
lulled me into satisfied sleep

ten days without my sisters as ten too many
their absence the only disturbance to my slumber
all night lights dancing blue across my too-firm bed
the bed I only visited, never really laid in
the sheets she dug out of the closet
the kitchen table I still thought of as his not ours
--the soft edges of nowhere cocooned me
and I needed not a home
stately mansions and even-sided shelves
roots and leaves mixed in a compost mash

what first snapped my shoulders into rigid lines?
where is the hope of the city at night?
of patterns broken, sunlight always fading,
music always playing in the musty subway air?
Do not ask me to prepare for this
as eternal weights and concreted place
a permanent address suspended in the middle of nowhere
I've washed the hope from beneath my nails
and refused to let peace enter this door
and I will not rest till rest is restored.