Posts for June 6, 2019 (page 3)

when you humble yourself on snakebites and in inns,
think on the cosmos that turns a flower’s face.
don’t wonder Enki’s emptiness, his infinity,
nor wander lost in another’s memory.
you’re here a stone and stale bread, a promise, a path, a hope.
the taste of love is in your hands;
tears now are sweet and unsalt.
 
In Ereshkigal’s halls which are whiter than fangs,
Unsavaged Enkidu stretches out his arms
They are                                             Wreathed in waiting,
With                                                    Hands blacker than heart.
 
He says, “You’re going to be amazing.”
 
a story bites you like snakefangs;
it pulls you in the cold of the immortal sea,
and what you bring back with your lungs against a surface—
that thing grows so deep beyond the reach of words.

Almost 5 years ago
I hoped to live long enough 
to see you graduate, a 12-year goal. 

I have gotten to see 
lengthening of your slim bones
and a young man’s planes in your sweet face.

I try to be here
and not wallow in our past- 
Baby Lion is under the bed.

I do tend to grasp-
hanging on to the moments
making sure you don’t miss anything.

My confidence wanes-
Are you embarrassed by me?
I do take more photos of myself.

I want you to see
that I was right there with you, 
that I will always be by your side.

I see you succeed
and know you will be all right
if I am not here one bright May day.

you keep coming back around
as a distant and cold weather
but I know you’re coming 
as a burning hot summer
with swollen suns
and yellow heavy moons
then you talk and talk and talk
a voice like the chorus of insects
speak out in mysteries of what could
but before I can find you
you’re off to another tree
taking the magic of summer
with you

I’ve always been envious
of your masterful whip
back into any parking space

I’ve always been impressed
with your uncle’s masterful whip
back into any parking space

I’ve always been aroused
by your cousin’s masterful whip
back into any parking space

It’ll be uncanny
when your daughter masterfully whips
back into any parking space

I should’ve been outraged
by this familial
survival skill

When they come for you
detesting your asphalt skin

When they come for your uncle
this ingrained instinct

When they come for your cousin
of backwards whipping

When they come for your daughter
will give living a fair crack

Im stuck.
Like a feral animal, caught in a hunters trap. 
I call for help, my voice becomes a howl.
The lonley echo carries, unheard by anyone who could save me. 

I could find comfort in my desperation. 
Accepting my fate is easy when there is no escape. 

But, like the wild game I’ve connected myself with,
my insincts speak to me.

I find freedom in the pain that is moving forward. 

The storm last night passed in thunder, lightening, wind

lifting tree branches, humidity and sweat. Climbing out 

of the basement from yoga class, we all remarked at the change, 

our lungs heavy with moisture, in spite of having stretched

for an hour. The instructor easy but we were exhausted, all.

Something in the air always begs its own needs. We mere

passengers on this little planet, all its big cycles so necessary,

a small time. 

I once lost a footrace with
two pregnant Korean women.    

My students’ rich dads 
grimaced in the stands.     

Then they set the animals on me, their hooves
and paws pushed me deep into the ground

The clouds filled with a storm consume the sky

Mirroring the state of my mind

The maddening stillness grips

building chaos in its wake

Few sounds pierce this place

The first drops leading drops kiss my face

Bringing flashes of light all around

Only for the darkness to embrace

A new dawn is coming

But first the storm

You tell me you’ve given your thirty day notice,
that you would not be a good therapist
if you did not practice what you preach,
did not identify your needs and go after them.
And now it is my turn.
Next week, I am to tell you what I want and need in a therapist
when, like Bono,
all I want is you.
I tell you it is okay.
You say you wished it felt okay.
I can not caretake you
from my own place
of fresh devastation.
It is exhausting to imagine
starting all over yet again,
letting another therapist get to know me.
Again.
The trans thing.
Again.
The self harm thing.
Again.
The everything.
Again.

It’s like trying to fall in love in five minutes.
We have speed dating.
It’s only a matter of time until someone comes up with speed therapy.
You get to interview 20 different shrinks,
they get a quick glimpse of your particular brand of crazy.
Then you both decide if any of you are a match.

I know you want to fix this before we say goodbye.
But it’s not that kind of thing.
My initial feeling is always going to be one of abandonment.
And I have to sit with that a while.
In time, peace and answers will come.
Thoughts will clear.
Words will form.
But for now I am adrift.

Death  –  one last breath –
The reality of finality.
No more do overs 
Nothing can fix it
Nothing can change it
No words to speak 

As I stand at the foot of
     your mother’s bed
I am sharing your sacred space
I am observing your compassion
     your tenderness and your tears
 And my heart remembers
          another time  –  my time  –
               much like this . . .

But this is is your  time 
     and I am wondering
         and imaginging
     What must you be thinking?

Oh moment that I dread –
I know you are coming
How can I prepare?
What am I to do? 

Oh  – Momma –
I will hold your hand
I will tell you that I love you
I will kiss your forehead and
     put a cool cloth on your brow

Your fingernails
     I’ll add polish to your nails
          one last time
I’ll put lotion on your hands

And I’ll wait ~

I’ll wait as your breath
     grows shallow
I’ll wait until your strong heart 
     stops beating
I’ll wait until you take
     one last breath
I’ll wait for my heart to say good bye

And I’ll wait ~
     for the moment 
         when you are
                   no more.