Posts for June 9, 2024 (page 10)

The graves are innumerable, a sea 

            I have not forgotten

Not a she, not a he, a whisper on the breeze

Late to the word show
but never too late to start
a project in form.

As little flurries swirl around I extend out through the longest reach of my fingers to catch the wind harnessing the energy of this midday glory

My feet taking me upon this path of gratitude traversing me to the utmost beauty around me

A snowflake upon the tip of my nose makes me smile

Tears swimming in my eyes for immense joy, the gladness I feel

My mind wondering as I wander if this is truly solitude, when I am sharing space, with the sheer magnitude and force of mother Earth

Happy New Year to me and the path that is before me

easier to sign lower
case like my poetry/like a true poet
i picked a name that’s in every
poem

1
sat on the brown floor
of it looking through the foggy catfish sky
around. covered in silt/earthblood i wanted to die
blessed. hiding seemed like the best option
surrounded by dirty fleeing salmon. no one wanted
to have their babies around me. they could tell i wasn’t
there yet.

2
soft friction
between green consonants. revving air
between your lips
to make something/anything flow smoothly.

3
resigned to blue
of course. slipped into sweating soda cans. eroded wood structures
in squares and rectangles/caving to my accidental
will. tripped on my own current. all the while
encouraging delusion
that water surrounded by its family tends
to look clean.

4
down to pray. took me.
then i faced my namesake with both hands flat
on white apron dress
crushing my grown body and looked backward at you.
it’s my favorite photograph of the hundreds. my eyes looked beautiful
drunk on betrayal.

5
washed over children’s
finger drawings on the shore as i inescapably would. moved
to new states. showed my face
and shot tributaries/estuaries/creeks/new hands for me.
froze/melted/washed/soaked/evaporated/danced/murmured/screamed/retracted/
flooded/

Stepping back into
normalcy 

Going to the bank 
grocery shopping
play dates 

how can I
continue existing
when you don’t have the luxury

they say grief never goes away 
it’s a theif 
stealing moments of happiness 
memories of the way you laugh 
and the funny clothes you wore 

tainted by the fact that
ill never hear you
or see you in those too big high heeled shoes again 

And no matter how hard I try 
every funny memory 
Becomes another reason 
to cry

I grieve not only the loss of you 
but the loss of me too

it’s delicious to wake on one’s
birthday, make an early pot of tea–
enjoy stillness under colorful masses
of balloons, giggle, be a child again,
feel so free. four furry friends snuggle
in for a first party.      i imagine
the yellow balloon a star– and wish-upon,
knowing on this one day, wish-upons
will come true. then yellow bumps
into blue.    yes, time for prayers today.
heart stops when all their colors wave
pleas–             pray for us, too.

They spent the weekend in a suite 
at the new Omni Hotel, 
an anniversary gift from her parents, 
five years in already, 
and they’ve done pretty well, thank you. 
A few bumps, one or two nights 
he slept on the couch, 
but that’s to be expected, everyone says. 
No kids yet, but one day, one day. 

It wasn’t a nice night for a stroll,
storm clouds above while the wind 
toyed with a plastic water bottle
along the curb. At one point she saw
what might have been a rat
hugging the side of the Plasma Center
on Muhammad Ali,
but she had her husband’s strong arm to hold onto
and they would complete the circuit in good time, 
go back to a booth in the lounge,
put another round of cocktails on the room,
her parents were paying for everything.

The first fat, cold raindrops soaked into the sidewalk.
They picked up the pace and hurried along, 
turning the final corner, 
the hotel entrance just ahead, 
rushing past a legless man, jeans pinned 
below the knees, collecting his sign 
and metal can: the hollow clunking 
of few coins inside. 

The sound filled her with sadness,
and as she was spun through the revolving door, 
she felt aggravated at the man 
for raising those feelings
on her romantic weekend. 

She couldn’t have known his little dog Arthur, 
his near constant companion on this corner of sidewalk,
had recently died. 
Or that he was already looking to get another.

The missing legs gets sympathy, he’d of told her,
if she had stopped and gotten real. But it’s the pet 
that separates people from their money.

The spirit of jezebel clings to me
all misandry and money hungry.
Greedy and envious.

He offers a backyard exorcism.

I sloth like a dog sunning in the lawn
feeling the prickle of each
lustful strand of grass.

I am here; still of the flesh.

I can only hope the wrath of someone
emergently punishes me for it.
I’ll unleash this gluttonous desire all pride month.

Splash some holy water on my sweat sprinkled skin.

Your collar looks a bit loose after-all.
I hear it’s bound
to be a long hot summer.