HOLD THAT THOUGHT

HOLD THAT THOUGHT

Hold that thought--

Don’t squeeze too tightly--

Let it breathe,

Let it grow.

When it’s too large for your hand,

Find a quiet corner of the mind

Where it will bob to the surface

From time to time,

Keeping you on track

To attain your dream.

Prepare to defend

The nascent dream

When it migrates

From the mind

To the heart:

Do not expose your 8x10 dream

To those who see the world as 3x5--

It won’t fit,

They won’t understand.

They never will.

The dream--

A child, perhaps,

A journey yet to come.

I want to be a fire-walker.

I want to see the Amazon River.

I want to bring something new,

Something never seen before,

Never heard before, into being.

Minutes become hours

Become days, weeks, years.

Time doesn’t matter when you dream:

You get up each day to serve the dream,

Taking one more step,

Make one more decision

Draw one more breath.

A day links to another,

And the chain grows stronger

For the time when it will lift

The finished dream

Upward into the light.

Hold that thought

COPYRIGHT (c) 2010 by the author

SO CLOSE

Have you ever had a thought,

And had it ripped from you

When someone else speaks up

With your idea, your dream,

Your contribution in a conversation?

“So close,” some say,

“how he knows what she

Will say before she does.”

It comes with the years.

It comes with the fears--

Anticipating responses to prevent

Progress in a conversation.

I know, because I’ve listened.

She knows, because she paid attention.

We zig/I zag

And words go unsaid.

Nobody knotces.

But we know. We--

Know.

Years of stories,

Histories,

Exchanged,

Repeated

Time after time.

The days’ routines

Repeated,

Repeated

Day after month

After year, after decade

Until we know--

We know all there is to know--

We think--and so, this shorthand

Of stepping on words,

Trampling sentences

To interject,

Participate in the storytelling.

“And she said--

No, I think she said--

And She did--

Can you believe what he did? It

Blew me away.

But I interject,

And she shakes her head.

COPYRIGHT (C) 2010 BY THE AUTHOR

CLOUD READING

White lines

Crisscross

The sky--

Abstract messages.

Long, thin lines

Meet

Fat lines

While the wind

Rearranges the letters,

To mean something new.

White lines on blue paper

Will be wiped away

Before

The rain arrives.

Copyright (c) 2010 by the author

THIS ROAD

I NEED

to talk to the demons

hanging out in my dark corners,

convince them of the need

to change their address:

there is too much life--

too much light--

from which they always hide.

I need

to tell my story,

so I have no time for demons.

I have time only for words,

joyous words,

carefree words,

words to pave

this road I travel.

untitled

UNTITLED

by DanaLynne Johnson

She walked through my window,

passing right through me

and disappeared in the middle of my room

before dawn broke,

before the sky caught fire.

I don't know her.

I don't know why she came,

but I hope she comes back:

I have so many questions

for the beautiful apparition.

I remember long dark hair,

the scent of cinnamon

in the darkness

the silence that is more

than the city asleep.

What was I supposed to learn?

When darkness regained its hold,

I relented,

My eyes closed.

My eyes closed.

TOY LAW

1
How was I supposed to know there was a law.
The Bad Samaritan law?
Whose bright idea was that?
He should be here in this cell: not me.
He beat his wife: not me.
He endangered his own child: not me.
All I did was listen.
All I did was…all I did was witness a crime.
I didn’t do anything.
…
Victoria?
…
Are you okay, Victoria?
…
Is Genesis okay?
…
I heard her crying: I heard her, Victoria.
I wanted to pick her up.
I wanted to…




2
Door’s open!
I’ll be right there!
I just got out of the shower!
Did you bring Henry Weinhart?
The game’s on ESPN!
Damn!
…
Hey, can you turn up the volume? I can’t hear it in here!
…
Victoria?
What did he accuse you of this time?
…
Did you burn his dinner?
…
Forget to do his laundry?
You didn’t iron his shirts?
…
Hey, can you turn it up? I still can’t hear anything?
…
Come on, Victoria. Strike back.
Matt?—I think that your name—didn’t anyone tell you that you don’t hit a girl?
We don’t hit women.
…
Damn!
…
There’s my wallet
…
Did someone forget that bit of information?
Where were you when that lesson was being learned by everybody else?
…
You must have thought they said trains when they passed out brains.
…
Damn you!
Victoria?
Hang in there.
…
Hey! Get me a glass and some ice!
Thanks!





