Dellymari's Blog

I’ve left the city and its intellect-

All the ways it knows how to run,

not by man but instinct now;

Its steel and mortar adapted nature.

Traffic lights.

Uptown, down, west and east side-

Yellow cabs.

The E, the F, the R…

The beautiful noise of rushing

corporate hounds:

Our fancy lobbies, luncheons, holiday parties…

Politics.

Law, management, headaches, overtime-

Oh the goddamn cash in it all,

that beautiful paper-power!

I left because I envisioned peace.

Hope big, live a simpler life in the meantime.

Ride on the tails of a dream,

see where it leads…

By the ocean, no kidding,

because her waves are telling-

not of stocks and bonds or 401 k’s, but true nature,

the tides of God.

Faith in what’s to come, became larger

than myself.

And it all began well intended…

You create things though that no one sees,

but wish to impact.

You shrink to your family and all their needs.

Suddenly you’re a near fixture,

voice less important to be heard?

People of power and money are taken seriously, heard,

respected even for all the moronic things they may say.

Everything inside you shakes,

to feel trapped in that tyranny.

Where you’ve been,

what you’ve learned and become, knows better.

Still, you give up your waist to the pain,

watch your regretful fingers feed your face numb.

Betray yourself, again and again,

giving way to the cursed detriment:

Fear that you’ve forgotten yourself…

Remember, how you submitted to every one of

your husband’s needs, dreams, wants,

and withered-

All your pastels ran into black,

your heart up against a cold egotistic wall.

But were the matriarch, nurturing, feeding,

building the lives of others,

and had the wind knocked-out of  breasts,

by disrespect.

The home was love!

Everything lay out in its path:

Meals, fabric, flowers, healing, tenderness…

Was love-

And it’s all she wanted.

Back when I left the city,

I was contemplating an easier life.

My eyes were young with enthusiasm.

Hands soft and brilliant.

Life between grew me weary,

with its many deaths…

taught me to dream about living.

Copyright 2013 – Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

Painting by Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

Copyright 2013

***

The motion of words unspoken—

A bride to desolation.

Aged eyes beneath veil of tulle,

drift vacant,

seek fulfillment, a resurrected groom.

Bedroom reflections, romantic fabric,

dormant space, disfigured heart.

The transition, a cancer,

quiet, cruel, and unforgiving—

love everlasting.

The magnificent cliché.

Bury our hearts,

believing.

In the safety of our house—

my dark room,

dark eyes;

secret tale telling lies,

no one knowing,

coming, going.

Quiet, turn out the light,

cover myself with

yellow linen memories.

September’s unseasonable humid breeze,

spins lesser degrees of torment,

imploring open-window reception.

I lie invisible on a steel bed,

its prison gate,

enslaved in our complications.

Stars glare through a carved-out triangle,

read my mind,

hide behind the moon.

A time before this, I remember…

sweep the waterfall from my eyes,

an old trick.

Your breath in and out with a racket,

alerts my defense, skin,

up-in-arms.

I cannot transport myself, willingly,

to another space, and help me,

I’ve tried!

Sleep comes too seldom

for dreams to escape.

– 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

From her book: The Sum of Something Meaningful

COPYRIGHT 2007 All Rights Reserved

I was thinking about my personal story, how I feel, and comparing it to that of the character’s, Andy, from the movie Shawshank Redemption.  The movie is among my favorites, with a superb cast and screenplay.  We can dissect the movie in many ways to relate to true-life situations and relationships. The character, Andy, digs for twenty-five years, a pocket-full of dirt at a time with a tiny rock hammer, a tunnel through the worst of shit to escape his life in prison hell.

In the movie, Andy, is an innocent good man who gets hurt and then has the misfortune of ending up in the wrong place, due to cruel people that place no value on his freedom or life.  In his situation, these bad people try in every way to break him, to twist things so that even he begins to question whether he deserves the punishment.  They aim for him to accept his misfortune simply as the way it is and to conform.

Doing his time, he does make true friends, and has experiences that he would not have otherwise on the outside.  He learns what he already knows, and because of his integrity, his hardships only build his already well-developed character.

The people of darkness that put the walls up around, Andy, could not see the beauty within the man, his heart or dreams, because they had never seen the light, and if ever they did get a glimmer, they only feared losing control to what they themselves could not possess, so they abused, intimidated and manipulated.  Andy went through times of great despair where it would have been easiest to forget himself, not to fight, but rather to accept his fate, and lay down his rock hammer to the forces that be. He did not!

Andy pictured, Zihuatanejo, an island off the Pacific Coast of Mexico, the deep blue ocean surrounding him, and the warmth of the sun on his skin. He imagined the boat he’d patch up, the business he’d have, the life, and the peace he would find.  He watched his own life for years in prison like a movie, knowing his experiences were real, but never accepted them as truth.  He would not die in the lie, nor give himself up to a fate others portrayed as his truth. He would not grieve his dreams as what could have been.  His fortitude and faith brought him home to a place he deserved to be.  As well, his heart opened to sharing his fortune with a friend.

Andy believed in his own truth and rewrote his story.  I will do the same, no matter how late it is in the game.

Maria Pisciotta

September 16, 2013

It’s just a dress…

The panel white doors slide left and right.

I shut them, and my eyes to the view.

In there is a dance,

dinner,

lover,

smile,

dream,

day, and the moon.

How it was, and went, like the wind and tide,

spectacular and fleeting.

I love you… I love you…

Here on the other side, safely-detached,

my heart zipped to the top, wisely by choice oblivious.

In a pound, two, ten or more, it should be gone,

the memory, along with her size.

So long… So long…

If I listen to the shuffle of wood hangers,

how they play eloquently like the harp, a sentimental tune,

to the strumming of my fingers, in love–

I will surely die in a memory:

Of pink chiffon (the playful girl);

White linen (crisp on a tan);

Blue, yellow, green cotton (laughing, nurturing, believing);

Black lace (sophistication);

Red satin (seductress).

And I dare try on a pair of my favorite heels, taller in the mirror,

dance in the silence of an abandoned room,

wish to walk under a glimmering night sky, hold your hand,

have your voice land softly like heaven on my heart.

Tears, once beautiful pearls.

Take a picture of her there…remember…

I was… I was…

It is too painful to forget.

Close the door–

Author MariaPisciotta-DellaPorte Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

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