untitled six-word poem
like everything
love everyone
problem solved
Groundhogs proliferate in the old neighborhoods of Lexington and infantries of finger-tip-sized centipedes overtake my yard. Wildlife runs in cycles. I’d never seen a Luna moth until three years ago when two of them appeared at my porch door with eyes on their wings. Is it a good omen when hundreds of delicate yellow butterflies flutter in the nearby cemetary like snippets of chiffon? Coyotes edge in close, sniffing out our kittens for dinner. Squirrels nest aggressively in attics.
Snakes over produce
when cherry trees bloom early.
Great for your garden!
Are they welcoming us or nudging us out of the way? Why does Randy poison the groundhog rather than trap him alive and rehome him in the woods? And Betsy from Willard Street, she just bought a Remington to rid the street of coyotes.
Robins lose their homes
due to devastating fires.
They fly to your yard.
Blindsided at work,
I find my way to Sichuan Marvel,
summon lion’s head meatballs,
discover that a talking goldfish
found his way into the indoor concert
of my live-in-the-moment
right brain thought
and has been recording me while I sleep.
I will freeze him cross-eyed,
flash his bones out in my hand,
little chicken strip,
a toothpick break between my teeth.
Waking up early
at five-fifty-five.
I rock on my porch
as the forest comes alive.
The birds sing softly
as a deer strolls along.
Olive Oil is lurking
in search of her throne.
The sky is outlined
with tree tops so high.
Colors dapple through
to announce the sunrise.
I hope everyone
has a good day.
Please, don’t forget,
take time out to play.
This is mostly a paraphrase
“It is ok to come from dust and sprinkle it with rhinestones.
Costs are not to be considered when helping children thrive.
A man may judge you by appearances and a
Lot of people may think you’re as silly as you look. It’s nothing to be ashamed
Of – being underestimated gives you the advantage. Take the
Money and run before they can figure you out.
To make a life as you’re making a living is a worthy challenge.
Look, Jolene. This is not working for me.
This is a day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and not be
Cheap” with our love or our kindness.
i trolled an old associate just now
a dear friend once a long while
gone the bye and bye
associated by a common interest when left to sabbatical
fallen away
it remains
she remains
i remain
but so much air between us
difficult to breath
into the hollowed out divide
does social media command such connection
yet also release such falsity
did ancient days hold hands more securely
have we built bridges and towers never meant to be constructed
stones topple around this Babel
i will not rebuild
i will learn
go on speak in a new tongue
Sunrise whispers, “good morning” in my ear
“No, thank you,” I reply with dismay,
as I throw a pillow over my head in a useless attempt to avoid the start of today.
That time we camped at Elephant Butte,
New Mexico. We thought we lucked
into an empty campground, took our choice
of spots on the point overlooking
the reservoir. Unrolled our kits,
strung up a hammock
to take advantage of the view,
argued over some incidental,
like weed or whiskey (why not both?),
all the while wondering where everyone else was.
We never looked at maps,
or read reviews, how could we know
a summer scirocco comes blowing through
like clockwork at cocktail hour,
that it would wreck our tent, pelt us
with grit? For awhile there we
were both blinded; I reached out
into the dust-batter swirl for your hand
any part of you to anchor to.
Touching nothing, I folded into myself,
and waited for the wind to die.
How perfect that in just a few months
we’d drift our separate ways,
finding it easy to slip into new lives
now that our pans had been scoured clean,
now that whatever we were meant to be
had been cooked all the way through.
arms, legs, thighs, battle
scars from birth,
two-spirit brown-girl
pushed to extremes,
raged, destroyed, lashed out
sharp desert words in a rainforest body.
2.
They never understood why
I clung to those who died,
drug over-dose, car accident, disease,
whose breath was my breath,
whose bodies loved my body,
intertwined and misunderstood,
whose love saw my claws detract in slumber,
my head in one’s lap she crooned, a Cris Williamson song,
“go back into the darkness,”
“Your teeth are far too sharp, my love,
I’m afraid you’ll go too far.”
3.
I sabotage my death wish,
breaking layers of trauma and decay,
seeking words tangible in finding meaning,
an emptiness to overcome, my losses,
my failures gifted from the mystical holiness unknown,
tally marks of success, staying alive, remaining unbroken.
If only they had made it to now, what then?
4.
Where did all the years of self-loathing go?
Into the ground, or ashes in an urn?
My body is ceremony rooted in loving me,
once covered in shame, is breaking free,
a cliché of blinding light, awake from darkness,
cold rain falling, uplifted face and tongue,
my body is ceremony rooted in loving me,
a two-spirit brown-girl in a rainforest body.
If my pen is a songbird,
green is its melody:
grass-stitched foundation,
triumph of growth over envy,
cerulean undertones yellowed,
painting the world in verdants and emeralds and dreams.
Simply dreams.
