Dumpster Rat Has Nothing On Me

I have been making trips to the dumpster, throwing out - all through the night. The air is so warm and thick, it feels like velvet. It gives a false sense of safety, out here alone in a parking lot at 2:00 AM.

I carry a box, stuffed with a feather bed that has, at one time or another, kept all of us warm. Inside the box are photos, old, that no one wants. There too, are the three small pillows, hand sewn and embroidered with each of my girls' names. There is the big pot that offered batch after batch of vegetable soup, always eagerly received; and cup cake pans that once held ladybug treats for a classroom of first- graders.

I drop it all in the dumpster, the noise of the pot and pans, muffled by photos, feather

bed and tiny pillows. The history of my life, in a nondescript clankety- clank. I am dizzy from the heat, dizzy from fatigue, heartache.

I wobble a little, backward and look down, seeing that I have stepped on a stripped ear of corn. I think of the rat that had been dining before I interrupted.

 
"Is this your home?" I whisper into the dumpster where I know she is hiding, corn in her teeth.

There is a soft rustle, a burrowing down. Her answer. I imagine she has lived here all her life. And her mother before that and her mother before that...

"Lucky you," I tell the rat, meaning it.

I walk across the courtyard up the stairs, jealous of a rat, unseen. 

I curl up on the floor of my apartment, furniture all gone, knowing it is one of my last nights here. I am out of tears.

 I steer my thinking away from a decrepit car and a nowhere job. I let my mind wrap around my family, all that I have. I think of my parents, ancient and wonderful.  I see my dad's face, handsome still at 88, pride etched in every crease. I see my mom, and the softness in her gray eyes. My girls' bright smiles, sparkle at me, as if in a dream, but I know I am still awake; sleep doesn't come this easy. I reach for them and their genuine devotion. My grandbaby scampers by in these thoughts, wearing that look, that shows she knows it is her divine right to be adored. 

I am so tired. I find the thin blanket on the floor next to me. I pull it up to my shoulders, tuck it under my chin. It is familiar and welcoming and comfortable, like love itself. It is where I live. I have lived in love my entire life. Lucky me, so very lucky me. I rest my head on the one pillow that hasn't yet hit the dumpster. It is so soft; it cradles my head, like I am somebody.

Tree of Wife

           Standing tall, unknowing. Targeted tree, an orange ribbon tied around her waist. Does she feel adorned? Like I did, wearing gifted earrings, unaware.

          Does she wonder, What occasion? Swishes, “I feel pretty, oh so pretty,” in her brand new sash. 
          Bony arms  stretch for sky. “ More, please," she asks,  swaying in May’s warm breeze.

         Someone should have told her. Swollen joints and scarred bark will not be tolerated. 
         I wince at her humiliation, the "not knowing". Then, think of the onslaught and panic rises. Her leaves are glossy, aren't they? See? She flowered, right there and there! Isn’t that enough? My heart quickens; spare her.  

          She-tree, still  giving, clueless. Flawed, infested beauty  - bristles with curiosity. She rustles. “What’s all the fuss?"

           Betrayal gashes. Roots clench in shock.
          “I shaded you!"  She wails.  Blades sinks in.

           She whimpers,“ I blossomed, I did."

           I echo her misery. I cherished, I did.

           Splinters sputter. Pride topples. Such a tall girl, in pieces on the ground. 

Just Wondering, Not Wallowing

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?"

Out of the above losses, I have of late begun to wonder what I miss the most. Certainly not the fidelity, because that was the easiest of the five pieces of that broken promise to recover from. I am not saying it is easy to learn that your trusted partner has betrayed you in that way. No, it guts one open, pretty nastily, and the wound stays raw for a long time. Sometimes it is just  merely a huge slip-up, a mid-life crisis, an incredible moment of weakness, drunkenness, insanity or whatever. Other times it is deliberately deceitful, and calculated and everlasting. My experience with this betrayal was the later. Still, I would have to say this wasn't the worst  promise, broken. 

     So out of the other four losses: What hurts the most? What is the hardest to heal from? All four were, I too lately discovered, only an illusion that I lived with, but even so, it was still a loss of what I thought I had.
   
      I sure do miss that sense of protection, that feeling of closing my eyes to sleep and knowing that if a brute broke into the house, my own man would fend him off, risking life and limb for his family. Or the notion of having a man protect me from treacherous traffic when my car breaks down, or defend my dignity at an inappropriate comment. Yea, I miss those scenarios or the illusion of them. But I got over that pretty quickly and really no longer get to be damsel in distress, ever... So what? 
     
     Next loss. I think I always knew I wasn't cherished. That would have been such a great thing to feel. To be cherished by a man. But as stupid as I was, I knew that wasn't there, so I guess I didn't lose even the illusion of that after all. 
   
       So what about love? Ouch, ouch and whoa, ouch.That loss or the loss of thinking I was loved, does take its toll, hobbles a soul for a long time. It was, still is, at times, hard to hold my head up, hard to brush the hair on that head and walk like a woman after that was pulled out from under me. Still, I limped away. I eventually stopped bleeding, except  occasionally, when the scab gets unexpectedly torn off. But I do carry the literal ache in my chest, everyday, just like anyone else who has lost in this way, but you get up and get going because, as hard as it is, we all know that there are way worse things to deal with. 
  
        So then it must be the honor, right? The worst loss? Not being respected, valued, held in high regard?  It sure does a lot to cripple the ego, to not be honored. It is a wonderful thing to feel like you are honored. That you are so special, so unique, so appreciated, so worth honoring...But if I am really honest, I think I knew all along I didn't have that either.
      So this morning's revelation is this: I miss having the belief that I was loved most of all - out of all the promises in that one enormous statement above. But more than that, much, much more than that I miss, not being able to offer those things to a man in my life. I miss the love, the honor and the way I cherished years upon years of layered memories, I miss protecting, verbally, emotionally, physically in the daily way that I did, the man in my life. Where, I would like to know from anyone who might be listening, does one put all that love, honor and need to cherish and protect? I am not talking about redirecting your love to your children or to those less fortunate in volunteer work or even keeping busy with what you love: your work, your art, a special cause. I am talking about the particular love between a man and woman and all the promises that go with it.  The loss of these leaves a gaping hole in the abandoned one's heart, but the burden of carrying around the unwanted gifts, and having no one to offer them to, I  think, is the worst of it all.
    
      So is the dumpee destined to lug around this load of goodies until love visits again? What if love never comes? Is the one left behind doomed to take all this good stuff to the grave? What have all  of our abandoned ancestors done with this left-over love? Does anyone have a secret to share? A chant? A spell? A recipe for releasing it into the universe, so it can rain down on the down-trodden, wrap around the lonely and cushion the steps of the newly love-hobbled?