i grew taller in
a temperamental world
one full of
fresh holes in
the wall
they used to measure me with
i learned
escape routes
and
when to keep
my mouth shut
alongside
my abcs
and times tables
suddenly
adulthood
welcomes me
in the mirror
i greet the child that
never got to grow
inside
overwhelmed
with unlearning
i remind myself
there’s time
(and that brings me some peace)
Friendship is a great conspiracy
Against the entire world.
The world often seems to deceive
But the problem is misunderstood beliefs.
I have a feeling, for an object that can only receive.
By the end of the thought I am old,
And the feelings are long gone.
But the innocence, isn’t what the feeling cost.
I’d rather be someone’s great idea to covet,
Never seen and then completely gone.
I would rather be a friend
Than some stranger bound to the wind.
green June Sunday, Daddy lifting my train
white Schiffli lace
sixpence, all the way from England
rubbing my left toes
played in to Bach, your favorite
Mother, front pew, gloved hands folded
Book of Common Prayer
words I knew by heart
Father Arnold, “You may kiss the bride”
fingers on your lips, feeding you cake
your Greek friend’s champagne glass
flung against the fireplace
in the coatroom, your fourteen-year-old brother
gracefully passed out
showers of rice, tossed from organdy bags
Mother made by hand
get-away Mustang, hubcaps loaded with stones
wedding photo, my hand on your arm
my shoulders ever graced
by the long dark loops of my hair
raven flew over
me as I left manitou
raven soared above
me as I entered the ranch
what is this kindred
I feel with ravens?
the blackness?
the intelligence?
the freedom?
I stop and watch
its flight as if a parade
or procession hope
for close landing
so that we can commune
raven arcs
toward mesa top leaves
me in dry desert dust
Snug in pink cashmere
Sunday morning, fresh-ground coffee
you share news of last night’s shooting
another one I slept through
lightning cracking
loud as thunder, you said loud
as a whip cracked right
outside the window loud
as the grinder loud as thunder
no sirens, just gunfire again
The gunfire woke you, woke J downstairs,
all alone who texted
But I, right by the window
shushing in the white-noise circular
rain rumbling repeating distant
belly-growl thunder I was shushing,
sleeping right through it again
loud as a whip, you said
bloody lightning richochettes
mourning doves scatter three a.m.
another shooting
And I, snug in fresh laundered sheets
I slept through it, lulled
rocking-chair dreams a sunny
windowsill a red Swedish horse
and a gate that opened to paradise
outside loud as a whip cracking
louder, even
but the dream, sunny with thunder
gunfire flashing beyond the purple hills
snug in pink cashmere
sipping fresh-ground coffee
Vanilla coffee brews in Saturday sunrise
splashes while we marinate
our senses in melodies
from a future world.
Magical musings harmonize
with plinking chords
sprinkled onto crackling Cheerios
to craft the perfect weekend dawn.
I wake up in the evening
The black out curtains glowing with the days end
Sunsets become my sunrises
I clock in as the night begins
My day started
Mortality weighs on my shoulders today,
the anniversary of Ellen’s death, this day too
enshrouded in cool rain. Then there’s
Sara’s suicide marinating in my cells.
If she can do it, I can do it, demise
just one breath away.
Though I know in my bones,
this is not my path, addicted
as I am to lists and accomplishments.
I can look over the edge of a building
without needing to jump.
I tell myself just do the next thing,
simple and grounded as they are,
change the sheets, do my nails.
