Objet petit a

Objets d'affection
are still mere objects.

And, oh, how you make them feel
like the tiny objects that they are not.

As if they were nothing
more than a vessel
made to hold your pretty words
and some skin
for your gratification.

My loyalty was boundless
and born of heart and mind
while yours
merely a function
of genitals, conditions, and
a carefully landscaped distance.

And, oh, how your actions
have always attested
to the fiction of your words.

And still you wonder why
I always say no.

For years
you have cursed
my perceived vacillation
while I have waited for proof
that I was more
than an objectification.

And, oh, how you could have
had me
in any of a hundred moments
had you ever really seen me.

Yeah, you will be indignant
and I will be punished –
avoided for years
while the ghost of
“I would never hurt you”
wafts through my daily life.

Yes, you would

and

yes, you do

and

no, you don't

and

no, you aren't.

You never really were.


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel

Hostage

Apologies never lodge
in the mouth of a man
whose one
finely hewn coping skill is
emotional blackmail.

The cognitive dissonance
and sundry indictments
were all
the existential protections
he had left.

And how old was she
when the battlements
grew spikes
and she learned about
the trébuchet?


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel

Just Another Monday Night Campaign

Made weary by futile attempts at
connecting dots with twisted folks
who cannot even draw a straight line,
I have fallen deeply in love with Rufus
again.

It’s an unrequited thing, of course,
but at least he’s here and steadfast.

Bob was an idiot blowing in his own
private wind of cowardice and you
could never surmise why the sad
lady forsook him over and over
again.

It’s a self-interest thing, of course,
but at least he’s here and steadfast.

We made love to the rhythm of
your lyrics but that Incredible one
about a little hedgehog escaped your
perception and here, let me show you
again.

I would use your toothbrush to clean
the floors and drains and toilet but
I cannot endure its existence nor
the sight of it one more time
again.

It’s a just a love thing, of course,
but at least I’m here and steadfast.


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel

The Corner of My Watering Eye

October 2, 2007

swollen nerves
headaches
MRI

inhaling the word
tumor

Have a nice day!

Thanks. You too.

October 23, 2007

no tumor
no improvement
blackouts

inhaling the words
visual field

October 26, 2007

visual field test
abnormal results
diminished vision

inhaling the word
neurologist

November 5, 2007

neurologist
cerebrospinal fluid
increased pressure

inhaling the words
spinal tap

Ready for Thanksgiving?

Yep. You?

November 16, 2007

spinal tap
pressure too high
six hours

inhaling the words
pseudotumor cerebri

December 10, 2007

pseudotumor cerebri
tunnel vision
possible blindness

inhaling the words
brain damage

How are you?

brain damage

Fine, thanks. And you?

possible blindness

brain damage

One year later

dilations
durations
drugs

inhaling the words
surgery and shunts

December 11, 2008

surgery and shunts
neurologist
concerned expressions

inhaling the words
MRI with contrast

Have you finished your Christmas shopping?

I think so. You?

December 29, 2008

MRI with contrast
vascular MRA
IV needle

inhaling the word
wait

Happy New Year!

Thanks. You too.

February 24, 2009

wait some more
and don’t
ask questions

inhaling the words
hysterical mother

March 12, 2009

hysterical mother
Mommy
Mama

inhaling the words
visual field

March 13, 2009

visual field test

inhaling

What’ve you been up to?

Holding my breath.


© 2009 Marcy Stoeckel

Res ipsa loquitur

I wonder how many more times
she’ll let you get away with this –

let you do this to her.

How many more before the
rage spits out of my pores
and blows a hole in your
pretext and alleged prudence?

Don’t look at me like that
and don’t just sit there –

say something.

Fucking say something.

© 2009 Marcy Stoeckel

Her Stories

Her magnitude intimidates

she’s too quick,
too complicated,
and too aggressive

as if her anger and sorrow were baseless.

The other one buys his stories

she’s too quick
to wish for leaders
and conditioned to submit

as if incapable of leading herself.

We all facilitate his equations

Mary is to passive
what passive is to good
and what whore is to strength

is what is so threatening.

© 2009 Marcy Stoeckel

Ode to a Bad Penny

And then, as if on cue,
you turn up with rancor and cruelty

interrupting my version of reality

leaving the speck of hope you conjured
to become a shoulder shrug

and a “bugger off” on the tip of my tongue.


© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel

The Weight of Salt

Tarrying about
with yet another
blow-up doll with a
pulse – adding to your
collection of the
barely sentient –
you stumble and fail

because you know that
there is never a
burden so light as
an empty one.

Sell them anything,
everything they want
to feel – providing
they keep their weight to
themselves – you barter

because you know that
there is never a
burden so light as
an empty one.

Flattered by the thought
and repentant – I
walk away before
tasting the salt of
your charming damage

because I know that
there is never a
man so simple as
a broken one.

© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel

"Mama, can you make a fort?"

Strange the threads of letters, posted
in fragile hope of weaving durable blankets,
and if perchance shared – like the tinkly laughter
of children under a supper table.

A stitch is dropped, the weft twisted,
and yardage runs short the lengths required
of a fort fit for the giggles – and the solemn craft
of lonely spinning begins again.


© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel