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Natalie, I see your face before me, bright, beneath the linden tree. Natalie, your hair of twigs and leaves, a golden ring I will bring to thee.
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I saw her on the step, leaning forward, the expectation in her eye for what I would say. We had talked on and on, it’d grown late. My tongue froze in place. She asked—did I want this? I saw her on the step, but what was she asking? Was it what I was hoping and feared for so long? It shone in my eyes that day, was written all over my face—did I want this? First would go our friends, and then our closer friends. No, we made our list of demands ahead of time. But alone, and in the heat of the day, all that came then flew away—we wanted this. And if I loved her, would she stay? Was it worth all that heartache? Would it end the sleepless nights, would it calm the crazed and jealous fights? Your brother calls me friend, your sister throws her hands around my neck. And your mother calls me to the table. She gives us her blessing.
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The voice came to you and it dragged you up and out of your sleep; led you down the stairs and out the door; the moon left its light at your feet. The notes were calm and clear. Your eyes were dewy. You were asking, what could the stars sewn in the sky tonight mean for us? It came to me much the same. I heard it first on our wedding day, as the children blushed and mothers wept (our fathers, bored, were looking away): the voice was plain and loud, it split this faithless man right down the center. But the stars sewn in the sky that night showed us something better. The voice came to you and it dragged you up and out of your sleep. But it left you, then it left us both, your garland lay unstrung at your feet. Oh, the talk is sharp and cruel. The worst of us is all we show now, as we gaze, dewy-eyed, at those grievous clouds.
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I came home to find you head in your hands, hands on the table, and your belly showing from under your shirt. I came, I ran for blocks, as soon as I heard, as soon as I knew you weren’t OK—you’re five days late. I led you down, down each stair. Your palms were sweaty as mine. But I stole a smile then. We spoke of all our dearest dreams—oh, Natalie, soon we’ll be something different. The car was packed. We hit the road; we’d meet your parents there. I choked down each breath like a drowning man; a breeze was blowing through your tousled hair. Not long ago, I found you home: you’d changed, you were staring at the floor. I had something to give. You had so much more. I came home to find two girls waiting, a family waiting.
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You brushed my hands aside. I straightened up and walked out. I ran on down the hall and flew right into traffic. The cars swerved as they fled; I reeled, as I had lost you. I fell down in the street. Our friends, they circled around us as I ripped my daughter from you and we left. I would find something different. For myself, and all I failed to do, I will tear our life in two. You swore it wasn’t me. Words left from some old lover, they stuck under your tongue and spurned the love I offered. The cars swerved as they fled; I reeled—I thought I’d lost you. We fell down in the street.
And you looked up at me. You held on to me.
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Her flaxen hair sways in the breeze. Old feelings rise up, take hold of me—they swept me off my feet. You found all that was good in my heart. (I’d been looking for years, always coming up short.) You swept me off, you swept me off my feet. Right out of that lonely house and into the street. But you know where I’ve been tonight. I know you know. You know it all. I bury my face in your summer dress. Could I love you any less than this? The old feelings rise in my chest. Old feelings rise in me.
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I wait each night, curled up in our bed. I watch for the porch light to change and listen for your step. I feign sleep, feel you run your cool hand across my brow. My arms turn to goose flesh when you say her name out loud. In the morning, you’ll be smiling, singing softly as you dress. And you’ll leave for work, pat me on the head, say there’s nothing to confess. All through the day, we step out of your way. Men bow at your right and left, nod at every cruel word you say. And the smiles you get, from those little girls who don’t know quite yet just what’s coming to them. In the morning, you’ll be laughing: another notch in the old belt. You see me crying, throw your hands up in the air, you say you wouldn’t dare. For the first time in months, you came right home, the sun still out. You shake your head and groan, this place is such a mess. You storm in to catch us, our clothes strewn around the room. There’s always something to confess.
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8. |
Sarah [Sarah's Husband]
02:44
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Words hung heavy on your heart, like that stone round your neck, when you were thrown in, cast out into the crowd. The face you showed, the truth you told hit home, but too late. And a quiet man (this one), turns his face and shuts his eyes. He shuts them tight. The baying wolves on your trail, and the executioner’s song, it ripped the autumn air. You ran right home one last time; you’d show them all. A child is asleep and he’s waiting for his mother. (A child asleep is the sweetest sight of all.) A child is asleep and the footsteps gingerly pass then stop: the door swings open, the sheets stir; the words don’t come, but thoughts of everyone. Now a hand comes across and stops you—it is mine. Lover, you made the choice.
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9. |
Interstate [Sarah]
03:02
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I was wringing my hands. You were spinning your lies. The car was packed, the closets checked over twice. This life you would give up for a moment of rest, for some time to be among friends with less. You were running from everyone that day you came to burden my ring finger and tack on your last name. But you held me so tightly for a year or more. Say you’ll come back to me strong as before. I tear through the albums; the wall’s a sheet of white. And in the scattered glass and the emptied drawers all things are made right. Our blessed temples are burning. Our blessed bodies cry out as the car pulls away and dissolves on the road bending south.
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I woke up in a sweat, and paced there in the dark—a family stitched together, a family falls apart. And in an empty room, I thought I saw you. It’s just the nighttime’s tricks. I hear their laughter, their singing from the street. I see the fold of her dress, that look that I know best. I see it all tonight. I feel her warmth tonight. It’s just a sick man’s wish. Now my friends stay and take me all over town. They swear they’ve nowhere to be, but I know better than that. Had I forgotten them? There’s always something waiting. There’s always something waiting for us.
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The Chairman Dances Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Band/mystics (indie rock & folk from Philly)
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