Made of Fire

My lover is made of fire and
coal and
stars in the winter and
things that are rough and tough and warm to the touch.
We are a race of warriors and
wolves…
love-gypsies who, like wild horses
spook sometimes,
but hold fast and ride hard.

My lover is made of fire and
fur and of bearskin.
His constellation passes over the North American continent
once, or twice, a year
brings good luck.
Some things were not made
to be seen at all moments,
and my lover is some sort of gold,
or glitters like it
I think.

My hands are made of smoke and
stone and things that are
strong and warm
and don’t break easily.
They make music
in the dark
and they lead Pilgrims home.
They weave blankets for babies and quilts for
my Constellation,
which he hangs upon his wall and does not need.
He loves them anyway,
for their warmth is of his own.

~Crystal Wolf
Re-written June 1, 2012

Deep in the pits of peaches there’s a
Pie throw in a stove and cooked
Haphazardly with flames licking the
Glaze of hurt and clove.
Hummingbirds are humming out
The window like disease and I am
never sure what I should do with
Images like these.

Crystal Wolf
April 19, 2012

——————————————————-

You left.
Said you wouldn’t do it but
You did…
In ways I can’t explain and you
Won’t understand -
Touched me with no passion
And no care
And no love,
just an empty, unsure hand.

You left me
Whirling screaming shaking feeling
All alone
Knocking on the doorbell of
Your savage home,
Leave me on the doorstep in the
Raging storm,
Playing with the children inside
Where you keep it warm.
…an old dog laying on the doorstep
Starves to death,
…nobody has time to feed her and there’s
No scraps left.

And outside tempest rages and
The fire and rain pour down and the
Wind whips everything around me
In a maelstrom of light and heat and sound and
Everything feels like it’s converging
Crashing down around my soul,
And I am at the center
Melting
Into something
Undefinable.

–Crystal Wolf
9/9/2010

“Don’t let him lie-
he’s cold like ice
just like everyone else
he’ll put you high up on a
dusty shelf where you’ll
die in a fire with the
house you don’t fit in cause
they say you’re worth something…

but you’re not.

you spin too fast and you
burn too hot.

He’ll make you think it was
you the whole time -
kiss you like wine and then
turn on a dime.  Stupid -
you shoulda listened
the first fourteen times.

He’s your father, your brother, your lover, your best friend -
run for you life, never see him again ’cause
he’s just gonna put you through
what you’ve been through.  So you
stay here with me.  Now…

…would I lie to you?”

–Crystal Wolf
Aug. 10th, 2010

Kiss me…
While the moon rises
and the sun sets,
while the rain falls
and oceans pour into rivers into streams into
this gorgeous daydream;
while children are born, grow up,
and get old…
and your tongue will still be
between my teeth -
pushing all the fires of hurt
deep into my throat, through my lungs and
into my belly where
digestive monsters will
eat them alive.

…And you put your hands on my sides like
two superheroes
holding these massive, world healing,
heart binding
stitches together while you
just keep kissing me
forever…
and ever…
and ever.

–August 18, 2010
Crystal Wolf

But as I lay my heart on deck,
he starts to see that it’s a wreck.
He listens calmly for a while.
Eventually he cannot smile.
His countenance falls into dread,
to realize that from his end it seems
inside I must be dead.

For there’s no cargo ship can bear
the weight of all I have to air.
I must be sinking in my place.
He’s sure this has to be the case.
He makes a good excuse to leave,
and I am left alone to grieve
with all the knowledge that another savior’s
passed me in the night with no reprieve.

–Crys Wolf
March 13, 2012
8:31pm

Heartsplode is the term used when one finds oneself so emotionally full that their heart feels as though it is going to perhaps burst, or already has.  This can happen when one finds that one is madly in love with a new crush, deeply in like with a new friend, doted upon by a wonderful long-time lover, blessed with an amazing partner, has discovered a soul-mate (platonic or romantic), has remembered the birth of their first child, or has had beautiful godchildren bequeathed upon them.  It can also happen when one finds that one has an astonishing amount of spooky things in common with a terribly attractive friend, or has a great job interview at their self-professed “dream job” after having gone for some time suffering in an economy that has a high jobless rate and can afford to be obnoxious about choosing employees.

If one is suffering under all of these maladies at once, they can be said to be having a “Supernova Heartsplode”, and should be cuddled immediately.

Observe:

To My Valentine, S.J. Tucker

Someone get a snuggle to that Firedancing Mythpunk, RIGHT STAT NOW!

Yours, ridiculously sappily,
Crystal

According to the rumor, however, I am hopeful that he will eventually re-marry my mother, whom I don’t speak to.  Belief is a funny thing.  Folks buy into what they need to buy into, and my father is easy to like.  I don’t blame my Step-Mother or Step-Sisters for buying into this, really.  I’d be willing to bed that, as often happens, they’ll eventually know better.  Really, I’d have to be a special brand of crazy to do something like that but, in fairness, considering my upbringing it isn’t inconceivable.  Never argue with a Sicilian when death is on the line.

My favorite story of my warped and distorted genealogy, however, is of my sister-cousins.

My Father, by the way, HATES it when I recount this tale.  Luckily he alienated me some time ago and few readers are aware of the surname I was born with.  There isn’t much cause for me to concern myself.

My Father was a child, and step-child, of many.  He carried on his parents’ legacy (do note that my Grandmother was no saint, but she had only one divorce and it was well deserved.  My biological Grandfather was not exactly a decent human being.)  My mother was his second marriage.  His elder brother, whom I’ll call Joe, died of a brain tumor when I was about four, around the time that my parents split.  When my Dad left my Mom, he stayed with his brother and his brother’s wife, and helped to nurse my sick Uncle.  My Mother tells the tale, which may or may not actually be true, that I came home after one visit and she asked me where my Father was sleeping.  I told her (which I may or may not have actually known for sure at the time) that “He sleeps in Aunt Marie’s room.”  My Mother fumed.  My father was “Scum, dirt, filth, and sliiiiiiiiiiiime.”  I didn’t know why, or what scum, filth, or slime actually were.  Dirt was familiar.  My mother had a way with words.

Some time after this I went for another weekend visit with my Father.  I sat at the dinner table, he says, with a furrowed brow and a concerned look, squarely on him.  Being the curious and frustrated ex-husband he was well on his way to being, he asked me, “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“Daddy,” I informed him, “I don’t think you’re scum.”

“Well thank you darling, I don’t think that you’re scum either!” He responded.

Times change, and so have both of our opinions.  Strangely, I think that we probably have a mutual respect for one anothers’ talent and instability.  Go figure.  I air my family’s dirty laundry on the internet.  He flirts with my mother.  *shudder*

My Uncle and my Aunt had two daughters, Melissa and Jonelle.  In due course, my Uncle died.  My Aunt, bereaved, but having dealt with his long-running affair and alcoholism, decided that his brother would be a good follow-up.  I would hope that she’s learned something since then.  I can’t say that I’m without that kind of moronic behavior, though.  Looking over my past relationships, I sympathize.  We all get love-goggles.  Still.

So my cousins became my Step-Sisters.

My Father left my Aunt many years ago, but my eldest brother Lee still calls her “Aunt-Mom”.  I can remember the looks we’d get when they’d sit at a table at a restaurant holding hands and I’d call him “Dad” and her “Aunt Marie”.

Years later, long after my Father had married his fourth wife (are you keeping up?) and my Mother her third husband, my Step-Grandfather died.  Like many large and disjointed families (we are not a tree.  We are a vine), my relatives see one another mostly at funerals.  We all showed up for Grandpa’s.  At fourteen, I was angsty, dark, and brutally honest.  Hm.  Some things DON’T really change.

My Father proudly introduced me to several family members.  Most of them hadn’t seen me since I was “this tall”.  I still had those gorgeous big brown eyes.  My Father had been told when he was a child that he’d make a beautiful little girl, and he had.  And so on.  My older brothers laughed at me.  I soaked up the attention and equally spurned it and rolled my eyes when they weren’t looking.  And then two friendly, down-to-earth looking women approached us.

“Crystal,” my grandmother said, smiling, “These are your cousins, Melissa and Jonelle.  Do you remember them?”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I said, smiling and shaking hands.  And then I was struck with realization.  I got what was probably the same quizzical look that I’d given my Father so many years ago across the dinner table.  And, before anyone (including me) could stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I asked:

“Weren’t we Step-Sisters once?”

