• Poetry & Flash Fiction
  • testing

Indigo Vales

~ where the writing comes from

Indigo Vales

Tag Archives: dad

Night of the Curtain

31 Monday Oct 2022

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

autumn, childhood, Condensation, Cricket, dad, life, love, Mom, poem, Seasons, spring

The balcony rail is cold and damp
I lean on it anyway.
There is one cricket singing
weet
weet
weet
with long pauses in between.

It could be one of those early spring mornings
I rose in the Catskills, Grandma’s trailer
grass not green but grey, coated in condensation
silver
Many crickets singing
weet
weet
weet
with long pauses in between.

It’s autumn now and I am shirtsleeves
rolled up on my shoulders like Fonzie,
flip flops, toes not cold.
All the cars in the lot are
coated in condensation
and my child’s heart wants to run down there and
fingerpaint hearts and smiley faces on all the windshields.

“Are you seeing the same moon I am?”

“I love you more.”

Weet
weet
weet
With long pauses in between.

Metallica & Iron Maiden Before You Knew Them

09 Saturday Jul 2022

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

80s, dad, grief, heavy metal, Iron Maiden, Metallica, music, Stranger Things

Wading into unchartered waters to say a few things. I’ve never seen the hit show “Stranger Things” on Netflix because I do not have an account. The only way I know about the series is what I’ve read, and I really appreciate that they chose the late 80s to tell the story. The articles include clothes, trends, music, movies, etc. and I have mostly good memories of that time. Well done, guys.

Apparently, the last season included Eddie playing a Metallica song to help his friends in a dire situation.
I’ve read about it and now I am lamely talking about it. Forgive my ignorance. I am here to say how much I appreciate Eddie playing Metallica. Metallica responded in real life and so did Iron Maiden, a band from that same time whose mascot is named Eddie, to stand up for the character and appreciate the moment. I want to stand up and appreciate the moment the writers chose Metallica and Iron Maiden in the midst of all the chaos and struggle of their characters. Metallica and Iron Maiden were portrayed in the magazines in their time of being enemies, fighting for dominance in every way, when actually it was just two bands working hard and loving their fans. Warfare sells magazines. Warfare sells everything which is an obvious lyric seen in Metallica and Maiden. The guys felt competition but did not want hate between the fans. Warfare hurts us and what they were trying to say is we must end it.

I come to tell you today about the time I saw Metallica during their Black album tour. I drove up to the Pepsi arena in Albany by myself because that’s just how it was and it was fine. I was so amped for the performance and they did not disappoint. It was everything I hoped it would be. The only problem was… they outlasted me. I was exhausted before it was all done. Song after song after song. I was young, I was healthy! Another song and I felt tired and ready to go, but no. Metallica kept on going. They were amazing. “Searching….. seek and destroy!” They left me exhausted and what was left had to drive home. And that night I had to call my Dad because he asked his 24-year-old daughter to call him to let him know I was ok. I called him from the side of the road that I was okay with a croaking throat from hollering I’m okay and I’m on the way home.

For all the new Metallica fans, Hey. For all the new Iron Maiden fans, Hey. Metal is for all of you. Come on in, there’s room for all. I will never forget calling my Dad. Or seeing Metallica or Iron Maiden many, many, many times, wishing I could see them more. I’m grateful to these bands for so many reasons. And wishing I could call my Dad and tell him I’m okay.



July 4th Memory

03 Saturday Jul 2021

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

dad, Independence, July 4th, memory, Rule-Breaking, Scary but Cool, The City

It was the No-Go stairway. Never, ever, go up those stairs, the last, highest stairs in our building. You better believe me and my brother did Go when we could get away with it, but we had to be lightning fast and super quiet in those echoey halls to get up and down before anyone caught us. Sometimes we sat on those stairs while waiting for Mom to come out of the apartment so we could go food shopping or maybe the library. Sitting was legal, anyway.

But one night Dad took us up those stairs, those No-Go stairs, and it was amazing to get to the top and go through that dark door that took us onto the ROOF! CAN YOU IMAGINE how emerging onto a roof at night, all secret-like, felt to this fairly sheltered kid? It was scary and rule-breaking and scary and cool and scary. The dark gravel crunched beneath my sneakered feet. It was warm but cool. The wall was too short to lean over so we had to stay away from it (scary) but we had a 360-degree view of the fireworks taking place around Flushing on Fourth of July. The blossoms weren’t too near and the crackling, booming was a bit far away, but I will never, ever forget the night we did a bit of rule breaking and had some (rare) excitement with Dad on the day we commemorate our own rule breaking that paved the way to Independence.

