I lie awake
almost shaking,
the brown plastic vial
within arm’s reach,
a golden temptress
offering relief.
I know I do not
need to be afraid.
But it is
pitch black dark
and I hear the echo
of stories ricocheting
off the walls.
The scalpel
that cut me
is not as sharp
as this.
When did I loose this feeling?
This feeling of bitter revenge,
And utter betrayal.
I guess it was when I met you.
You taught me to love,
To forgive,
And to live life in the present.
When did I loose this feeling?
When I saw your helping hand,
And kind spirit.
I lost this feeling,
By admitting I was wrong.
By letting you guid me.
I lost this feeling,
When I let you into my life.
When I let go of my fears.
When I took down the barriers,
Guarding my heart.
I lost this feeling,
And now I feel free,
Like a warm breeze.
Now I can live my life.
Now I can be who I am.
I have no regrets.
A circle is forever, only slightly
longer than your elastic usefulness.
First and most earnest vows I made
to you: to cherish you and carry you
with me always around one wrist
(preferrably left, but either will do)
and to give as much as I receive,
to share you with anyone in need without
expecting your return. And these vows
I’ve kept, like many faithful women –
so to see you sprawled on a faded, creaky
staircase in the dark corner of a coffee shop
strikes me as wanting betrayal
or regrettable forgetfulness,
and I apologize on behalf of every
summer day ponytail or work stress bun.
You know the river I’m talking about.
The one you bathed in once before you knew better but now it seems daunting to dip a toe in it.
I’ve felt that water drag me along so many times
so I became a strong swimmer.
I too have felt like I was throwing myself in there to drown
the only difference now is when I feel myself
sinking
I just call it a baptism
and let the water wash away all that has made me feel so heavy.
I want to stretch, pull myself apart
and open up. I am a right angle in the dark,
a dusty corner made of wood and nails
watching as the doorway lets in light
too good to reach me. Now and then
I catch a spider, a ray of afternoon sun
flickering through the curtains. Once a toy,
lost briefly by the girl, spun into the fork of
my intersection and it felt like ringing church bells.
Nothing here lasts long enough to enjoy. All
I can think about is that doorway and its width,
how they all pass through so easily and give it
a purpose. If I could unfold and puff myself out,
cut a hole through my center for the light to come through,
invite them to cross my threshold…would I ever sleep again?
Find the cool comfort of those gunsmoke shadows?
Maybe the dust would never settle, but only dance
in the atmosphere and keep me awake. Maybe it’s enough
to sit silent and hungry, waiting for the day to restart
or for the walls to decide to crumble, a catastrophe
that needs a right angle to fail.
Won’t you celebrate with me
those who laid hands on my child
to commission him for life beyond our borders
Those who led prodded
coached taught modeled
what it means to be a human
Those who joined us in this sacred task
weaving blood bone guts head heart spirit
transmitting our echoes from present to future
Together we have wrought something wondrous
My sister
Red clay always reminds me of my mother,
neither born nor buried in such bright, heavy earth,
but in between found a patch of her own and claimed it,
tamed it with horse shit and other black offerings,
night after night as the sun went down behind a rise
so gentle she would hardly call it hill, much less mountain.
She knew her mountains, the shadows they made.
Here, only her shadow bent and rose,
bent again to make the bed her lilies would lie in,
then spring forth year after year.
Come fall she would press her small foot
hard against the spade’s square edge,
push it deep into the layers of soil,
a dangling cluster of pale bulbs
flung at my feet, carried north to my garden,
clay still clinging to their roots.
She’s ash now, her garden mowed over
and sown with someone else’s seed,
but the lilies still bloom by my door,
red as wet clay.
my sea-breeze braid
blows across my face.
there’s a spell stitched
in my skin.
an unholy sound
falls out of me
and my head is
filled with sin.
a song plays backwards
i yearn to hear
so i forget
the body that i’m in.
the treetop circus
packs up to leave
and the song just
starts again.
