Seeking Deaf Headphones (by Linda Athis)

Something is wrong
when you search for headphones
to shut out the sound.

They cost three hundred dollars.
Was I willing to pay?
I put on the phones
and listened.

Anxious to please,
the clerk had promised
they’d be very very silent.

Me,
headphones on,
she said,
What do you think?
I said,
I can still hear you,
and walked out the door.

Americans are obsessed with celebrities.  Perhaps because they want to be one.  Many of us desperately want our “15 minutes of fame.”  Trust me…you don’t.  I’ve been a celebrity, a small one….but the experience was weird and devastating enough that I walked away.  No more big money, pretty clothes, and insincere friends.

Spotlight Gone(by Linda Athis) 

My eyes prefer shade,
as others seek light.
I crave cool safe-haven
to rest my body,
a blistered, wincing parcel,
ill from self-sought celebrity.
 
Do not seek it.
Do not wish it.
Once you get it,
can you lose it?
 
That warm temptress spotlight
will ravage your life.
Friends won’t be real.
Relatives are kinder.

Lovers come in quantity,
hiding hideous motive.
 
In a red-hot, sweaty, jealous fist,
the known squeeze tight their treasure,
and every new face,
exquisite body,
rare raw talent,
could easily snatch it,
like a most evil thief.
 
The known, they know this,
weep deeply inside,
for the helpless baby bird they clutch,
as the world plots to steal it.
This sad hatchling will never face age.
Never fly free,
find peace,
in seasons of life.
 
Do you have celebrity?
Don’t pause, don’t ponder.
Toss it like trash, like spit to cement.
Flee fast before you grab it back
and gasp at the kidnapper you choose to embrace.
 
Find fresh space, fresh fields,
search hard for the gem of the ordinary.
Talk not of yourself,
not of your past.
Walk away from those who knew you when.
Find instead, true family, true friends.
 
It is no sin
to leave no mark in this world.
It will still turn,
the stars will still shine.
And you, fortunate one,
at last will find
your ageless eagle inside.
]]> http://firstbird.wordpress.com/2008/02/07/the-sickness-of-american-celebrity-worship/feed/ 0 Linda http://firstbird.wordpress.com/2008/02/05/husband-heart-attack/ http://firstbird.wordpress.com/2008/02/05/husband-heart-attack/#comments Wed, 06 Feb 2008 01:32:46 +0000 Linda Athis http://firstbird.wordpress.com/?p=24 ]]> My husband had a supervisor who abused him so badly that he would come home at night so angry…I thought I’d lose him to a heart attack.

Now that’s over  : )   Here’s why:

Corporate Museumby Linda Athis

The cleaner never knew,
when she pressed the shirts,
that this would be their last.
 
Entombed in plastic
they wait,in a closet
slammed shut for two years.
 
I held a grand opening,
pried open the doors
of his corporate museum,
untouched since the day
he walked away
from the mean and greedy.
 
22 fine suits
34 wood hangers
74 crisp shirts,
some needing links.
16 leather belts
20 pair shoes
A beast of a tie rack,
in a 70 tie choke hold.
 
All face a death sentence.

My husband
is happily retired.

Gypsy Employee (by Linda Athis)

You’re fired.
I resign.
We’ve eliminated your position.
I’ve heard these all many times.
 
Forty-two years my father worked
in one, same place.
Was it fun?
Were there friends?
A respect for grace?
 
Me, I jumped,
assumed new faces,
lucky to rest two years
in any one place.
 
No one would have me.
Too blunt.
Too bold.
Even told,
too good to be here.
 
A heart
sliced and diced,
seeking employer appreciation,
I fled hard,
came home,
bought a computer,
got a logo
and thick, rich business cards.
 
There I earned my name
as one employee…single,
and a ten year stint
in my home,
so simple.
 
While those
with big titles,
who fire, layoff, let go,
they call for me.
 
I walk into their office
dressed to the nines,
cautiously posed
in leather chair,
and wait for the sign
when they tell me the secrets
they cannot bear,
and I, in turn, swear
to keep them.
 
I’ve spun 180.
Now I know
why they do
what they must do.
And me, how my heart pulls,
for all those past workplace wounds,
I took far too personal.

My silence comes from deep space within,
where conversation, time and space collapse.
You observe, and conclude my insanity…
but I travel places you shall never see.

Doesn’t matter,  I say
 as if I have millions.
Then what do you want?
 
I scan for spies at nearby tables.
All clear.
 
Two apples,
two bananas,
to heal a shocked body
back to rhythm it knows.
 
She fades away quickly,
returns with a sack
and forbidden contents.
 
My bills feel luscious,
and I pay in cash,
adding hefty tip
for her employment risk.
She smiles subtly back,
departing quickly
avoiding capture.
 
And so,
if I asked God
can I have my life back?
What would be the price?
Would I pay it?

Lovers come in quantity,
hiding hideous motive.
 
In a red-hot, sweaty, jealous fist,
the known squeeze tight their treasure,
and every new face,
exquisite body,
rare raw talent,
could easily snatch it,
like a most evil thief.
 
The known, they know this,
weep deeply inside,
for the helpless baby bird they clutch,
as the world plots to steal it.
This sad hatchling will never face age.
Never fly free,
find peace,
in seasons of life.
 
Do you have celebrity?
Don’t pause, don’t ponder.
Toss it like trash, like spit to cement.
Flee fast before you grab it back
and gasp at the kidnapper you choose to embrace.
 
Find fresh space, fresh fields,
search hard for the gem of the ordinary.
Talk not of yourself,
not of your past.
Walk away from those who knew you when.
Find instead, true family, true friends.
 
It is no sin
to leave no mark in this world.
It will still turn,
the stars will still shine.
And you, fortunate one,
at last will find
your ageless eagle inside.