The Wild
The W I L D has awakened in me-
A ferocious beauty—
No longer tamed, no longer in
C A P T I V I T Y.
Ahahahahaahahah
Everything is so perfect
aren’t you jealous
Be perfect of me
Long to be my perfect !
I have so many fine fabrics and wet snacks
I have a huge cup of whipped cream
And you have the stink of envy
I have all the lemon juice I could ever drink
all the peanut shells I could ever eat
All the lonesome I could ever be
You have a secret pinterest board
That is pictures of cartoon ladies wearing bikinis
With my face pasted onto them
Dexter’s mom isn’t real
Asshole
Purple suitcase, late
gift comes with note: “production
delayed by COVID”.
This reward from his
new job; supplying income
& time to travel
But sequestered I
remain, immune system far
too vulnerable.
what the fuck is there to say
when there’s smoke in your eyes
and mouth
in your throat
and your lungs
pawing through the cloud trying to decipher
what parts are snuck tobacco
and which aren’t
I only let you see
a glimpse of who
I really am. You notice
a marble statue carefully
carved and polished.
But that’s not me;
though I aim for perfection,
I fall far short. I never
allow you to see the rusty
tin can filled with holes
and dents. That’s me.
I am flawed, bruised,
damaged. Do you see
my soul, or just a facade?
relinquish
set aside on a rainy night
all of it
the known and the not
until a larger portion
evades
only then will I let go
stupidly
since I have my own choices to make
surrender
wrap up in a figurative bow
what will be, might already
accept uncertainty
indefinitely
Oh death you had come
to carry my mother home
but you came too soon
There was a request
She wanted to be baptized
Is it now too late?
With her hand in mine
you came gently as a friend
and took pain away
Tears welled in my eyes
and fell upon her sweet cheek
as pure liquid love
Her life now complete
when baptized with holy tears
went to be with God
The birdsong quiets
tap tap tap turns to drumming
all of the sudden it’s pouring the rain
My memory’s eye sees my mother run outside
brown hair tamed in a bright red bandana
flipping clothespins like a champ
She calls back, “Mind the stove.”
My twelve-year-old eyes watch from the window
as she battles against the rain
Tonight I hear the rain
I turn off CNN
I smell the clothes
