In some universe, somewhere
We can be anything
So I am a path through these woods
And You,
you are the signs marked
into the path
we are guiding the hikers
and the travelers
the families and the loners
together
the sunlight dances across our features
warm
No one is lost.
No one is ever lost.
a breeze
more than warm
I wish for a swimming pool
I remember being under covers this morning
hiding from no one yet feeling as though
what’s it like to simply pass time
not being the one who exerts oneself or attempts to solve
every puzzle known to humanity
just existing
I’m not sure I’m made for that
I want to breathe and happily remind myself to do so
I want to eat ice cream without guilt and giggle at someones song
I want to sleep until I’m rested
I want to run yet return, bringing abandon with me
I want to move, freely ever freely
It’s too hot and I have no motivation.
It feels like the land is letting out
a long exhale–all droop. It’s oppressive,
and even the limbs of trees turn down.
If only–if only like the tug of a train.
She looks down
Broodingly
On you
In your stark prison cell
And I so far from
Home
Look up at her
She looks down
On each child
Alone in a loveless dorm
She looks down
On hungry homeless
Refugee
And every bombed-out
Empty hollow hulk
Of building everywhere
Everywhere her soft light
Touches suffering below:
How does her silver heart
Not waver?
She looks down
Through dark and
Sighs
Comfort she offers
Is in light
And constancy
And reliability
Silently whispering
“I’m here; I see, I witness, I know”
When separated
Aching souls
All look up
There is comfort
They see:
Her –
Waxing, full, eclipsing, waning, and new –
At the same time
The Watcher and the Watched
High of 90 today doesn’t seem much
to folks from Mumbai, and till now
I’ve been fine sitting under a fan after
a run or an hour in the garden.
But my More-Rugged-Than-I lover
is away and the thermostat looks
at me, it’s blinking eye a modern-day
Nicean icon. Behind it, the gods
of “ahhhhh, that feels nice” beckon
like an indulgence. And isn’t that the mantra,
“If it feels good then fuck
the consequences, forget about
a world stewed in its own
juice. Don’t even think that
my “ahhhh” is bought with
fire and ash
and a sentient sea that says
“Fuck it,” too, and makes plans
to wipe the land clean
and start over.
Tell me what you meant to do,
how you thought these small wings
could turn so large, be believed,
when you stepped from the edge.
Tell me how the wind sang to you,
how it felt to be betrayed in the fall,
as well as all the failures before
that led to this one last after.
I might need your words some day,
when the call to fly away from life
and living seems logical at last.
(after the photograph “Eternity,” by Greta Buysse)
Mine
a space
where you might linger
a way to connect
lift you at
end of day. Imagine
time refracted the
sky fat blue a bridge
of marbled
suggestion
a way
to
span the distance between you
and your body—
rest in
a few moments
of ownership
forget
repair
~ Erasure of Lia Purpura’s All the Fierce Tethers, p 7-8
What you water will grow.
Everything is now. An invisible
cord connects all beings.
Impermanence is the nature
of the world. Karma
is a natural law, like gravity.
Some part of me
looks clear-eyed
into the abyss.
Today is my Birthday
Memories of holding a winning Bingo card at St. Timothy’s Friday night church bazaar
The fat man at the mike calls “B-13” Lucky #13
13, so lucky, Otis Elevator Co. nearly forced to omit 13 from their stops
Today on this 13th day of June I wake in San Juan as the morning dove sings “Happy Birthday to me!”
Father Junipero Serra’s spirit looms over the Mission courtyard in the center of the town square
far away from the mention of any triskadekaphobic fears
no citings of 13 floor buildings
no malookia 13 Spirits to cast bad luck spells
no ah too bad you’re born on the 13th
Instead it’s today a lucky 13 day
wrapped in morning dove’s Happy B-day song
telling me this is my “go get ’em Tiger Year”
Hugged in the arms of this sleepy California Mission town
i have no nails i always open my friends cans
i need to learn to be a nice girl
i need to learn to sleep on the couch
my friend in the band tucks me in even he thinks i’m too loud
me and my work friends
share chargers and share an O pen
i can taste the lotion i put on my hands hours ago as i shovel in golden raisins
hanging my head out the window catching a cold
but the space heaters in my room are on
stabilizing my body temperature
i don’t need to sleep next to you just next to someone
