March 9

Artifacts of Change

Artifacts of Change
Teardrops meet my face.

I am fearless in my resolve.

I must devolve,

reprogram, and loosen his hold on me,

so I don’t spasm with nervous ticks

at the thought of being in the same place as he.

I must build my wall ever higher.

I must not tire in my vigil.

I must repair the cracks in my façade-

Hide the worry and present a strong face.

I will not allow him to debase me, efface me, and disgrace me any longer.

Love is a doing word-

Love is not in this equation.

Teardrops are mere artifacts of  change.

~Charlotte Greer Slater
4.29.09

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March 9

Dear Woodstock

Dear Woodstock,

You’ll never guess.

You know the man I said I’d meet someday?

Well, I’ve got something to confess.

He picked me up on Friday.

Asked if he reminded me of you.

I just laughed and lit a cigarette,

Said “I hope that’s impossible to do.”

My life’s gotten simple since.

And it fluctuates so much.

Happy and sad and back again.

I’m not crying out too much.

Think about you some of the time.

It’s strange and hard to deal.

Think about you lying there.

And those blankets lie so still.

Nothing breathes here in this apartment so cold.

Nothing moves or even smiles.

I’ve been thinking of some way to hide.

And there’s bars out here for miles.

Sorry about the every kiss.

And every kiss you wasted back

I think the thing you said wasn’t true,

I’m not going to die alone and sad.

The music’s feeling real these days.

Yeah, Boo, it hurt’s me some.

Never thought I’d feel so blue.

Woodstock, you’re almost gone.

I think I’ve fallen out of love, I hope…

I’ve fallen.. out of love . . .with you.

CGS3.20.2013

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March 9

Liars of the first degree

So we sit back and watch it unravel… slowly letting go of all we held dear. You light the match, I put the fire to everything….just one more dirty battle in our dirty little war. We’ve done nothing but give each other the hard lessons but we aren’t learning… drawn lines in the sand, but the world keeps on turning. So as our dance winds down, and our music fades, we get few opportunities to say what we feel, even fewer to feel what we are saying. So as we take one step up, in slow time to the music, we must take two steps back and somehow get through it.
Last night I dreamt I was in your arms, the music played and we loved each other for just a minute…
just one little minute to represent all the millions of minutes we’ve loved and hated and wasted and thrown aside. But waking stole the moment away. Leaving me with yet another debt to pay the sandman.
And here I am, in my car, driving somewhere, anywhere, away from you, which painfully only circles back around to you. I fumble for a pen and any piece of paper, and as the gorge rises in my throat and my eyes mist over.. I lay it all down. I lay down the happiness and the outright joy, the passion spent, the labors, the feeling content. But no matter how I put it to paper, it still does a slow dance in my imagination. Painfully, one step up and then two steps back, lives in suspension.
I wonder, do you get quiet and think of me? Bury your face in your hands so you can’t see? Does the regret, and pride, and the bleeding ever set you free? Because pride will bring us both down a good measure, just wait and see. It will keep us from each other’s pleasures. Stop the sharing and stave off any caring. Leave our beds cold as we grow old. I see you look at me, and say I am still the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, but it does me little good, and you less… Because there is no room for you and me. The mistakes we have both made are unforgivable. And I beg you to stay your blade.
I was your something fragile, something to be handled with care. But if you care, then hopefully you will someday regret your rough handling, your pride outstanding. I am not sure when you stopped loving me, but I guess I needed to be free.
Now the music comes to a close, our movements nearly imperceptible. I see that muscle hammering in your jaw, and you must hear my heart beating. We stand there and let it all slip off track, the line has reached its inevitable end. And all that exists now is the space between, which might as well be an unnavigable fathomless place of darkness and little grace.
…and I say let it go, and you agree, but we are both liars of the first degree.
Charlotte Greer Slater 2.17.13

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March 9

Stupid, and stubborn, and mulish

And as one who pursues a shadow,
As one who hunts in a dream,
As the child who crosses the meadow,
Enticed by the rainbow’s gleam,
I, knowing the course was foolish,
And guessing the goal was pain,
Stupid, and stubborn, and mulish,
Followed and follow again.

~Charlotte Greer Slater 2011

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March 9

Everything

Everything
You have everything
Everything in the world

Can’t you just find it in your heart
to allow me to see my children?
Somewhere in the deepest part?

