I’m not sure why, other than the name of the song, but when I was composing this poem, and looking at this photo of my wooden cross, I thought of the song Take Me To Church by Hozier. The title is a metaphor, which you can probably glean from the lyrics. This is a great song. The official video is worth a watch, but I’m not posting it here, as it tells a story within itself. I posted below a video that displays the lyrics.
Take Me to Church
Song by Hozier
My lover’s got humor She’s the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner If the Heavens ever did speak She’s the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday’s getting more bleak A fresh poison each week “We were born sick”, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom” The only Heaven I’ll be sent to Is when I’m alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well A-, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
If I’m a pagan of the good times My lover’s the sunlight To keep the Goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice Drain the whole sea Get something shiny Something meaty for the main course That’s a fine looking high horse What you got in the stable? We’ve a lot of starving faithful That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
The first one is, “Why aren’t you married?” My standard answer is, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” That shuts them up really quickly.
The second question I hate is, “Why don’t you have children?” Again, I reply with, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” Again, silence.
It’s my standard answer. It’s flippant and sarcastic and intentional. Come at me with questions that are none of your business, and I’m going to come at you with something you have no response to.
We know nothing of lost opportunities, missed chances, wrong time, wrong place, right person, wrong time, wrong person, right time. we know nothing of desire – or lack of desire – for marriage or children. And there’s a reason why we don’t know anything: because these are personal issues.
Last week, one of the cashiers in the grocery store told me I looked really fashionable. She said she always loves to see what outfit I’m wearing. This particular trip I had on my plaid black and white fedora, with my houndstooth belted coat and matching houndstooth gloves. Finished off with tall black boots. She asked, “You’re not married are you?” Immediately, my defenses went up, but I asked with a smile, “Why do you say that?” And she said, “Because you look so put together and cute. You’re a cutie pie and you take time with your outfits and always look adorable.” I thanked her and put my defenses down. (I’m not sure what that had to do with being married or unmarried, but it was said, from a place of kindness.)
I like those kinds of people. Not because she complimented me, but because she didn’t ask me a personal question to be nosy or critical. She had no ulterior motive.
We don’t know what people go through, what battles they are waging on the inside. We should always strive to be kind and never assume anything.
And never assume a void means lack of hopes, dreams or wishes.
It’s possible to live without any objects. Material items are not necessary to life. Air, water, and food are absolutely essential to maintain life. Shelter is also essential to keep us from the extremes of hot, cold, and the various forms of precipitation.
Clothing is also pretty important for survival. As is healthcare, which is denied to many. Those of us who are privileged enough to have healthcare undoubtedly survive longer than those without.
They say you shouldn’t, that it’s not good for you, but you can live without human interaction. I don’t think you should either, but it is possible to survive without it.
I suppose I could survive without my migraine medications, but I wouldn’t want to, to be honest. It would not be a life of quality nor quantity. I am grateful every day for advances in science, and for the privilege to not be denied them.
I’m taking this prompt literally, which isn’t usually my style. I like to answer with a quip or a heartfelt response. But today I feel that to answer with anything other than the basic necessities to survive feels bougie to me. It feels disingenuous, flippant to the people who can’t have these things for whatever reason. Today I will just say that I am grateful for all that I have. I do not take them for granted.
US Open, 2005. I was on a mission to deliver a US Open Bear to Rafa Nadal. Just a small token of appreciation for hours of tennis entertainment. Though I had followed Rafa’s career up to this point, I had never met him. Read on for my observations and probably some hijinks, because…me.
Tuesday, August 29:
Hmm…today feels different. It’s a curly hair day. I’m gonna wear my pink cowgirl hat today with my multicolored belt, Hello Kitty hot pink flip flops and my new hot pink tank top. I load up my Hello Kitty tote bag: sunblock, water, food, bear.
We board the bus and head off. Feli* is first on Court 16 or something, and luckily traffic out of the city is better this morning. We arrive and the line to get on the grounds is short. The girl inspecting my bag is nice – “Oh, cute bear!” she coos, as if she hasn’t seen them all over the grounds before.
“Yeah,” I say, “I hope today is the day I send him on his way.” She laughs and I laugh. As soon as I say that, I know today is the day.