3
I didn’t hear anything?
did you?
…
Are you sure?
No, I didn’t hear anything.
Where did you put the remote?
…
Hamm! That hits the spot!
…
Which game is this?
The Lakers-Celtics game should be up in about ten minutes.
…
I didn’t hear anything.
…
Victoria?
Genesis?
…
God damn you, Matt.
…
Nothing. I didn’t say anything.


4
I’m not a bad person.
I pay my bills.
I pay my taxes.
I keep to myself. Most of the time, anyway.
I want to throw something. But everything’s nailed down.
Damn!
…
Someone came by an hour ago.
…
I don’t need a public defender: I didn’t do anything wrong!
Fuck!
I never laid a hand on him.
I never even spoke to him.
…
Make me! Come on,: make me shut up!
Fuck you!
I’m fucking innocent!

5
Victoria’s here?
Where’s Genesis?
I’ll have to ask her.
…
I wish I could wash my face at least. Shave, maybe.
Don’t want to look like Matt.

6
What the hell was she mad about?
I didn’t do anything.
I did not do any thing, Victoria.
How can I be guilty of doing nothing?
People do it every day.
…
I feel like in a cage.
I’m in a cage, and the zoo visitors are all staring at me.
I think they should experience life from this side.
…
God, you look awful, Victoria.
Why did you come, anyway?
Shouldn’t you wait until the marks fade?
Shouldn’t you cover up your bruises?
Makeup: you should wear makeup?
Shouldn’t you?
I think you should.
Hey, do you know who won the game?
…
What are you so mad at?
…
Shouldn’t You take it out on Matt? He’s the one who putt those marks on your face, on your arms?
…
He didn’t touch Genesis, did he?
…
Thank God..

7
Hey! Did you put the beer in the fridge?
I’ve got the pretzels.
…
What do you mean?
…
You called the police?
On me?
…
Here. Here’s your beer!
Get out!

Copyright © 2009 print@LARGE

NO CRIB FOR A BED

You threw me away?
You threw me away?
I can’t believe you.
How could you do that?
I was your daughter! (son)
I didn’t know what was happening. How could I? I had
no knowledge of the world.
Will I be like you?
Will I someday have to put a mistake I made out of sight?
Hide the hurt.
Hide the shame.
Don’t want anyone to know.
“Me?”
“Have a child?”
“No.”
?Who do you think I am?”
I’m not that careless., I’m not that cruel, that—
Oh really?
You need to buy a crib, not a Dumpster.
You needed to buy clothes, not yesterdays newspaper.
…
Who would I be?
An artist.
Draw pictures,
Paint murals,
Dance in the ballet?
…
Maybe a mathematician!
One plus one equals two.
NO.
WAIT.
One plus one equals one.
One for the money.
One of a kind.
One in a million.
One hand clapping.
…
I wonder if I ate anything, touched anything.
I don’t know.
I don’t remember.
…
I want to know you.
I want to know him?
Who’s my daddy?
Who is my father?
Where is he?
Maybe he’d talk to me.
Maybe he’d care for me.
Love me?
He might even love me.
You never know.
…
Knock knock.
Are you my father?
Do you look like me?
Speak like me?
Dream like me?
No?
…
Knock knock.
Hello. My name is Mary. (for Christmas, see. Mary Christmas.)
…
Can I get a blood sample?
…
A lock of hair, maybe?
…
Knock knock.
…
Is anybody home?
…
Knock knock.
…
I’ll come back tomorrow.;
…
Knock knock.
Hello. I’m your pride and joy.
…
No?
…
You never?
…
Still?
Oh my God! I didn’t know there were virgins anymore.

