I sit on my porch
I search my memory for what time was like before this
I lose my train if thought
Kandahar Massacre
Sixteen corpses washed clean
as dusk tumbles
to dark. Swaddled
in star-white burial sheets, the children’s
fingers make tiny
half-fists like new curls
of wood. Survivors hoist
fresh coffins, begin the mournful
trek to the edge
of the village. Now, 40 days
of prayer. Her brothers
are wailing. The air weeps.
After Garcia Lorca
In a wink, spring magics
Endless bouquets of flowers
From plain brown sleeves.
Summer vibrates warmth,
Stretches luxuriously
Toward rest and freedom.
Fall crunches vivid,
Harvests pies, thanks, disguise,
Sings cool honeyed release.
Winter twinkles paradox,
Promises to wrap us in clean hush
Tied up in playful glee.
Sans melatonin capsules,
five hours is a dream.
(I see what I did there.)
Past fifty, there is
a great perturbation in nature
I’d love to wash my hands of.
I wander lonely as a cloud
of brain fog wisps through
my slumbery agitation,
meandering between
the office and the tv,
thoughts of coffee yet? or no,
to give up the ghost of last night
as my brain cries to bed to bed to bed?
What’s done cannot be undone.
To new eyes
you never looked
as if you really knew
what writing was,
even as your thin fingers
wiggled over lined paper
and even as your hands
danced over computer keys,
a player-piano in a hotel lobby,
observed from a remove,
a few coins and quarters
clunked into this tin can
as a token of some aspect
of appreciation,
so soon forgotten
A friend
at lunch today
told me
every good relationship
has a
healthy
balance of power
to it.
I wish I had known this
years ago,
that time you
locked me
in the basement
for an
entire day,
and I did nothing
about it.
Before you awake
I remember our fight
Your cold silence
My warm confusion
Before you awake
I imagine me dead
And how sad you are
You didn’t mean it
You didn’t mean to push me away
Before you awake
I have lived other lives
I have moved on from you
And enjoy the city view
From my new apartment
You are ashes to me
All your substance blown away
By a vicious memory
That keeps all records of wrongs
And a vibrant mind
That has already moved on
Before you bat the first eyelash
To stir and kiss me hello
“momma, you can braid my hair tonight?”
i ask again as if i never taught myself to braid.
“i can buy you some more blue magic later on ”
as i scrape the last remnants from the bottom of the jar.
“you can take a break if your hands start aching.”
while i cup a dollop of grease in one palm,
and she gathers my thoughts into a bun,
and the tylenol stay just out of reach on the linoleum floor.
Wintry precipitation – A storm warning is issued –
Freezing rain – dropping temperatures
Dripping water forming ice around cold surfaces
Solid and clear – transparent
Every limb, branch, twig and bud is surrounded
Encased in ICE –
The beauty within is adorned with
crystalline icicles that sparkle
when lit by street lights and sunlight
Behold the beauty of this winter wonderland!
Beautiful – but oh, the weight of the beauty is great.
Small branches bearing the weight display their
tapered crystal pendants
But there is a cost to this frigid beauty
when the weight of accumulating ice
becomes a burden
Limbs and branches begin to
Snap – break – fall
landing with a resounding THUD!
Other Limbs bend low, bowing under the weight
until the burden is too great
The bending and bowing is not enough
The tree is UPROOTED
it’s foundation is pulled up and
the extracted root system is EXPOSED for all to see
The sight of the encased branches, and uprooted trees
caused me to ponder how people, like trees,
can withstand a wintry storm, and often bend and bow
under the weight of icy and unkind words.
Some continue to shine, some snap and break,
while others become frozen and encased by frigid words.
How can the burden of icy words melt away
so that the beauty within can again shine through?
What about the icy words of the offender
whose words are intentionally used
to intimidate, offend or belittle others?
Do they not accumulate around the one speaking
until the frigid weight of the words and
transparency expose the offender?
Once uprooted and exposed
the icy words used to encase and burden
can melt away
and form beautiful crystal pendants
that shimmer in the light.