Yay Us! (Thanks, Dad.) ❤

AWOL

23 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

cellphone, dad, forgiveness, help, lost, love, missyou, simplicity, technology

I stalk
like an old lady
black t-shirt sweatpants thing
but you don’t notice me
sitting in the marble lobby waiting
echoing
I bring you my offering
Pieces parts
Hope in a bag
Crumpled
The kind that chokes turtles and whales
that somehow carries a can you help me
I am strong
with purpose
Solve my problem
Like an astronaut drifting without hope
rescue me, we planned for this
didn’t we?
His last words to me
I locked them in
I love you more
eidetic sunset, sunrise
Your need. mine.
I’m here always, but you are gone
I don’t want to lose the last of you
the best of you
this is my Graumans’ you
I carry on in a crinkly brown bag
like elder ladies do
hand to pigeon
I love you
I miss you
And that’s okay.

— Kenny’s kid

Flue Rules

16 Saturday Feb 2019

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

childhood, dad, Delirious, family, Flu, memory, Mom, the Doors

You should spell it flu and not flue because it’s the flu but you’re sick and don’t really care because when you’re sick anything goes…


You will remember tiny steel cans of apple juice you drank in kindergarten. You will remember clean, shredded towels that came from your mom’s apartment. You will remember Dad in his bed and his legs and everyone around him and the moment he departed and you will look at his picture right there young, smiling in a suit from you don’t know when, and you will remember tomato soup and grilled cheese tucked in on the couch, mom ministering.

You will sweat sweat sweat in your hoodie not wanting to breathe on the Walgreens employees who are tracking you in the aisles ‘cus it looks like you got stealing on your mind as you wander with your hood up but all you really need is a thermometer you can’t find (which you really don’t need to tell you you are farked) but you pay for little cans of 7-Up and saltines and cough syrup and the girl behind the counter who knows you says “feel better” and you give her thumbs up as you float away.

You will walk out to your car like a drunk, concentrating one foot at a time, conscious of every movement, planning your route back home sweat trickling down your scalp, beneath your breasts, body aching wishing you had someone else to take up this chore, but when you exile yourself you only got yourself to make shit happen, so you drive home like you been drinking all night, hoping not to weave and you make it back to “your” parking spot, you drag yourself upstairs gasping for breath, sipping water, fearing food and your bed and all you got is sitting sideways on the couch watching NYPD Blue.

You will cough all day and night and your neighbors will take out a contract on your life because the coughing is keeping them up but you haven’t slept a true sleep in ten days and you figure by now if someone comes in and strangles you on your couch it would be a relief.

Your earlobes will turn into golden raisins because you ain’t got water in your body. You will be a fool for not forcing water or broth or saltines, but it’s all you got.

You will wake up on the couch and wonder where you are. You will wonder at everything and not care about anything and pray for sleep sleep sleep.

You will have that song stuck in your head, that phrase, it won’t go away and you’re good with that because nothing really matters.

You will wonder if you will ever sleep again and who will do laundry and if you will ever eat again.

“Don’t you love her madly…”

You will desire rain, hard rain, wind.

You won’t be able to breathe for a long time, but when your breath returns it will be unbelievable.  You will be able to lie down and cough often, but maybe not so much, but a dream will slip in and that means you’re not crazy anymore, or less so, anyway.

You will be able to speak in full sentences with your brother without gasping for breath (not like before when you told him “I really have to go now, sorry.”) You will take a little bag of garbage out.  You will sit upright longer than you have in a long time, the fog of flue receding. 

You will return to Walgreens to buy some frozen veggies (covered in cheese) and toilet paper. You will apologize to the counter girl for not speaking to her earlier as you were afraid to spread the flu and kill the world.  God bless her pretty cotton-candy blue hair.

You will sleep and dream.  You’re still not poised to journalize, you’re still not ready to make gourmet meals or walk five miles, but you’re in the 4th turn now and headed for the finish line, tissues filled with phlegm in the garbage can, one load of laundry done, and your bed made of clean sheets.

The flue no longer rules you. How will you celebrate? How will you give thanks for the sweat and ache and loneliness and perseverance thru a shitty flu?  

Some Thoughts On Kavanaugh v Ford, though it could be more but you ain’t got time.

28 Friday Sep 2018

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

advice, birds and bees, Catholic, Catholic school, crime, dad, diary, Ford, humiliation, Kavanaugh, listen, make-out, man, mother, period, punished, rape, sea change, sex, sex-ed, teach, teach your son, truth, white male privilege, woman, women's issues

Mom handed me a small hardcover book one day. I can’t remember what year it was, or what room I was in.  I think I was in apartment 3F. She asked me to read these pages, which I did, and she said ask me any questions, which I didn’t, and the whole thing was done.  That’s how I learned about how men get on top of women and they gently rub against one another and some things are exchanged and a baby grows in the woman.  I remember, after reading, feeling kind of weird. Like, the book being presented to me came out of nowhere. I recall feeling like, “Okay….” but not much more.
Probably when Mom presented me with this book when I was in the 5th grade, still in Catholic school, and I can still remember having the best make-outs with someone whose name I shall not say.  Wow.  Maybe Mom knew I was growing and having feelings and probably making out with somebody and thought the birds and the bees talk was appropriate.  I had no idea what to do with his incredible kissing, I had no idea that it can sometimes lead to sex which leads to babies. I had no idea that I was valued and important. All I knew in those 5th grade days was that I had to go to school, that I was picked on for having ugly shoes, socks, and haircut, that I was punished, humiliated in the halls for failing math, and yeah, we had some good times with our friends playing in the courtyard in the back.

