there is a cleansing fire
where we used to throw our bones–
once breathed out loud,
now embers and ash.
consumed with haze,
these words smell of smoke.
poison plants,
purloined pulse;
robbed of any hope.
my grief buried
in a forever field
where graves are dug unequal–
death always
comes for me in december.
She could never please her mother
who was, after all, French, and had
her standards. No matter how hard
the American daughter tried,
her facial structure would never
allow her to sound truly French.
She spent a lifetime trying
to understand why she wasn’t worthy
of love. Rocks rubbing against rocks.
They say each generation is an over-
reaction to the last one.
Inevitable bruising in this pendulum swing,
heads knocking against heads.
I heard a priest say,
be quick to forgive
unintended consequences.
“Nothing happens in contradiction to nature” -D. Scully
Sunny day thunders—
cloudheads rolling
north straining rain,
black hoodoo teacupped
& released
like an unmarked
helicopter on the truth.
After my mother died, I waited
for the nurses to bathe her,
and then watched as the trolley could
not maneuver out of the room.
The orderly lifted her easily
onto a shoulder and carried her into the night.
At Mass, her grandkids played a timid duet.
At the funeral home, we were asked
to provide identification.
Later, we threw peach roses
onto her coffin. The priest handed us a
DVD of the service. A decade later
I have not returned to her grave.
I thought
love came in showers.
After walking many storms
I recognized
it is more of a pebble
caressing the lake
with quiet circles
of patience and significance.
It hit me
at three in the morning
that I never turned the oven off
after cooking dinner.
Don’t remember cooking dinner
or even what I ate.
Just knew it was still on
and I needed to act.
Springing from my old bed
and flying to the living room,
I found the oven hot
where my desk used to stand.
Though the inside was black,
the heat was unmistakable
so I turned the knobs to zero,
difficult, ’cause the numbers weren’t in order.
Almost satisfied, I crawled
back into bed but still afraid
of hidden, lurking flame.
I watched that oven long
just waiting and waiting,
thought I saw a flash
while waiting and waiting,
anxiety unchained
with the waiting and waiting
and then
the fear made manifest.
Dull, unused coils
burst into brightest orange flame,
sinister snakes of hunger
bent on consumption.
I had to move
or the fire would keep spreading,
taking my bedside glass of water
and splashing it into the oven.
For a moment, it was dark again
save for one neon sliver,
but all evil needs is that little sliver
to resurrect itself.
Fire slithered back
renewing the battle.
Adrenaline kicked in
and the chaos made manifest.
I had two cups of water now
and I splashed those in as well
before dashing to the kitchen
refilling, reloading
not bothering to see
how effective the first attack was.
Two more glassfuls tossed into
the fire trying to rage
but no matter how many flames I snuffed,
snakes I crushed,
the fire kept on burning,
consuming, growing.
I thought, any moment now
I’m bound to wake up
so I paused in the midst of battle
waiting for deliverance.
I stood in the strangely smokeless room
waiting for deliverance,
but there was no deliverance
and a false reality made manifest.
I was slowing in the battle now
from the running back and forth from the sink.
The oven had shifted to the front door now
and my apartment doubled in size.
Every round trip seemed to place
more clutter in my path
so that it was eventual
that I would stumble and fall,
two glasses of water shattering,
their contents scattered on the floor.
The fire had advantage now.
I was starting to lose
and I was ready
to let a tragedy win.
No, I thought
you’re not out of options.
I pulled out my phone
to dial 9-1-1
but the numbers were all scrambled.
I couldn’t make the call
leaving me alone and helpless.
The despair made manifest.
I considered just allowing
those snakes to swarm around me,
offering up my entire world
to their insatiable consuming.
I considered being turned
into char by the flame,
letting it wrap me up and take me
to a new more blissful life.
By myself, I couldn’t save myself
and it was going to kill me.
But right at that moment,
firefighters I never called
burst into the building.
They drug me out and saved me,
killed the flame and preserved my world.
Someone had been watching
and hope was made manifest.
Only then did my brain
awaken my eyes to peaceful night,
but emotions were still ebbing.
I had thought the whole thing real.
In silence, I began
piecing the nightmare back together,
a paradigm of human existence
reflected in my dreams.
Did my brain not create the problem
with a constant fear of fire?
Did I not in turn grow the fire
with unchecked anxious worryings
and the initial conviction
that I could handle the whole thing myself?
I started well, but started to fail
and the failure was going to kill me,
until that unknown soul picked me up.
Never saw his face but he was paying attention
just like how the waking world should work.
And reality was made manifest.
I’ve spent so much time waiting.
For a call. For a note. For something, anything to tell me I am whole.
When will this long night end?
Time until the next
and the next
and the next
moves so slowly that I’m restless.
Stirring up the dark dust from my shattered heart, the light is clouded
Still I wait.
For the wind. For the water to wash me clean. For my eyes to open and see.
I pause, breathe in His grace
And I am still.
My pieces are in front of me.
Fragments of the past that fell apart, sanded new to fall into place, He restores me.
Lifted, I know that All that I was waiting for is here.
Finding stolen moments to write you.
Living for your good night text.
Refreshing my phone all day long.
Wondering what you look like,
where you are,
and what you’re doing.
You’re my favorite secret.
The one that
no one knows about,
the drug that gets me through each day.
My friends and family don’t know about you.
But I kind of want to tell the world
how you make me feel.
I miss you when you’re busy.
My day feels empty when I don’t hear from you.
You’re my favorite secret.
The distraction that makes me grin.
You’re my sweetest sin.
I want to hold you.
I want to know you
so intimately.
I want one night with you,
though it’d never be enough.
‘Cause you’re my favorite secret.
You’re my biggest kink.
You’re the thought I cum to.
I love the way you say my name,
all your terms of endearment.
I feel so sexy
and beautuful around you.
You’re my favorite secret.
You’re my forbidden fruit.
And I’d trade Eden for you.
Yesterday I blossomed from
a carnation-the workhorse of flowers-
plowing through dance recitals
and funerals, boutonnière after bouquet.
I have a hard time making
decisions, ascending from the stem.
My mask is my own face cleaved
in half: either path you chose,
you are always on both of them.
(or Precipitory Pantoum)
On a drive home from Lexington
the days of rain ran their roughshod will
and I could see the cloud front
hollering over the distant hills.
The days of rain ran. Their roughshod will
I welcomed. The break of coming sun
hollering over. The distant hills–
it’d been a week, already. A hard one,
and I welcomed the break. Of coming sun,
for so only long can things remain static.
It’d been a week, already a hard one,
and a dry day? Hell, I’d be ecstatic
for so only long. Can things remain? Static,
on a drive home–from Lexington–
dry day hell. I’d be ecstatic,
could I see the cloud front come.
