Aftertaste
The dreams brought on
by medication
have dissolved,
like the strawberry-flavored
pill, leaving only a slight aftertaste,
not quite unpleasant,
not quite powerful enough
to recall later.
The dreams brought on
by medication
have dissolved,
like the strawberry-flavored
pill, leaving only a slight aftertaste,
not quite unpleasant,
not quite powerful enough
to recall later.
acceptance is a form of (move)ment
a decision to yield or turn
stay
go
believe or disregard
and it’s the hardest
most difficult since it’s an ending
perhaps temporary but an end nonetheless
at least in the context I am considering
and in my mind it’s a white flag, surrender
I like to win
yet sometimes
winning
is to accept and (move) on
There are no fewer than six
peelers in the utensil drawer:
One with a long swivel blade
that extends from the open
steel handle like a paring knife
Four Y-shapes that cradle
swivel blades perpendicular
to their colorful plastic grips
And a stained arrowhead
with a grater in the handgrip,
the only one that actually works.
Blinds are closed
to block the blinding
rays of sunlight.
I’ve no desire to see.
Text alerts at random
hours throughout each day.
I can’t bring myself to talk
nor to hear the sympathetic
sounds of do-gooders.
My soul is constrained
like a chrysalis attached
to a mighty cedar of Lebanon,
barely holding on,
mere existing, somewhere
between life and death.
In this one, I am ice cream
Butterscotch ripple with
coffee and
pecans
The universe is a peculiar child
They count stars and hop sidewalk cracks
To be sure
When their friends are princesses who
Want to be saved
This universe can be the prince
every
Time
They wear a bracelet that says
“You are going to have to save yourself”
They love
Butterscotch ripple ice cream with
Coffee and pecans
It makes them feel older,
The bit of bitter bite on their tongue amidst the
Sweet cold
The reasons are complicated, for wanting this one.
This grown up ice cream in this tiny-bodied astral understanding
But in this one, I am exactly what the universe wants
And It doesn’t matter why I am wanted
I am allowed to love my place in the space of these things.
tears that glisten in her eyes
and dance a slow waltz in pale moonlight
i’m leaning forward for soft spoken words
passed a tangent stare into dangerous dark
she’s unfolding another fissuring woe
enduring his latest most diabolical show
accusations and layered on shame
it’s clear that her spirit’s a dying flame
i long to touch her in a genteel way
holding back she may not be ready
what is true can be a hard to receive
when one has lived years under the wrong love
and though the moon will now drift away
it’s not without a promise to make
starlight eventually reaches the earth
and another will rise to rule the night
Black Moon Lilith will soon plot her course
‘cross the cosmos across our hearts
once again to claim her lunar throne
sharing her influence on the hurting like you
i will be the knight by her side
waiting to face down this blossoming war
because i know you hate how wronged you’ve been
disrespected mistreated made to hate yourself
So rage.
Power is swinging back into your favor
as memories of yourself complete your awakening.
Trust.
Forces of good swirl around you;
Black Moon Lilith is lifting you high.
Cry.
Freedom of emotion is the purest revolution.
Live.
Your life is your own
and your cage is unlocked.
Love.
As much as you are able,
pulling free of the shadow cocoon
he has built around you.
Create.
Put yourself into the world in a way
that can only do good for the next victim
who will look at your redemptions and find belief
that the night is never completely without light.
it might take a little time but our queen
is determined to rule once more in the sky
and make beautiful healing
of unnatural travesty
you will be the first on her empowering mind
and she will not give up until you are safe
until you are free until you can say
that you have finally found yourself again
if not for the sooted snow, the pale gray paper birch skeletons with their very few persistent leaves watching the pedestrians stretched thin across the cold. An old man plays piano, an improvisational celebration of all the encircling after-sunset busy-nesses of the city just beyond the park, a memorized elegy for private losses given voice, that classic cinematic dance number you’ve heard and watched all your life, your days, all the thick, slow-moving mid-night minutes. There’s a pitcher on the piano, coins and paper promisories left by others who can’t sleep. At some point, a suddenly there then gone crescendo causes you to rise from your bench-bed, don the castaway coat you use as a blanket, and walk the few steps to where the formally attired musician commands the percussive mechanisms from his own bench. He looks up, smiles knowingly as you say thank you for reminding me what love felt like and turn away to dream again as Für Elise begins.
(after the illustration “Nocturne,” by Akira Kusaka)
How did I do it back then? Motherhood,
four children under five, sunlight and clothes pins,
three in diapers. There was no me, back then,
only them, and time divided by sleep and feeding,
books and songs, crying and vomiting, and drool,
I ached for me back then, lost in the needs of others,
weeks and months of cycling, waiting, pushing, birthing.
How I wished for this time to think, to write
about the tangerine of morning, to absorb sway of trees,
to ponder the raindrop, and its spirals and reflections
shimmering, let-down of memory, nourishing self.
Now, four grandchildren and my back aches,
don’t know how I did it back then, I feel in my bones,
but I walk this baby til his milky lips slack and I give him back.
Oh, the soft curls against cheek, tiny fists clutching skin,
and softness sinking into arms, asleep, again.
With trenching shovel, take up the goose neck garlic,
early morning. Scissor cut the uncurling scapes
& vase them in the kitchen. Ah!
Look out the window—two robins
flit-chase-tag each other
in the neighbor’s trees. Feel
wild wind from their wings.
I
do not
tell stories
to my daughter.
Parables, fables
allegories, folktales…
My grandmother’s grandmother,
while shucking corn and snapping beans
and putting up tomatoes, I’m sure
passed on wisdom. I rely on Disney.