Mom sat me at the table one day. It was daylight and we were 60 miles north of the place we used to live, far from the old bullies, but other battles were raging.  I don’t recall how the conversation began but she told me that if I ever got in a situation, I shouldn’t scream “rape” because no one would help. She said I should scream “fire” because everyone would react.  She said if I got in a situation I should say I have some kind of disease and not to do this so you don’t get that disease too, or I have my period.   I don’t remember what year it was or what lead up to that. I guess she figured since I was dating she assumed that heavy petting would be involved which of course leads to sex.  She also told me if I come home pregnant she would break both my legs.  So.  My sexual education wasn’t great. It left me to my own devices, and I made a lot of mistakes. I will never forget the humiliation of my parents reading my diary from when I was in college that detailed beautiful lovemaking with my boyfriend at the time.

Questions. Statements. Humiliation.  Does this sound familiar to you, woman and man? Did your parents leave you to your own devices to figure out the sex thing? Who taught you who to say no or yes about sex? About pubic hair and periods and condoms and consent?

At 1:30EST there will be a vote in the Senate to confirm Brett Kavanaugh as the next Supreme Court Judge.  I’ve followed everything the Trump administration does and his nomination is no exception.  Judge Brett did not impress me because he did not say he would uphold Roe v Wade. He’s been demure about his Bush years. Dr. Ford’s testimony didn’t help much, either.

What this brings to these morning thoughts are more questions than answers.  Is this the sea change we needed to help women stop staying silent and speak out against their assaulters and abusers?  Are more men willing to listen and believe a women when she says she was assaulted?  Will more women come forward and report their rapes and abuse and their testimony be taken seriously? Will families take this moment and use it as an example to teach their boys not to grope and seek gratification and laugh at a person who can’t say no?  Will families take this moment, no matter how embarrassing, to tell their boys don’t force, grope, assault, abuse women, and tell their girls you are loved and you matter and I believe you?  Will we tell our girls you don’t have to kiss that boy or put your hands in his pants or let him do what he wants because it affirms you.  Is this the moment where we tell our children that it’s natural to be attracted and to want, but forcing ourselves on each other is inexcusable?   Will this be a sea change?   I don’t know.  Dr. Ford was assaulted. Judge Kavenaugh says it wasn’t him. Their testimonies were emotional and believable.  This is a teaching moment for all of us and we should take advantage of it.  Teach our daughters their worth, that they won’t be abandoned if they have sex or, worse, raped. Teach them, your face to his face and her face, not in some book the facts of the human body, natural attraction, but to reject force, and to support our girls if peer pressure led them to sexual acts they weren’t ready for and regret, and reinforce our boys the difference between want–attraction–and force, assault.

Support your children with facts. Support your children with the law. Support your children with love.  If you only give them a teaspoon of each, they’ll wind up in a dark hallway giving handjobs because it affirmed them or on their backs because  privilege says this is not a crime.

My mom didn’t know how to do this and I’m betting neither did hers.  Generations told their daughters to be ladylike and polite. Poised. Accepting.  Is this the moment when we can stop a generational fault and teach our sons that it’s not okay to grope, assault, and abuse women, to respect them as equals, and our girls that they are more than help-meets, that we are curious, intellectual, scholarly, strong, brave, and that we matter?

Recent Posts

  • Night of the Curtain
  • Dear Right Shoulder,
  • A Perfect August Night In OV
  • Metallica & Iron Maiden Before You Knew Them
  • Fourth Of Us….. ?

Tags

amwriting angry woman birds blessings brother change child childhood Choose cycles dad daughter death destiny dog dream evolving faith family father fear fight Flash fiction friend goals grief help Henry Rollins hope HoW human inspiration International Authors Iron Maiden justice life listen love march memory Mom morning mother music nature neighbor not writing ocean pain peace poem poem? poetry politics power progress prompt rain reading season silence sleepless social media Solstice son sorting spring storm sunrise thoughts truth Universe weather woman writing

Blogroll

  • Duotrope
  • Highbrow
  • International Authors
  • Listen to Uncle Stevie!
  • terribleminds
  • The (Submission) Grinder

Social

  • View @indigovales’s profile on Twitter

Housekeeping

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Stay in touch with good ol' fashioned email here at indigovales@gmail.com

Join 127 other subscribers

Archives

  • October 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • October 2021
  • July 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • May 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Follow Following
    • Indigo Vales
    • Join 127 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Indigo Vales
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar