I long for spring

Just like my eyes long to see the fullness of the moon

A clear brightness greater than the very own host of the sky

The moon is still out in the middle of Martin Luther King,
to the left of the Calvary Baptist,
and oh shit it is 8:26 AM.
Honey, put some clothes on!
I shout to her.
She is naked as the day she was born.
I think of myself as a girl’s girl so I cannot
have my friend get cuffed for indecent exposure
just cause she’s out too late messin’ around.
Especially not in front of the church, woohee would people talk.
The cops are rushing into work on Main Street,
hot coffees in hand.
 

“Will you still love me when you truly know me?”

The question echoes in the back of my head

at every family get together.

A sadness underlying all the happy times.

You have seen hints of my true identity

(the colored nail polish),

heard rumors about me

(“He’s living as a woman.”),

and your reactions have not been kind.

I know that love can be conditional.

I know that some day we may no longer speak.

I hate this,

I fear this,

and I also long for it.

At least I would be free

from your expectations of me,

no longer bound by your false perceptions of me

that I fear you love more than my actual self.

I don’t want you to love who I was

at eight years old.

I want you to love me.

We can be cruel to each other.

I have taken great pains

to keep my feminine name from you.

I don’t want her to become a mean joke.

I try to keep my own sarcasm in check.

When you walk right into a punchline,

it takes willpower for me not to pull the trigger.

We have always used humor as a weapon.

I’m trying to stop.

It’s hard when I have no shield.

I’m tired

of fighting with you.

I’m tired of hiding from you.

I’m tired of feeling angry

and jealous.

I wish to Christ you would stop hugging me

and throwing around “I love you’s”

if you’re not going to let me be myself.

I’m sick of pretending to be a family.

I’m sick of being a son, a brother, an uncle.

Let me be a daughter, a sister, an aunt.

Someday, I will show you who I am.

But you are already showing me who you are.

I told you who I was.

And you refused to listen.

Some day, I will say it again,

louder and clearer.

And I wonder,

Will you still love me?

Will you love me for the first time?

yet moment by moment
        hummingbird hovers nearby,
whispers of your presence
        gentle as lover’s
                touch, embrace this precious
life ‘fore flying
        away lightly with grace

Waves

Something I’ve lately noticed,

And it kind of makes me sore,

Folks out in the country,

Don’t seem to wave much anymore.

Now, I know what you might be thinking,

Sure, it could be they just don’t wave at me,

But I’ve paid attention riding with others,

And waves are now a rarity. 

Has the country lost the kindness,

That it used to have?

If so can we fix it?

Is there a balm or salve?

Old pickups in passing,

One finger raised you’d see,

Of course you might get the whole hand wave,

From friends or family. 

When passing folks a workin’,

In the garden or the yard,

They would most always wave at you,

And show you some regard.

Then you would return the favor,

To let them know you cared,

Perhaps to let them know you sympathized,

And the feeling at least, was shared.

Is it just the world we live in?

Is the rat race now too fast?

Could it be common curtesy,

Is now part of the past?

I hope that ain’t the case, sir.

I hope it just ain’t so,

But I have to say I miss the friendly place,

That I used to know. 

Who is the right operator
What is the commutative rule of great-grandparents born and buried in this soil
When does the lack of a Y chromosome cancel all
Why do we divide or multiply by the color of our skin
Where do we put the parentheses
How do we know the constants from the variables

Solastalgia is a form of homesickness or emotional distress one gets when still at home, but the environment has been altered and feels unfamiliar, in many cases caused by environmental change

                Waves of heat parch your thirsty soil as

                Rain fails to nourish what I thought would

                Always be here. But you have no more to give.

                We use too much, need too much while the

                Appetites of desert and dust beckon you.

                I asked a woman taken from her land how

                She bore the loss of what was once so dear.

                It lives within my heart, she said. Not gone,

                But here. She touched her chest. And yet

                A part of her was sad and broken.

                We have shared endless cadences

                Of seasons as they have come and gone.

                Still spring will rise, birds will sing the air to life as

                I take my broken pieces to a land of hope and water

                Holding within the place you will always be

found poem, after Tinderbox Poetry Journal interview
                             with Kelli Russell Agodon and Martha Silano  

                                                                                        Truth Tastes Like                                                                                                                                       music
 
                                                                                                             sidelines cheering
                                                                                                          sloppy  
                        first line pops

                                                                                              on the trail
                 jogging  
                                          
                                                                                     don’t stop.   Kinda dangerous, I guess, but                                                                                                                                          can’t put it off        

        Maybe we should get matching “Poetry chose me” t-shirts

It’s where the planet