Between the Cushions

By Erin Lee

A 200-plus page poetry collection by Erin Lee. (Because, sometimes, you have to dig for words).

All proceeds from sales of this book will be donated by the author to mental health services for mental wellness advocacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Jun 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386381006

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

Dedications:

For my muses, past and present – the ones who keep the couch warm...

.

Words

I chew on curling my tongue around them.

Tart and sweet at once

As I search for the perfect dash -

smelling of Spring and the potential in manure.

They dance in my nose, causing me to ask myself:

What is it that you're craving?

(A fried bologna sandwich).

I am transfixed by the twists in their form.

Some long and awkward,

Others short and to the point.

A drop out poet might call them right on.

Ink stains the page in familiar patterns

And I remember back to the time before I could read them.

Where they were like great mysteries.

Finding joy in encoding them

Like crosswords I play with now on Sundays

With green tea, blueberries, and Life cereal.

(We serve pulpy citrus juice and kisses at exactly 11 a.m.)

It's then that I wonder,

How did I ever live without them?

They wake me in the heart of night,

Begging as I reach for my glasses and purple pen. Rain checking them into the page.

I can hear you. Yes, I will look you up. Yes. I will call back Monday

When the kids are off to school and the house is still. To do. To do.

I finger them, chasing their strong lines And whimsy, blissful.

(Never one afraid to stare out a window daydreaming).

They are fuzzy and warm.

They understand, agree,

Like childhood friends living parallel lives

And hopelessly waiting for Mondays

Where they'll play with

words...

Here I Am

Diamonds in the high school gym

Dance upon our heads - looking back

She wore fishnets and tall black boots

Two tears at the seams

She quit the first day out - not as easy as once believed

His shoes were crisp and matched his coat

Trench, double breasted

He wore his beard so long it curled

But his head was shiny bald

She wondered if we’d guess it first

(As if we couldn’t tell).

Smiles built on roads plowed through

Snowstorms, tornadoes, hurricanes

Her hips were wide, but not as her smile

That carried certain mischief

In the pizzas, she chewed between classes

And bags she snagged because

She spoke up near the end

Watching us out of the corner of her eyes

And our ears opened wider

(What would she say?)

She carried the Hollywood sign on her back

West coast girl with a crooked smile

Too bright for a Georgia peach

And liked to sit in their laps

She cried when they told their tales

And wanted to reach for them

Knowing that she couldn’t

(Ethics, 101).

Stars in a crowded café

Who’ve seen the clouds above

And mine is the brightest -

Circled in rhinestones and pride

Knowing how far I’ve come

Without his hand to steady me

I’ve found my own two feet

And run toward the stage

To collect the prize

Fire, burning in my eyes.

Here I am.

Bohemia

(On the place in my dreams)

I’ve found it -

Tucked in the ground

Near the old furniture store.

Between hopelessly lost

And happily found

She puts her tattered bags down.

No locks on the door -

Members only.

Between alleyways

And faded haze

Writing dreams on the wall

In marker.

Where broken men bring teddy bears

Sleeping in rows

Under shared muses

Who watch over them.

He dances

And no one calls him a faggot

For twisting at the ballet bar.

Sashay today -

Paint splatters like fireworks.

She grins

Building - never tearing down.

Old school house

Wrapped in foam.

I’ve found it and I’ll never

Let it go.

Pilates Instructor

The phone rings and I wonder if she’s calling from her hands and knees.

Or could it be tippy-toes, where she dances tightrope round his moods?

I’m standing up straight and in no mood to bend, ever again.

I close my eyes and meditate to angels losing faith.

And wish I could fix her halo.

Downward dog; he’d let her urinate before sucking up his pride.

Calling her a lying cheat for things she’d never hide.

He follows her in spite, watching her jump and spin, repeat.

And makes promises he has no intention keep.

The phone rings and I wonder if she’s calling from that place again.

Or could it be that now she’s free, allowed to be?

I’m lying in the grass, winking at the sun.

I stretch to take it in, reminding myself to keep my mouth shut:

Head spun. Angels are angels.

She sleeps with a man who’d teach his sons to rape.

Waking up to punches in the face:

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven

Times she’ll go back. Her soul she gave away.

Seven deadly sins, negate:

Heaven is what waits. She turns away.

The phone rings and I wonder if she’s calling from Mars or Mercury.

How to speak from planet Earth, whenever will she see?

Venus.

She’s curled up into a ball. Purgatory.

I’m standing up straight, reminding myself to have faith:

Differentiate. You have a different fate.

I close my eyes and meditate of angels finding their wings.

And wish I could throw her strength.

Someday.

Bound no More

It cuts at the edges of a grin

So big that sunshine comes from her tonsils

When she’s allowed to sing.

Please? Once more?

Stockholm-born on the lips of a man

Who’d tell her how beautiful she was

Each and every day.

Filing her bank statements, tracked online

Drive bye’s she’d have invited him to anyway

And duct paper printed with leopard spots.

She eats sherbet from the tub

Rainbows dripping round the edges

And a spoon the temperature

Of snowmen built in her backyard

The strong stand alone.

How do you say no when someone is in pain?

When you’ve felt that same pain yourself?

She sucks on Popsicles and shrugs;

Glad it isn’t her - 

Bound no more

But still sticky and never, ever uncaring...

How could she?

As a child, she always chose the red

Pretending it was lipstick

And smiling big at mother

Who’d never allow such things

As little girls playing dress up;

Victoria’s dirty secret.

There’s an ache in her so deep

Nothing can fill it. 

She calls to once-known