We check the practice courts: nobody good. Wait. That sounds really bad. What I mean is nobody that we are interested in watching. We wait for Feli outside of the side entrance. He will come through these doors with his opponent and a couple of security guards. My friend L. is chain-smoking. I’m lounging on a bench, relaxing. She is pacing. I am looking around at all the people who are here at 10:30. A little after 11, I announce I am going “over here” to another spot on the grounds, and I hear, “OhmyGodAmythereheis!” I turn, and yeah, it’s Feli. He’s cute, sure, but I’m still calm. L. is in a full run, following Feli to court. We get there and sit down in the first row, behind the player chairs. He glances at my fabulous hat a few times, and L. is smiling like a loon, clicking photo after photo, and the match hasn’t begun yet.
Did I mention she washed her shirt that reads, “Where’s Feli?” last night so today is also “Where’s Feli?” day? Yes. So the match has begun and she, L., is planted there like a tree. (Fyi, she eventually had that shirt signed by the man himself.)
At 12 o’clock, I feel the need to get up and check the practice courts again. I wander over through the maze of tall bushes and finally come out to the screened off practice courts by Ashe**. There are a lot of people there, so I take a peek all the way down. No, no, no…Wait. Who is that on the last court. Ah, ha.
It was Rafa, wearing tan shorts and a backwards white hat. I walk the blacktop sidewalk down to the very end. There are bushes and privacy screening up so the public can’t watch. At the end, though, there is a gate with some gaps, and that allows a view to where Rafa is practicing.
Rafa Nadal, US Open practice courts, 2005
There are ten people there, and nowhere for me to stand and watch. I see that there is a kid in the bushes, leaning against the fence. I don’t think twice. “Hi,” I say to the kid as I enter the bush space next to him and kneel in the very dry dirt, taking off my hat and putting it over my bag that now lies on the ground. I know the pink of the hat is very visible from court. Feña***is two feet from us at times, and so is Almagro****. Rafa is on the far side, but I can still see through the grommet holes, and Rafa is instantly recognizable.
“You like Nadal?” he asks me sincerely.
“Yeah,” I say pleasantly.
“See, I have this poster of him.”
“That’s a good poster,” I say. A few seconds pass and Feña is in front of us picking up balls. The kid speaks Spanish to him, but Feña ignores the talking bushes.
“You speak Spanish?” the kid asks me.
“A little,” I whisper.
“You know Nicolás Lapentti?” he asks me in his cute accent.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to watch Rafa and listen to this kid at the same time.
“I am the best friend of his brother,” he says proudly. I smile and nod. What can I say? I don’t really want to talk too much, especially with Feña and Almagro right there. And my knees are hurting from kneeling and my jeans are getting dirty and damn, it is hot. Toni*****is there, I see, but sitting in a chair. There is some guy patrolling the court perimeter, but he hasn’t spotted us yet, or maybe he doesn’t care that we are in the bushes. Suddenly, from nowhere, the kid whistles a catcall, making it seem as if I, the girl in the bushes, whistled at them!
“Hey! They think I did that!” I chide. He laughs, thinking that is pretty funny. Soon after, an errant ball directly off of Rafa’s racquet rolls and stops in front of me. I dangle my finger through the bottom of the fence and give it a little nudge so that it goes a foot or so. Kid next to me thinks that is worth a chuckle. I laugh too, wondering if anyone else caught it. Shortly after, kid leaves the bushes in a mad dash. I stay for a while until my knees hurt so badly I must get up. By now, Rafa is tidying up the court. Practice is over. I press the side of my face against the open portion and watch Rafa tidy. He is sweating profusely and he looks as he always does in photos.
Agassi******comes in and they shake hands. I don my sunglasses, my cowgirl hat, and calmly walk the tree-lined path to the front where I know he will soon sign autographs.
I check on the bear. He’s on top, easy access and today is the day – I just know it.
I reach the front and see swarms of kids with big tennis balls waiting for Rafa to sign. I’m calm, the swarms are not. “Back it up, people!” I hear a woman say as I continue to press forward to where he will come out. It’s not that I don’t hear her, it’s that I am ignoring her. There are a few kids in front of me, but no adults anywhere. I am the tallest one, and I’m wearing a pink cowgirl hat. He walks over to where I am and is maybe three feet from me — it would have been closer if not for the kids in between. I study his face, taking in as much detail as I can in such a short amount of time. It’s not every day that a person can get this close to a professional athlete, so taking mental notes is important for memory reflection later. He’s dripping wet with sweat (NYC in the summer – oof!), he is not as darkly tanned as he looks on TV or in photos, his nose is a bit wider than on TV and in photos, and his lips are large (not that there is anything wrong with that – I’m taking mental notes). His face is large, too, but he is not overly tall. He seems much taller on television. I would study his hands but I can’t see them. He looks down immediately and signs one, then two items, because he is, of course, well-rehearsed in the task of signing his name. It is when I say “Rafa” over the noise of the kids that he looks up and then at me, mildly surprised. I reach in to get the bear and I lift it above the kids’ heads. I hear a man’s voice behind me repeating, “I’ll take it. Give it to me. I’ll take it for him.” I ignore the man’s voice behind me because I want to. I will be delivering this bear. Rafa looks at me. “For you,” I say quietly as I hand the bear to him. And his eyes have already begun smiling. “Thank you,” he says sweetly and takes the bear from me gently. I nod and give him a small smile, but my attention is entirely on his eyes. His mouth is not smiling, his eyes are, and they are so kind. I hope my eyes smiled back, and didn’t do any weird twitching, blinking, winking thing.
