9.22.2004

To Margaret

The sun picks out
a brown hair on my brown shirt
before I do,
resistant within the fibers.
If not for extraordinary length
and ringlet spring,
how could I have known it was yours?

Coated strands catalog essence,
outing the poisoned.
Your plump pods reveal
nothing so dramatic:
gray skies and evergreens,
salmon and Rainier cherries.
They say you've
never strayed, never
launched your grand tour,
Canada your farthest destination,
comfortable cities.

You can't hide, though, Margaret,
spinning, daring and shining in camouflage,
catching foreign suns.

And so on this grass
outside Southwark Cathedral,
I let this piece of you
release through my fingers,
a tendril feeler for this your journey.
It's a start—
now you've been to England.

9.17.2004

Year of Grace

lyrics & music by Amanda Caldwell

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Listen online at ReverbNation.com or below (track #2)



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For Percy

VERSE 1:

A clever disguise
to pretend you're no prize—
your secret's safe with me.

Your inanity
an excuse for vanity,
as English as afternoon tea.

Can I forgive your machinations,
lost in ostentation,
or surrender to disharmony?


CHORUS:

Do you hate this
inbred greatness
you can't hide,
you can't hide?

Your name a scarlet flower,
your love a fortified tower
I can't climb,
I can't climb.


VERSE 2:

Playing red rover
on the white cliffs of Dover,
but it's always yourself you send over.

My wilting contempt
my impoverished attempt
to forget what I fantasized.

Calculated disdain
just to cover up the tearstains
I can't hide,
I can't hide.


CHORUS:

Do you hate this
inbred greatness
you can't hide,
you can't hide?

Your name a scarlet flower,
your love a fortified tower
I can't climb,
I can't climb.

You must hate this
inbred greatness
you can't hide,
you can't hide.

Your name a scarlet flower,
your love a fortified tower
I can't climb,
I can't climb.


Playing red rover
on the white cliffs of Dover,
but it's never yourself you send over.

...

Send yourself over.



Official audio disclaimer/apology

8.01.2004

Fool

lyrics & music by Amanda Caldwell

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VERSE 1:

Four months apart.
It's hitting me now.
I don't want to feel
Numb anymore

A sick sense of fear,
Almost like grief,
Like something died
When you walked out the door.


CHORUS:

Well, I don't know
Where to go from here,
But I need to hear your voice.
And if you don't call soon,
I'll have to break the rules.
For you it might be worth
Being a fool.


VERSE 2:

I drive by your house.
I get to the door,
Before my courage
Leaves with me.

If I had the will
To reconcile,
Would you say I'm just
A sweet memory?


CHORUS:

Well, I don't know
Where to go from here,
But I need to hear your voice.
And if you don't call soon,
I'll have to break the rules.
For you it might be worth
Being a fool.


BRIDGE:

So many lies
But the biggest of all
Was "I don't love you anymore."


VERSE 3:

I'm going to reach out —
Nothing to lose
But my pride
And a life without you.


CHORUS:

And I don't know
Where we'll go from there,
But I know I need
to hear your voice.
If you don't call soon,
I know I'll break the rules.
For you it might be worth
Being a fool.


Official audio disclaimer/apology

4.13.2004

Translation

A Sestina

I said no man's an island
but you didn't let me finish,
leaning over the side of the ferry
while I was left to translate
the schedules, our visit already cut
short by long lines at customs.

I don't feel at home within the customs
of New York City, so we went to Ellis Island,
but in our misreading of times we cut
it close for boarding, a photo finish.
I jot, on this boarding stub of Airtran's, late
return trips of the Liberty Island ferry.

In sepia faces, I see the burden to ferry
heart-held and sea-separated customs
to a new world, and how to translate
them for those born new on this island.
I see the names, Swedish and Finnish,
of immigrant ancestors who made the cut.

My fingers stretch to stroke the cut-
out blue and yellow woven hearts, fairy-
translucent and fading behind the smudged finish
of display cabinets. Printed cards explain customs
unknown to those raised in an island
of ignorance and apathy, no one left to translate.

I need no one to translate
your impatience. The minced cut
of your words, your gaze fixed off the island,
ready to catch the soonest ferry
and check off the next item, your customs
of touring being not to participate but to finish.

But I want to know their life from start to finish,
more than the paltry way it ran — slate
tablets with names and dates, customary
and bare facts of existence, cut
into our stone and grass and soul, a fairly
stark representation of their time in this land.

Because on that unknown island at the finish,
when Charon's ferry comes and we too are translated,
my misconceptions cut, we'll rest together in new customs.

The Name

Chewed and soft, like wet bread
Pulled-back lips in pain-wracked memory
The slide of feet to the altar
Hesitation, meditation
The hiss of a cork

4.09.2004

I Don't Want to Hurt You Anymore

lyrics & music by Amanda Caldwell

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VERSE 1:

You entered my life like a bad surprise,
a twisted gift of fate,
an answer to prayer when I'd given up hope.
It's too late,
too late.


CHORUS 1:

Well, I don't know if you're right for me.
All I know is what it's like for me.
I know that I could like you,
but I don't know what's in store,
and I don't want to hurt you anymore.


VERSE 2:

I tried to fit you into my scheme;
I wanted us to be a truth.
But I know the destination ahead—
It's not with you,
not with you.


CHORUS 2:

And I don't know if you're right for me.
All I know is what I'd like it to be.
You know I hate to lose you.
This is pain I can't ignore,
but I don't want to hurt you anymore.


BRIDGE:

Why'd you have to come when my yearning was over?
Why'd you have to come when I'd made up my mind?
Why'd you have to come when my searching was over?
Why'd you have to come when I'm out of time?


CHORUS 3:

Well, I don't know you're not right for me.
All I know is what I'd like to see.
You know I hate to leave you,
but I'm walking out the door,
'cause I don't want to hurt you anymore.

Official audio disclaimer/apology

Dancing into Beauty

essay published in Catapult Magazine

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