My Aunt, who was nearby, broke into a coughing fit.  My cousins grinned wide and told me, “Yes, yes we were.”  Lee’s smile twinkled.  His next younger brother face-palmed, and their younger brother crossed his arms over his chest and looked sternly at my Father.  My Step-Mother patted my Father on the back and I cannot describe my Father’s face.  I think that he may have been re-thinking that “scum” comment even then.

But the best part was my Grandmother.  She loved all of her children deeply, but she also knew them.  She looked at my Father, crossed her arms over her chest, and declared,

“You had that comin’.”

I miss you, Gramma.

Love,
Crystal

Friends, even new ones, have been very understanding.  I find myself hating that I need them to be, but I think that this is a bit of perfectionism talking.  I’ll let a lot of people get away with being crazy, but I’m not allowed;  not in my own mind, anyway.  Silly, true.  How I feel, also true.  What are ya gonna do?  Self-acceptance has never really been my strong point.

Still, I got a bit of chocolate in my system and that seemed to clear my head.  I’ve been running on a fear-induced adrenaline rush over the past several days, and it is, at worst, useless.  I have great friends and I’m afraid of losing any of them.  I have a few crushes that may very well go nowhere and I’m afraid of embarassment and not appreciating those relationships enough as they stand NOW.  Now doesn’t last forever, after all, and if I’m wasting all of my time on daydreams, no matter how attractive they may be, when real life happens, I’ll be ill-prepared at best.  Truth of the matter is, I just don’t have time for being unprepared.  I don’t have the luxury of being a mess.

So six years after losing my son, I find myself in this place.  I am in the first steps of moving in a particular life direction.  I have no job, barely a home, and I’m struggling to feed my partner and my cats.  I have mounds of beautiful friendships. I have food in my belly and music in my ears.  I have new relationships to admire and appreciate, new voices and faces to dote on, old friends to adore and walk with through the storms, and a damned good life.

So I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  I don’t know if I’m gonna get laid or get laughed at.  I don’t know if I’ll land the perfect job or be turned out of my apartment.  I don’t know if I’m going to meditate or melt into the floor.

What I do know, is that I’m here now, in this moment, realizing that the universe is big and I’m tiny.  But to me, my friends, my family, and my cats… I’m Crystal Wolf.  I am right now, in this second of a minute of a lifetime of eternity.  And that’s all that really matters right now.

Love,
Crystal

I know.  I realize that it’s a fairy-tale rendition of idealized romance and stereotypically girly.  I realize that this is not reality.  I’m having a shitty Valentine’s Day and I needed a pick-me-up.

Yes, I understand that I live with one of the best Valentines in the world.  I am also faced with the fact that we’re both broke and can’t do much for anyone right now.  Typically we ignore the holiday and just hang out.  Sometimes we indulge in a “romantic” meal together.  Today I had an interview, we watched some TV, and Chris went to take a nap.

My best friend is suffering from a broken heart.  My closest are terrifically lonely.  My ex-girlfriend sent my belongings back today, which I appreciate and at the same time wish that the significance of holidays and festivals were one that she’d at least understood at some point.  At least two crushes are flattered with my attention but mostly, perceptually at least, rather unreachable.

This evening I’m having several single friends over to watch gory movies and enjoy one another’s company.  Tomorrow I have another interview, which is nice.  But right at the moment, I just wanted to focus a little bit on frilly, idealistic, daydreamy romance.  And gypsies.  I’d like to think that that’s not really a bad thing.  We watch movies for a break from reality, not so that reality can slap us across the face several times.  That’s what day-to-day life is for.  If we’re able to understand the difference between reality and fantasy, then I don’t see much reason to be too terribly closed off to a beautiful piece of art if it appeals to you.  This appeals to me.

I don’t know why I’m feeling defensive about it.  It is, after all, Drew Barrymore.  Drew has nearly been elevated to the level of household deity in our home.  The dialogue is good, the costuming is wonderful, and the story is a classic.  I don’t think there’s any shame in it.

Sometimes, I just wish that reality were a little bit closer to some of these silly stories.  A girl can dream.

Much love,
Crystal