Heather Autumn Love

November 2007

Heather Autumn Love is a neophyte in the poetry world.  She began attending the Two Idiots Peddling Poetry reading hosted by Ben Trigg and Steve Ramirez at the Ugly Mug Caffe in 2005, while pursuing her master's degree in counseling psychology.  She has read as a open reader regularly in Old Town Orange, CA since then, and has been selected to feature in the OC Poetry Festival as one of the New Voices.  She currently works for a nonprofit organization in Santa Ana as a marriage and family therapist intern, as well as acting as the program coordinator for a statewide grant focused on high-risk youths.

A PIECE OF WOOD IN THE SLIDING GLASS DOOR

I was only ten or eleven when the massacre began
The serial killer dismembering young single women on the Eastern Coast
Maybe Virginia
I don’t remember much, just a few details
I remember the victims gazing from the pages of People magazine
Long hair shining
Unblemished skin
Smiles unwary of knife torn fate
And I remember the passing word of advice
A warning for women living alone
To place a piece of wood in their sliding glass door
I had asked my mother why

So many lessons forgotten
Over close to thirty years
Lapses happen daily in cooking, electronics
But every night I remember to replace the stretch of cardboard
Tested for durability
Check the locks and windows with compulsive regularity

Somehow I always sensed that alone would be my baseline
In elementary school girls were practicing their signature
Their last names exchanged for their weekly crush
Scribbling hearts around the “Mrs” that began each line
I used my ink instead to polish my autograph
Prepare for future book-signings
Titles for childhood stories that would never become novels   

Even younger still,
In the night, my cousins and I would huddle
And tremble under blankets
Seeking comfort against the squeal of feeding coyotes
And once the air was silent, they would whisper
Their future son’s and daughter’s names
As if breathing a secret
I would never understand

Playing house for me was uneventful and dull
So friends stopped visiting my imaginary home
And I couldn’t keep a husband
But it was preferable to pantomimed baking and cleaning
I once broke into hysterical sobs
Grinding meatloaf under my father’s command
I couldn’t explain why

And in high school, when other girls were growing with child
And dropping from the radar
I had already come to terms with a life of solitude, called independence
Craved estrangement and mystery
The glamour of being nameless, without commitment or cares

It turns out it’s not as glamorous as it seemed
To a thirteen year old girl
Wanting only to crawl out of her skin

Most memories of that time are faint or pockmarked
But I remember tiny details
I believed would haunt me later

I trust the cardboard to keep out the night
To keep me safe
And whole

I have to trust in something

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THE ACCOUNTANT'S LULLABY

Just beyond the Pearly Gates, the roads are paved with Microsoft Excel sheets
Infinite cells spreading beyond what eyes can see
Prepared with error-proof formulas for every question in creation
Each cloud is numbered
Plaques designate the percentage of allowable cost dispensed to touch every star
And journal ledgers balance with scarcely a glance
Confirmation emails appear in hand
Approving budget summaries
Liability insurance
Deadlines stretching into eternity
Government grants papering every wall
It is always the beginning of the fiscal year
New horizons beckon after the final crunch
And with each new thought, a voice on speaker phone answers
Whittling curiosities into concrete figures
Now it whispers, “The square root of lavender is thirty one.  Thank you for your call.”