Sunday, November 10, 2013

Ginny Visitation

I was in love with Ginny my Senior year of high school. Between '83 and '87, after I'd come to UT for college, lots of random stuff happened (which I've written about on this blog many times before). In '88, I called her number; her father answered and told me she'd died.

Since that time, her spirit has come to me in dreams a few times. Nothing major, just to say "hi." Not recently at all. My general theory has always been that departed spirits had their own places to go to. When they're recently gone, they visit people on earth more; but as they acclimate to their new world (and as their earth friends get used to them being gone), they move on...

I can't remember the last time Ginny visited me --- it's been years. But last night, she appeared to me in a long, shiny grey satin dress with a black velvet collar. We stared at each other, and I gasped: "What are you doing?" She said she was dressed up for a world-wide singing tour with her choir; one of her next stops was Dortmund, Germany.

She pulled aside her dress, revealing a nipple --- it was small and undeveloped, like a child's. I licked it, then we kissed and made out a little. I, annoyingly, stopped the physical closeness to ask her what had happened since we'd parted: In a dream or two, she'd reappeared in my life then disappeared without notice --- I was asking her about what had happened in those dreams. (I knew about real life already.) No real answer. We then got in a car, her driving, and she bumped into a car ahead of us and I was agitated. End of dream.

Here's some kid poetry I wrote for her 30 years ago.

GINNY Q  (July 29, 1983)

I see you, my funny friend
And my heart laughs
Glad to be close again
A soul-mate comes once in a lifetime
So I'll run with the chance
To smoke and dance and sing
And let you know
That nine out of ten are always there for the breaking!


RUNAWAY (March 15, 1985)

I was the bad one
And you, Mr. Suitcase-god-and-baggage
the ever-so addled
Hatless in Austin rain,
wondering how five dollars worth of tokens
could have bought so much goddamn trouble.

Yes, she's here
with excuses and a 6am taxi
The stain on her should where the
fat man slept, and a whole
lifetime of indecision still
unaccounted for

And you stand--
Sane Baptist eyes figuring (rightly)
that she is yours
with me too stupid
to see the lure of the middle class
the religion, sex, and TV
that will be hers for the asking

and home she goes (did you ever doubt?)
stoneage guilt riding low
and your hand on her arm
she is SAFE, by god, so safe...
With so much to offer
We should have all married
Men like you.


GOODBYE (April 8, 1985)

Sitting still on your wind-rattled plank balcony
Cigarette in your hand, cloth-laid thigh warming me
Ever subtle we stretch, turning months into years
I could love you or leave you, provoke fractured fears

(In the smoke swirling 'round with the mist from her lips
We traced our initials with numbed fingertips
And laughed 'til our ice-faces threatened to crack
The wall etching lines in the small of our backs

And Daddy knock-knocking, an endless tattoo
Just what was it your Daddy wanted of you?
Our thoughts? Wedded secrets, more guarded by far
Than the battered wood door, kept unlocked, left ajar)

But I don't want to go with your face shadowed doubt
I could stay, pleading faith, heavy voice wearing out
Saying things far too desperate, too tangled to claim --
So I run from confusion, the taste of your name.


MY DANGER (May 21, 1985)

What could I do?
There is no one to dress for
and I am saving water for the cause --
practice for the staunch defender
that I may well be...
And pride plays no part of your features, I fear
the neighbors near
on gauzy tiptoe, tripping when I stir
This caution -- for what?
Will I kill, with no gun?
Condemn, with no words to speak of?
What is my danger, cried the innocent
and what pity can collect
on shadowed doorstep, the shuttered window
so free of doubt?
Casual ties and the whimsy of faith --
A Sunday when you feel like
and conscience settles in fine easy slots
the finger faith we so often dream
in return for surrender, the oft-mentioned
difference in fortune.


(July 22, 1985)

Oh! to have you
on my doorstep
in the cloud
and through my hair

What fun
with you here!
the roaches for laughing
orange and green
the height of art d├ęcor

Come! and make me Picasso
these walls I tame
and will paint for no one else.


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