And then the moment was over. Bear was delivered. He looked down to sign more and I turned, held my head high and walked back to Feli’s match where L. was still was seated. I had a content smile on my face the whole walk over. Mission: Accomplished.
I found out later, quite by accident, that only kids 12 and under are allowed to stand where I was standing. Sometimes lady luck is on your side, but it doesn’t hurt to be a bit of a rebel.
*Feliciano López, Spanish tennis player
**Arthur Ashe Stadium, USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center
***Fernando González, Chilean male tennis player
****Nicolás Almagro, Spanish male tennis player
*****Uncle Toni – Rafa’s uncle and coach (at the time – I mean, he is still his uncle, he’s just not his coach anymore)
******IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHO ANDRE AGASSI IS, I CAN’T HELP YOU
What experiences in life helped you grow the most?
I helped my neighbor out yesterday by clearing out trash and debris in her front yard. and by disposing of a dirty, vacant cardboard box that once housed a neighborhood cat, possibly a stray, but I doubt it.
My neighbor was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis early last year. I took care of taking out and returning her trash cans each week and getting her mail every day until she recovered enough to be able to do these things. She had a benchmark birthday in August and was looking forward to this upcoming year. I am claircognizant, and so when she said this, there was a twinge inside of me and I kept quiet. She was finally got her strength back from being hospitalized for the RA. I surely wasn’t going to ruin that.
In November I started noticing a lot of cars at her house. One day around Christmas I saw her relative outside. I asked the woman if my neighbor was OK. She told me my neighbor had been diagnosed with leukemia and was in the hospital, and that she would likely be there for quite a while. In January, I asked again how my neighbor was, and was told that she caught Covid while in the hospital. There was someone staying at her house, and it became a bit untidy. Trust me when I tell you that “untidy” is an understatement..
I found out a month ago that my neighbor was cured of leukemia and survived Covid. She went to a nursing rehabilitation facility to gain strength. She returned home earlier this week. She is very weak and has to build strength to be able to get back to walking. She told me that Covid almost killed her. I have no reason to doubt it. I consider it a miracle that she is alive. And I am so thankful that she is.
I woke this morning with a bad headache, probably a migraine type, with my usual dizziness. But I am awake, I am alive. My neighbor is alive. I will once again take up my duty as trashcan coordinator and mail distributor. And I will do it gladly, for as long as it takes. I’m sure my neighbor will recover and be able to take her dog for walks again. Maybe as spring turns to summer, and the days are a little warmer, I’ll see her out there being walked by her dog. Yes, I’m sure of it.
I’ve been up and down these streets, The fine leather of my boots ruined.
For what? For whom?
Who is this brash American with her strange clothing and even stranger claims that she knows me?
I left her with Mrs. Grant right after we dined. It was no more than half past six. She was going on about frogs in her shoes, but I saw neither frogs nor shoes. What That Woman calls shoes, I have never seen in my life. She’s strange, almost barbaric. The aggravating American accent, the bombastic strength of mind and loose of lip! And her frustrating beguiling face. Pleasant and full of freedom. With a little fear. She frustrates me so!
Enough of that. The storm began at 6:45, as I had just left the drive of Mrs. Grant’s establishment. There was a loud clap of thunder. And then I heard Mrs. Grant screaming, “She is gone, Nicky, she is gone!”
Alarmed, I ran back to the establishment and met Mrs. Grant as she was running toward me. The raindrops began and quickly became torrential. We made our way inside, where Mrs. Grant could hardly get out her words. “She is gone Nicky, she simply…disappeared!” It pained me to see Mrs. Grant in such a state. I rested a hand on her shoulder and asked her to explain. But I already knew who she meant. She said Miss Reynolds went up to lie down, and that was the last she had seen of her.
