I can’t hardly stand the heat.
The more I sweat the meaner I get.
Every salty drop beading up on my brow
pisses me the fuck off when I feel it
gathering the audacity to condense
and slide its way over my pale skin.
My blood gets to boiling
and I brood and I’m ornery.
Summer doesn’t sit right with me,
but the salt sting dripping into my eyes
makes me think of tear gas today
and I’m thankful for the reminder
to shut my sweaty mouth
and quit my bitching.
“We”
Only happens
When you’re falling
Into the pool
And you reach out
To pull
Me
In with you
She walks the waters edge
Solemnly she gazes into the stillness
Looking back at her, there is beauty–
A woman like none she has ever seen.
Lost in the gaze of the mysterious woman,
There was a keen sense of connection- the rhythm of her heart — with hers became one.
For a moment, she felt the beauty’s strength. Her confidence. Her kindness. Her…hope.
Then, ashamed, she withdrew.
The voice inside her head whispered, “that will never be you.”
Darkness rested on her shoulders, and she could barely stand – suddenly she felt weak.
And in the darkness the voices emerged.
Stone, after stone, after stone, were hurled at her, relentlessly— bouncing from her bruised and battered body into the water.
Finally, numb and beaten, she crawled back to the water’s edge — looking for the mysterious beauty she had just seen — seeking one ounce of her strength.
But the stones’ ripples stole her away — left, looking back at her, she saw her own disfigured face, creased with lines and shadows of disappointment, hopelessness, hurt, and defeat.
In the ripples she saw the one reflection she knew too well, “Oh, there you are — “
Again in shame she withdrew. Closing her eyes and rebelling against her mind. She shouted,
“No! This is not me!”
Lurching forward, she attacked the reflection- trying to fight back — she only longed for peace, strength, and beauty.
She believed that just under the surface, she would find the mysterious beauty and her strength. But the ripples of deception raged as she thrust herself into the deep. And the cold, lonely waters swallowed her whole as she sank.
Her heart was too heavy — deception led her to sink.
I.
where do words go in this new june heat
as i look to the places that taught inclusivity
and turn off its light? how come
those who watered us hate how we’ve grown?
i’ve forgotten kentucky and her cruelty
cradled in a rolling hill of a day dream
she’s lassoed herself into Ab’s arms
“but (ugh), we were on the good side”
forgetting history is privilege
and we have failed to remember
racism is in our sweet tea kentucky blue red-lining segregating gentrifying blood
II.
i march with my brother
when the sea begins to rise
our hands in surrender
a fear bubbles inside me
how can a body be a weapon
when it’s reaching towards God?
III.
justice
to all of the flowers
prematurely picked
to the dreams deferred
over and over and over again
justice
the mountains are a physical
embodiment of our closure;
a firm period, marking the ending
of something.
the deep, rolling valleys–
the never-endingness to
the Godly fading of the
distance–reminds me
that though things end,
there is something about everything
(the whispers, the words,
the touching, the crying,
the laughs,
the solace)
that continues, eerily…
the only woman i’ve loved
tells me she loves me, but
does her love expand
through the trenches?
does it give into the hollowing?
there is sweat and sand,
wet hair and salty faces,
tears and condolances.
i don’t know what this is,
but i am in love with this.
there is a stillness
in the way we move.
i bless this sad, queer loneliness
between us; i bless it
like i bless the Earth,
softly, like all will be
lost. the gentleness of
my touch and my words
are a forbidden prayer
that everything will last,
endless like the valley…
the wind…
the pines…
the dirt…
the river…
the birds…
the honeysuckles…
Decades of practice
at pariah-like status
in my own family prepared me
for this, the inevitable
turn
where I see the shun coming
double-barrel. How dare
the hippie, the transplant-Yankee
not respect the unspoken
‘we don’t criticize the blue line’
treaty, brokered without my signing
& before my time. It takes a
beat
to shoulder the weight, to slot
a reply sweeter than
‘I won’t shut up. You can die
mad about it.’ from tongue to mind
(as always, I *aim* for kind)….
but
what catches me
is the shine in your eyes. This
is your blood
naming me ‘hatred’, saying
clearly my eyes see evil in souls
where I know it does not reside.
I
am good with it. Unsurprised.
But you
for you, is this new? The weight
shifts, sublimating in saline-light.
Becomes a choice
you now get to carry. All
I can do, is apologize.
I’ve become far too familiar
with the sight of blank pages,
collected notebooks
and guilt
with the thoughts of filling them.
To taint potential with inadequacy,
hope
with
regrets.
It’s so much easier to sit and dream,
pretend you’re a poet,
preen and think of every
masterpiece
you’ll never write.
I remember deleting projects
the day before they were due,
would rather submit hollow phrases
with the knowledge that bad marks
were a choice, not a reflection of
capability.
It’s 11:32 at night.
Not a lot has changed.
But at least I’m starting to turn
something
in.
When the pain gets to be too much
The bullshit too overwhelming
The world crashing to pieces
Everyone deserves to run away.
Run away from their own lives
For a little bit or forever
To take a break and feel free
Feel alive, feel peace
It doesn’t matter how far
Or how wild of an adventure
Just go.
Pack a bag, take a breath
And get away
If you never take a break
For yourself
You’ll get lost in everything
And you’re light will diminish
I thought
the
pandemic’s disruption
of work in
March
was enough
for one spring.
I thought
the
random vandalism
to my car in
early April,
$3,000 to be exact,
was a bit of
overkill.
I thought
the
flooded basement in
May,
$19,000 to be exact,
took things
to a
whole
new level.
I never thought I’d see
the
entire country
burn,
(cost TBD),
in June.
Could someone
please
take me back
to the
halcion
Ides of March?
