Outage
Looking for the ring has been
a strategy that has failed me
far more times than other efforts.
Yet even when I try
far more probing questions,
the revelation of a single word
is enough to…
There are foolish fools
Who play on my kindness
I have been pouring
Into the overfilled cups
That their grimy hands
Have held out for me
Waiting….and waiting
Like the succubus, swine
That they all are
For far too long
What they don’t know
Is while they think
Their other hand is sly
It’s already been cut off
With the butcher knife
They bountifully offered me
Royalty knows you always
Feed the hungry
Spare the Poor
they say
there’s so many more fish
in the sea
but we shouldn’t
treat hearts
like catch and release
Sometimes the words
Rush with the urgency
Of floodwaters down a mountain
So fast I can barely
Scribble them on the page
Before they’re forgotten
Sometimes the words
Come in bits and pieces
I turn them over and over
In my head
Like Lego blocks
Trying to piece them together
Sometimes the words
Don’t come at all
They remain hidden
Behind a wall
Of mundane thoughts
I can’t chase away
Under a swirl of swifts swimming
I.
Toxic fumes spew from
fault lines of democracy.
Country in peril.
II.
Warning clouds ignored
stokes chaos and corruption,
citizens descry.
III.
He thinks he’s been crowned,
doesn’t see himself as pawn
in schemes of others.
IV.
Boots pound city streets
habeas corpus denied
immigrants iced out.
V.
Take heed! The people
damn partisan politics.
Congress, do you job!
this house of seven
I just wanted a hair tie
none are to be found
The old masters were obsessed
with angles the shape of men and women,
draped with pastel pink or blue togas
as they dole out God’s grace.
I have no thought of taking his hand,
my face as uninterested as David
on the ceiling of that famous chapel.
But the fear of disapproval lingers,
chastisement for the ecstasy
of Saint Teresa, displayed
in polished marble next to
our bleeding savior and
his unblemished virgin mother.
Somewhere between this dichotomy,
a tooth breaks as God bites down
on an old fashioned salted caramel candy.
We were all messy buns and sweet teeth
those early mornings.
We sat in that small crowded cafeteria
where we shared Betty Crocker’s
rich and creamy frosting.
We left our spoons licked and sticky.
We were girls becoming women,
sharing the bitterness and sweetness of it
once a month.
Years stretched between us.
There was a time we did not know one another.
Now, we find ourselves all grown up.
Grocery shopping together.
Cooking dinner.
Bumping elbows in your kitchen.
Your toddler laughs in the other room,
his little feet loud.
Your dachshund steps around us
waiting for fallen crumbs.
We discuss dessert:
What about turtle brownies?
Ice cream is simple.
Or banana pudding?
I’m in the mood for cake.
With chocolate icing?
We will always be girls together.
