Friday, September 2, 2011

A Dentist's Chair

http://writeonedge.com/ prompt: This week, with Labor Day and the end of summer rapidly approaching, we asked you to write about a season of change for your character or you. It can be literal or metaphorical.


"A Dentist’s Chair"

It, my life, is sort of like being at the dentist.  Anticipation fills me up like a balloon on the brink of popping.  I am utterly freaked out by the familiar smell of a dentist office, the length of the needle, and the sound of the drill. Hesitantly, sometimes even haphazardly, I willingly place myself in the chair and lie back  - hoping, praying that this visit go better than the last one I have tightly stored in the right hemisphere of my brain.  I place a slanted, but closed, tight smile on my face and listen to the doctor.  I watch her come a little closer.  My body jerks.  The slightest touch of latex-free rubber on my upper lip sends my blood racing through my veins and heading toward my heart.  I’m shaken, frightened, think I may even breathe my last breath in this cold, ugly, blue leather lounger.  But, I put on a brave face.  (My bulging brown eyes might seal the deal for a Razzie award nomination.)

 I’m being poked, prodded and numbed.

What is going to happen next? 

What do I want to happen?

What am I waiting for, exactly?

Perhaps I don’t know what I’m waiting for.  Or what I’ve been waiting for isn’t showing up, so it’s the empty expectations I project that fill me up with ramped emotions, and I wish I could condition myself to let things be. I’m a grown woman. I can handle this! 

Little by little, my big girl panties start making an appearance, until I hear:
“Okay, Mary Jane, you’re all set.  We’ll see you in two weeks” 

What!  I have to go through this experience again?

I have to feel anxious, nervous, and wait for what is expected, but doesn’t always present itself.  What, again, is the expected? 

I am so frustrated for feeling these emotions in the first place.  I have to have a confused sense of trying myself at bravery and being a coward at the same time.  This is my life and I’ll feel this way when I want to.  Two weeks is just too soon.  But sometimes, time isn’t on our side. And sometimes, even though the novocaine wears off, I still have days that leave me numb. Sometimes.

Until the next time…

Peace and love - MJ


Poem: A Moment She'll Never Get Back


A Moment She’ll Never Get Back

He waited at the end of
narrow aisle
atop of the

Altar. Black tuxedo,
crisp white shirt,
and bowtie, crooked like his

Personality. She in pure silk,
hand sewn and adorned by
a human hand, waited
behind thick oak doors

in the church corridor.
A blast of air from the doors
swinging open sent her veil
into her face.  Incense and the fragrance of
Tiger Lillies swept through,
up her nostrils that were tucked behind
a layer of tulle.  Her father

next to her, raised his arm
elbow pointed – her cue
to lock her flowerless hand
around his wrist. Music,

Eyes and flashes, whispers
attacked the girl, each step
closer appearing longer in time,

shorter in distance. Enough
time to convince herself.

Mary Jane Mircovich - 2010

Poem: An Ode to Joe


Joe

It isn’t the early morning sound
Annoyingly invading my ear
That causes my body to ascend.

No. It is my mind’s addiction.
Its need
That lifts me from seven hours of rest.

Eyes open,
Thoughts scattering for a few moments
Until they firmly fix themselves onto one element,
Reciting its divine name in my head.

Haphazardly,
I stumble though the hall,
Into the so-called woman’s place in a home. 

There, in silence,
My movement becomes automatic – like a robot,
Systematic.

Indonesia. Columbia. Brazil. Hawaii.
I suppose I should be grateful to all

Start – the green light illuminates.

Done – three steady beeps go off.

Yes.

Columbia.

My gratefulness rests, in great, 
To those select few
Who mistakenly founded my mind’s habit
eons ago in Ethiopia. 

My morning jolt of perfection is indebted to those.

Mary Jane Mircovich - 2010