Knock knock.
I see you’re busy.
Just a minute of your time.
Please?
Someone threw me away, and I’m looking for them.
Maybe someone didn’t know I’d been discarded with orange peels.
A minute?
Just one minute?
Hey! World at large?—who am I?
I really want to know.
…
Knock knock!
Do I look familiar?
Am I a face on a paper bag, a missing child?
Do you think--?
…
Sure, I’ll wait.
…
NO, I’M NOT SELLING ANYTHING.
…
Boy or girl?
How old?
Could I hole--?
Okay.
Just asking.
Thank you anyway.
Knock knock!
Do I belong to you?
I do?
I’m a child of God.
Got it.
But not a child of your.
NO, I’M A VEGAN.
I’m not ugly. (Actually, I’m beautiful. Just look at me.
I’m the same height.
Same color hair. Here, touch it. Run your fingers through it.
Still not convinced. Hmmmm.
I don’t know what to say?
How does it feel to know that someone didn’t want you. Didn’t even know you long enough to choose a name.?
Horrible.
It’s horrible.
Can you blame me for trying so hard?
Knock knock.
Mary. My name is Mary.
(How many times do I have to tell this story?)
I feel like the duckling in the children’s book, asking everyone, pestering everyone, in search of something in plain sight.
But I can’t see it.
Knock knock.
Wow, it’s warm in there. Can I come in? can we talk?
I know I’m not alone—not in the cosmic sense? Not in the spiritual way. And yes?—and still, I could really use a pair of arms to wrap themselves around me, claim me, welcome me.
NO, I’M NOT A Republican.
I like game shows.
Jeopardy. Do you watch? Do you play?
Who Wants to be a Millionaire. (I’d love to be a millionaire. Money draws people
like sugar bring ants, like water flowing down a driveway when I’m washing my car.)
Knock. Knock.
Is anybody home?
…
I’m a Gemini.
I’m left-handed. Are you?
No?
I’m a traveler. Would you believe I’ve been around the world three times?
Once by air.
Once by sea.
Once on foot.
(I just got back last night.)
Did you know--?
Sorry. I’ll let you go back to Monday night football.
Sorry I bothered you.
Two legs.
Two arms—see?
Only one mouth.
Two ears. Yes, pierced.
No I don’t like pierced tongues.
Bitch!
…
How hard is this supposed to be?
Just a few questions: that’s all.
If I have to, I’ll interview all six billion of my revolving family.
What a mess.
I hope I’m not related to you.
Knock knock.
Knock knock.
…
Hola. Me llamo Maria.
…
Look at me.
!Busque!
Did I get that right?
Mire!
…
Gracias.
Bonjour?
…
Sorry, that’s all I know in French?
Do you speak English?
…
English?
…
Never mind.
Knock knock.
Guten Morgan.
Hejsan.
Adidas should pay me to promote their shoes: I’ve walked around the world—again.
Do I look familiar?
Do I look like anybody you know?
Anyone you don’t know?
I was born in the garbage, no crib for a bed.
Knock knock.
Jambo, Jana langu ni Mary.
Ola.
Dia dut.
Knock knock.
I’m Mary. A traveler—of course.
I’m a damned good cook.
I’m a dressmaker.
I’m great at math. (Found that out in school.)
I can’t fix anything. I’m all thumbs when it comes to repairs.
So I ask my friends.
Why waste the time.
…
Knock knock.
…
Knock knock.
…
Anybody Home?
I want to show you a picture!
…
I’m home! I’m home.
We’re home.
You’re safe with me.

Copyright (c) 2009 print@LARGE