Posts for 2020 (page 121)

Naghmeh.  The round, jangling wood frame—your 
fingers.  Doum tak kah, doum tak—the drum. Rings
snapping back sharply against the skin.  Salaam.

Naghmeh.  The desert strings pluck, thrumming the
voices crying, whispering, and shouting lament over you—
listening, our hearts in tune—one open ear.  The fires burn.

Naghmeh.  Your encircled wrists, snapping hips whipping 
in each turn, people hiding in the folds of your dresses, 
tonight your arms are twirling above.  The dance is answered. 

Naghmeh.  The ney mourns and fastens each measure of
cloth you weave.  She is sweet dovesong, plaintive cooing. 
You are untouched by the piping sorrow.  Inshallah.   

And so you persist, Naghmeh, in time out of mind and
place.  Be there no one lonesomely, alone facing fires.
You beat the charm of the djinn away.  They flee.

And I descend.  From the many wishes the genies and
devils would have me choose, there is only this—
Naghmeh—your round skin, the rings moving us twain.  My love.

Cry

Hate 

Run 

Confront

    the crushing despair from

    capitalism and

    misunderstandings

Languish 

in the endless world

In the endless futures

That each feel impossible

Weep 

    For harm

    For pain

    For lost chances

    For broken connections

Shake

Breathe 

Bake some cookies 

Buy a shelf

Rest 

Dream 

Cherish

Create something new.

If I want to. 

Mama taught me to make 
the family favorite.
Her’s were light and fluffy
speckled with bright green
parsley. Spoonfuls of batter
atop the chicken and gravy
Ten minutes topless
Ten minutes covered.

I went off the grid making
mine with flecks of thyme to
spice it up.

Moist dumplins soaked
in chicken gravy ready to
slither down.

Nosy lid lifters were not
permitted.
Mama’s big wooden spoon
would smack your paw as
my little brother found out
real quick!

Savor the things you love

because you never know

that the last time

is the last time.

When we said goodbye to Kelly,

I looked forward to more

long-distance trips

and long conversations

with my new friend.

I thought she would beat that damn cancer

like she promised.

I do not remember the last time

I petted my dog

and kissed her

and told her goodbye.

Because I was packing for a trip

and I thought

I would see her

in a few days.

I wish I could have that memory back.

The comedy theater I used to visit

every year on my birthday

as a child

is finally closing.

I will probably not get there

before the final curtain,

not get to laugh

with old friends

over popcorn.

My last visit

was my last visit.

Savor what you love.

Everything changes,

everything ends

without warning.

Feb. 7?  1996   (28 years old-found in a journal)
What is my plan…?
to climb a mountain
to see the stars
to cry out
to pet my cat
to sew my life
into a seat
to sit upon 
a mountain.

June 13?  2020   (You do the math  years old.)
What is my plan…?
I sit upon this mountain
I see the stars
real stars
I cry out 
to nothing
pet two cats &
a dog
I see my three teen children
plus one man
I sit upon 
this mountain
soil on my hands
wondering how I built it
and where I want 
to stand.

a web of lies

spun so tightly together

entrapping anything that dares try to enter

i never found the time to observe,

to see if there was more to you than what met the eye

if i had maybe i wouldn’t be stuck now

like a fly,

unaware of the danger coming

i waited

but the longer i stayed the more entangled i found myself

and i’d asked for help plenty of times

but i never realized in order to get out i’d have to want to

Flocking back to a prior life 
I take an extra pill to keep me awake.
This going home
can not wait until morning.
I have to go now.

For seven hours.
I listen to my dog snoring
and stare at the blurry lines 
and traffic cones.

I arrive before the others,
circling the neighborhood 
like vultures.
ive or if this is a dream.

underlying anger
which permeates every aspect of my being
music, a woman yelling on the street
an afternoon of sirens
otherwise, the world quietly marches on
it is going to take more than a smile to effect change though
on any front
we want a simplistic methodology
a checklist to ensure harmony
I can attest to the fact it doesn’t matter
peace sometimes comes with a price
but we knew that going in
what we didn’t know
is how much we can tolerate before morning

Remember the rainstorm
given flesh- soft spoken downpour,
there was a monsoon
brewing in her lungs. 
Color me windswept,
my ribs a wrecked ship in your wake,
do you ache for the maelstrom?
Do you envy the aftermath?
Debrisweaver, 
artist of catastrophe,
do you see the beauty in disaster?
Do you empty your canvas of the ocean?
Stormsinger,
will you drum me to sleep
before the day breaks?

the river, flowing endlessly
into the distance with
curves and mystery as it
passes beyond our line of sight:
there are the cool, calm
patches where friends and
family sit and laugh,
yet there are the rough
currents, too, that old
folklore says is where
a young boy died
way back.

but we’re on dry land
for now, sitting under
the gazebo, sipping iced
tea and watching the trees,
high above, blow in the distance,
and we laugh because
at least for now,
we couldn’t even think
of swimming.