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March 9

For Piper

Tender as dew
Impetuous as rain
When you were born
I knew life would never be tame

With the allure of a blackberry Bush
Sweetest fruit you do proffer
But tough as the barbs and woody stem
So many facets on offer

Hiding, under a mane of spun gold
The fairest maiden by far
You are both subtle and bold
A spirit that will never grow old

Eyes that smile and decorate our day
Yet a character barely formed
I sit and wait for you to find your way
My golden child you will never be bored

Like the brightest star in the constellation overhead
You twinkle with mirth and allure
You leave my heart brimming in good stead
At once bold and demure

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March 9

Why did he do this?

I am a mother, often left not knowing the well-being or the whereabouts of my daughters. My
daughters were made to believe their mother was a terrible person that didn’t love her children,
that I chose something, anything else over them, that I was somehow unfit, abusive and crazy.
Their heads were filled with outright lies about their past, their little minds tasked with rewriting
of their history. Neither my girls nor myself were afforded the opportunity to be present in each
other’s lives for a long and important period of their lives. No matter the intentions, what my ex
husband has done to both his daughters and me is wrong. Why did he do this? He has
exacted his revenge down to the last, because I left him due to years of abuse, because I was
afraid my girls were going to witness the total unraveling of their mother at his will and his
hands.

The saddest thing of all, is that when the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, and I
first left my now ex husband in 2009 (we ended up reconciling), my then attorney recommended
I go for full custody and I flat out refused. I explained I would never do that to my daughters or
him. I saw it as selfish and cruel… no matter his character or actions. Depriving a child of their
parent is unfair and damaging in the extreme. My girls tell me that when they ask him why they
cannot see me more often, or why I cannot do some activity with them, he blames Dr. Drutman,
or the Judge.. but never looks them in the eyes and give them the truth. The truth is he is to
blame for this misery, this great loss. He is the reason they miss their mother. He can never
not win, nor can he take ownership of his actions.

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March 9

The night that refused darkness

The moon was so bright tonight, so full of himself.. casting crisp moonshadows on the landscape awash in a pallor of blue. The stars refused to yield and they somehow shone just as bright glistening like priceless gems by candlelight. The owls sang their courtship..”who cooks for you?”; Then a sudden movement out of the corner of one’s eye as they would glide silently from point to point until their plaintive questions turned into a raucous belly laugh upon reuniting. This bawdy festival of celestial and bestial bonhomie continued as the moon slipped overhead with a glare of eerie proportions as he conducted himself. He made the horses in the paddocks restless, and me too. I found even my dim eyes could perceive my progress across the field to find the smell of horses and quiet munching. I reached out a hand to find the warmth of large bodies and a smooth summer coat. I leaned in, and the mare leaned back to greet me. I stood for awhile, hands flattened and skimming her coat until I was sure to have the delightful smell of horse left on my hands. Then I bid her goodnight and picked my way by moonlight back to my door, through the throng of owls belly laughing in the bath of blue light. Upon crawling in bed I relished the smell of horses that clung to my hands and finally found sleep on a night that plainly refused to be dark.
CvWG 9/2019
The night that refused darkness

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March 9

Emotional darkness swallows hope and innocence

Poetry night, so bear with me;

Emotional darkness swallows hope and innocence

It is said that light and darkness can’t occupy the same space at the same time, but I know that
it can.

Oil and water, when mixed, form millions of tiny circles, as the hydrophobic properties of oil close
it off from the aqueous solution. Still, they stand together, in the same space, at the same time.
As is true of life and the human condition, emotional darkness swallows hope and innocence.

Then, shortly after, the reverse is true. What’s to become of the one who sees the two exist at
the same time? Light, existing parallel to the dark like oil on top of water. The soul of the
onlooker caught in between the two layers, staring at them both in confusion and awe.

Very few have experienced the phenomenon of light being forced to hold hands with the dark.

Neither moving. Going not forward, nor backwards. Not up or down. Just….still. I tell you it’s got
every resemblance to holding one’s breath indefinitely. Waiting for God to say “BREATHE!”; Yet,
the command never comes. Blind faith and exhausting loyalty sustain the lost who continue to
wait to breathe.
CvWG

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