Each night before bed
I press down the little
blue lotion lid
and revive
my crispy hands
from a days (not-so)
hard work.
Wash off the days failures
and hope tomorrow starts
a new path,
diverging from the hole
I’ve been digging
for twelve weeks—
my blisters could really use
a break.
I come to the work tired and achey.
Praying over the names of people I have never met in person.
Attending to the weekly task I have set myself
like homework.
It is always overwhelming at first,
looking over the pages still to go,
trying to picture each person as healed
rather than sick,
fighting off sleep and ADD
to get through the ritual.
Tonight, I feel strangely nervous.
I lose my place.
I stumble over words,
my voice unsteady.
My girlfriend has left the house,
so I can chant out loud,
easier than talking to the angels
in my head,
less liable to get lost
in the fog of my own thoughts.
I am constantly tempted to quit.
I have done this long enough.
But it is one of my few consistent
spiritual practices
and one of the few ways I serve the world.
I need to develop my gifts,
learn reiki,
use crystals,
meditate more,
talk to my guardian angels,
learn how to heal on a more global scale.
But until then,
I send out healing energy
nearly every week
to a select group.
I don’t make this strong a commitment
to morning pages,
to my writing,
to exercise
or diet
but
for some reason
I’ve made this commitment to them.
I come to the work tired,
reluctant,
moody,
distracted
but I always come to the work
and make sure it is done.
– After Christopher McCurry’s
“A Snake, Two Bodies, One Head”
I don’t much like the man, any more,
the way he lounges on his throne,
watchful of the way things are
away in the fields
but he does have a kingdom,
and the guides
drew him forth, in two decks,
so this
is me. Or how they see
Me
and a spread of others, cast about
the table speaks:
The Two of Coins.
The Two of Swords.
The Hanged Man
and The Hermit.
For once–finally–I get
to choose
which body
withers away–
which gets
to grow
once
the deck
is cut.
Remember me? 2014?
From the Mall Fashion show?
I pulled your belt a notch tighter
and snapped you right in half
and fed you to the other models.
Good to see you too!
Love your hair.
I. The Father
kisses her mother goodbye
as he heads to “work.”
While his wife clocks twelve hours,
he sips stale, gas-station coffee
munches matinee popcorn
buys another losing lottery ticket
returns home, grumbles
What a rough day
before he blesses the supper.
II. The Boyfriend
purrs poetry,
pledges to travel the world, as his hand
slides up her shirt.
She wants to succumb,
but she made vows to God and a future husband.
At the church carnival,
his arm snakes another’s waist
his mouth whispers recycled promises.
III. The First Husband
pins her body against the wall
crushes her neck with meaty hands
until her body slides unconscious to the floor.
When she comes to,
he strokes her hair
murmurs another apology against her ear
begs her and God’s forgiveness.
IV. The Last Husband
texts he’s working late.
Feed the kid. I’ll meet you at Bible study.
She calls his office —
the ring unanswered, while
he unzips his pants
drops a stack of bills
on another hotel nightstand.
the courage it takes
to follow a road
straight to a new town
new people
new things
the unknown
of finding joy
i buy a face mask with a clear window in it
so strangers can read my lips
i mouth “no thank you”
or “rest in peace”
sometimes “it’s a dead-end”
the window fogs up if i have too long an idea,
so i don’t.
