I like the how the trees
make tunnels of green
green leaves
in the summer-
arching over country roads.
How the leaves allow
sunlight to filter through
and leave patterns
on the pavement.
I like driving here
on sunny afternoons
with the windows down,
feeling the wind
dance through my fingertips.
And when I think about leaving this place
and moving on to bigger
and greater things,
this is one of the only things
I think about missing.
What if a kiss were a stone
Born in deep earth fires
Before it showed itself on lips?
What if only winter freeze
Were strong enough to lift a kiss
And drive it across desert flats?
Would a kiss, then, still be
Some uncertain event on the horizon?
Or would it stand like a porphyry
Tower, a landmark, an anchor?
Or would it be deadweight,
A millstone around the neck?
She doesn’t know how
to be a dog, my stepdaughter tells us,
of her own wild child, bristled fur
behind her chewed up window blinds,
and I think, but do not say,
I don’t know how
to be your mother, though I try
to remember
me at twenty-six, impossible
to be both woman
and daughter, blindly
battering the walls, searching
for the limits of my own parents’ love.
There is so much I do not know,
or say, now that I am
nobody’s daughter.
I have forgotten
all the wrongs I could never
forgive them, and am still
too blind to see the wounds
I surely have afflicted,
mother only to another
mother’s child.
Fig leaves don’t offer enough coverage
in a marriage
I am exposed before you
You’ve crucified yourself
on my selfishness, lust, and pride
And in every argument
You aim and fire the question
“How have you brought Christ into this?”
And my lion’s mouth is shut
July 2nd, 2011 was death and birth
Our expectations of one another
eventually crumbled
under the trembling stone rolled away
and Christ taught us marriage is much sweeter
when He’s holding the leaves
ain’t it a sin to rub that much tobacoo into your lungs?
lay that many scars on your knee caps,
press those teeth into so much sugar?
I’ll shroud myself in linen now,
it’s a little damp still, a little stiff with salt
All the birds in my shirtsleeves are scratching up my arms,
I’ll undo my wristcuffs to let them go first.
I’m turning my eyes inside out.
all that I can see now are my own gauzy optic nerves,
i can feel the linen drying into my cuts
I’m going to fill my mouth with honey anyway.
I see you pouting
posing as if bored
(so you remember)
tawdry, blemished
riding my rails of danger.
You spurned our tomorrow
yesterday
yet here you are
bad teeth pierced tongue black lips
entitled
at my midnight door.
Should I offer
doughnuts and bourbon
after I serve you?
no underwear
you’ll catch your death
it doesn’t hurt
to look
your skinny white
body
a nest of bones
I sleep in
Afloat in a vast sea of nothing
The destination unspoken unseen,
Purpose has lost meaning.
Everybody burns into ashes,
And we are left behind with only
The taste of dust.
Searching for the fruit of life
Distant shells are all that we find.
Do not be led astray by
Death, humanity’s antidote.
Through despair we find each other,
From anger we harness passion,
Without sorrow we forget love.
The loss of a beloved leaves a void,
But it does not make us empty.
Death becomes what we deem it
For that is the beauty of life,
So please continue to live.
Afloat in a vast sea of nothing
The destination unspoken unseen,
Purpose has lost meaning.
Everybody burns into ashes,
And we are left behind with only
The taste of dust.
Searching for the fruit of life
Distant shells are all that we find.
Do not be led astray by
Death, humanity’s antidote.
Through despair we find each other,
From anger we harness passion,
Without sorrow we forget love.
The loss of a beloved leaves a void,
But it does not make us empty.
Death becomes what we deem it
For that is the beauty of life,
So please continue to live.