Lightning struck. Maybe once, maybe twice. Mrs. Grant heard a scream from Miss Reynolds’ room. She ran up as quickly as she could, only to find the room vacated. Miss Reynolds was nowhere to be found. Milton checked the entire property, as did I, several times. I assured Mrs. Grant that I would find Miss Reynolds, that perhaps she had gone down to the place where she had fallen in the road. Perhaps she thought she left something behind there. And as the doctor assessed, Miss Reynolds had suffered a concussion, and may be confused. Perhaps she was not thinking coherently, and would try to go back to that place in the middle of the night. In a severe thunderstorm. This American unnerves me so! Alas, I must find her.
I walked the streets again and again. Searching. She is not here. My whole self is drenched and the storm continues. My stomach in knots. My countenance forlorn. As I continue walking, I start to wonder, Was she just a wish? The storm lights up the night, and there is a figure up ahead. Is it her? Is it my gypsy?
💫
This piece is a blend of three things: Nicholas from my Traveler series; Gypsy, the song by Fleetwood Mac; and a smidge of American Woman, the Lenny Kravitz version. (Yes, I know American Woman is an anti-war song, but I like to use it in this context sometimes. Ok, all of the time.)
Gypsy
Song by Fleetwood Mac
So I’m back to the velvet underground Back to the floor that I love To a room with some lace and paper flowers Back to the gypsy that I was To the gypsy that I was
And it all comes down to you Well, you know that it does and Lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice Oh and it lights up the night And you see your gypsy You see your gypsy
To the gypsy That remains Her face says freedom With a little fear I have no fear Have only love And if I was a child And the child was enough Enough for me to love Enough to love
She is dancing away from you now She was just a wish She was just a wish And her memory is all that is left for you now You see your gypsy, oh You see your gypsy
Ooh ooh, ohh, ohh-oh
Lightning strikes Maybe once, maybe twice And it all comes down to you Ooh oh, and it all comes down to you Lightning strikes Maybe once, maybe twice And (oh) it all comes down to you I still see your (your) bright eyes, bright eyes (And it all comes down to you)
American woman Stay away from me American woman Mama, let me be
Don’t come hangin’ ’round my door I don’t wanna see your face no more I got more important things to do Than spend my time growin’ old with you
Now woman, stay away American woman, listen what I say
American woman Get away from me American woman Mama, let me be
Don’t come knockin’ ’round my door I don’t wanna see your shadow no more Colored lights can hypnotize Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away American woman, listen what I say
American woman I said, get away American woman Listen what I say
Don’t come hangin’ ’round my door Don’t want to see your face no more I don’t need your war machines I don’t need your ghetto scenes Colored lights can hypnotize Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away American woman, listen what I say
American woman Stay away from me American woman Mama, let me be
I gotta go, I gotta get away Babe, I gotta go, I wanna fly away I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman
Bye-bye, bye-bye Bye-bye, bye-bye (American woman) You’re no good for me and I’m no good for you (American woman) I look you right straight in the eye I tell you what I’m gonna do (American woman) I’m gonna leave you woman, you know I gotta go (American woman) I’m gonna leave you woman, I gotta go (American woman) I gotta go I gotta go, American woman Yeah
I thought of this song when thinking of this prompt. I don’t know if anyone will remember this song, but it was one of my favorites at the time. I still think it’s a great song. Let me know in the comments if you remember this song, and/or if you like it.
Almost Lover – A Fine Frenzy
Your fingertips across my skin The palm trees swayin’ in the wind Images
You sang me spanish lullabies The sweetest sadness in your eyes Clever trick
I never wanna see you unhappy I thought you’d want the same For me
Goodbye my almost lover Goodbye my hopeless dream I’m trying not to think about you Can you just let me be? So long my luckless romance My back is turned on you Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do
We walked along a crowded street You took my hand and danced with me Images
And when you left you kissed my lips You told me you’d never ever forget these Images No
But I never wanna see you unhappy I thought you’d want the same For me
Goodbye my almost lover Goodbye my hopeless dream I’m trying not to think about you Can you just let me be? So long my luckless romance My back is turned on you I should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do
I cannot go to the ocean I cannot drive the streets at night I cannot wake up in the morning Without you on my mind So now your gone and I’m haunted And I bet you’e just fine Did I make it that easy To walk right in and out of my life?
Goodbye my almost lover Goodbye my hopeless dream I’m trying not to think about you Can you just let me be? So long my luckless romance My back is turned on you Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do
“It's Amy,” I said. 