My mother crosses her arms
to block my hug, and turns her face
from my kiss. I have waited,
she tells me, but you never write.
Not even a postcard.
You never remember me.
Never mind yesterday’s visit,
or even today’s.
I am sorry, I say.
And I am,
for everything
but that.
Wake up, talk
Speak up
This is your chance
This new day, this moment
Use your voice
That voice you own
It has a home within you
All yours, all your life
Your thought, an idea
Rising up to be heard
Speak it, share it
Just express it
Share your word
your speech your light
Some kind of insight
A story, your story
Whether brand new
Or an exception to the rule
Your voice, our voices
There, to be heard
skin thrumming as acceptance washes over the body,
i had some people in my life
but i never showed how much i loved them
some kinda fear of intimacy
standing naked
feelings
raw
&
revealed
cellulite and all no Botox could hide
the real deal
flaws and all
deep mirrors of my soul
yes
you meant alot to me
more than i could show & tell
so now i hope you know . . .
those of you, all of you, on the other side
you bring me smiles . . .
memories
crying out loud laughter . . .
wishes i could do over
wisdom
i’m still learning how to use
We make each other
swoon, smile, blush, and breathe heavy
And when storms do come
they leave behind dams, life boats,
and storm windows…for next time.
The crispy bark of the river birch
slips generously
from the crooked trunk,
shag bark with its annual shed
announced by golden trumpets
slipping elongated
in spring rains
sliding downward as
children sled down a snowy slope,
loose hanging splotches
of lichen birthed on each piece,
photosynthesizing as it
slurps up nutrients from raindrops
and air,
lie in wait for the
hummingbird to glean small pieces
for its nest, gray and green lichen
dripping secrets
along the way.
There they all stand
circling the star-spangled tree:
come-hither prom girls,
a hallelujah of glamour
outsparkling decorations,
and the fashion glitter pixies
all wild hair and super powers,
and the Google-eyed babies,
lifelike diapered wonders
who walk and talk and wet
enough to melt a dreaming heart.
I got an Annie girl one year,
at least that’s what my mother called her.
Short brown hair and flat feet,
no fancy hair ribbons or house of dreams.
The only thing pink was her naked body,
and even that conjured no hope of a boyfriend.
My mother added handmade clothes:
off-color green dress too long in the waist,
baggy plaid pajamas, a patchwork jumpsuit.
Annie was shame, manacle, outcast.
I realize now my mother did her best,
sewing scraps of cloth late into the night
after her shift at the factory.
Hungry, eyes bleary, fingers
needle pricked and bloody,
always worried she would never
be able to wash out the stains,
weaving in stitches of love
I had yet to learn.
June Bloom
There’s a body floating in the pool,
but it’s not mine.
The road is closed for the week,
and I don’t know why.
The sun is starting to set,
for we’re running out of time.
I spent most the day in my head,
yet I was riding my bike.
Skin starts to burn
and heads start to shine.
Now it feels like I’m dying
though at first it felt fine.
Maybe I’ll be the next one floating,
if you refer to the first line.
I saw your curly crop of hair
Overtop the aisle,
I ran to you
Only to be greeted by a strangers smile,
I saw your bag in the halls,
Flashing red across my vision,
But when I caught up to you
Another man was in my collision,
Your shoes, your truck, your hoodie
Everything I see,
A shadow of you,
The mirages won’t let me be.
