Before I woke this morning,
I dreamed that you lie
next to me.
Your body on your side
with nothing of your skin
to hide.
^
^
You were as beautiful
as the whitest flower ,
my mother’s favorite.
It was one of those dreams–
so real it lingered past waking,
taking my breath away
it seems,
even now.
I put all my eggs
in one basket
Can’t fit all my dread
in one casket
All that’s left unsaid
When you can’t ask it
Wear what’s in my head
i can’t mask it
Staring off the ledge
Nah that’s too tragic
Forsake my legs
being too passive
Shit’s more fake than ever
keep the match lit
It’s all paid for and set up
for the fascists
When the pain gon’ let up
Ashes to ashes
Gotta keep your head up
Check gutted
for these pedophile’s taxes
No justice
just more distractions
Don’t trust it
when they flip like reciprocal fractions
Soul crushin’
letting them talk you out of your passion
Maybe that’s how it feels—synth-
The witch didn’t move in quietly.
The witch came with baggage and bravado, to oust a leader from our house.
The witch doesn’t see the world, she has not earnt that spot.
The witch does not fight for our coasts, I have met those who do.
Recognize the world witch, honor history and move the hell out of taxpayers property.
Cause she really is, a witch. Gave Linda 3hrs.
Giorgione da Castelfranco, “The Tempest”, c.1509-1510, Gallerie dell’Accademia di Venezia
Did you witness an arrow cutting the sky asunder?
Did you hear that thunder?
Did you feel awe-full
for the first time in your life
Did mystery turn your stomach into knots
Thunder is an acoustic shock
The first landscape
arrived as a lightning bolt
bursting a map of totality
Jupiter’s boon booms
on the horizon
of all your striving
beyond city limits
to the only real truth
That exists, it’s just you
and me
out here
I am waiting
until he thinks
it’s his own idea…
that we desperately
need a vacation–
preferably near water
by a river or lake
with a pier,
catch perch or rainbow trout,
cook it up every night for dinner.
The bright moon rippling, swaying
as if windows are open, the water
sheer curtains illuminating the dark room
on a sleepy, breezy evening,
Or
that we must downsize,
sell the 3 story brick home
with the perennial gardens
and all those stairs.
The terra cotta roof
always needs fixing.
Move to a “cute” stone cottage,
shot gun house or ranch–all
on one floor, a yard full–
evergreens, hostas and blue hydrangeas.
Or
that we finally get married–
merge our souls and money,
eat breakfast and dinner
together every night
curl up in a bed,
with 500 thread count ivory sheets,
synchronize our breathing–
fall asleep feeling safe, feeling loved.
But I hear this in the hospital parking lot–
a lady on her cell phone
balancing a stuffed Vera Bradley bag
and huge grocery bag overflowing
with green and red grapes:
I am waiting
until he thinks
it’s his own idea…
I get into my own car–
home, by myself,
after visiting my husband,
who has fallen so many times,
we have both lost count,
wondering how she
will ever make it seem
that it is his own idea.
today a complete stranger
suggested I take an ulterior route
while I was already on
an ulterior route
I followed her directions and ended up the better for it
I have to wonder
is there a meaning in this
do the voices of reason, at times come from the unexpected
little signs sent to acknowledge there is in fact, another way
an easier way, perhaps better suited for me
sometimes it takes a shift
an alteration to realize
I can choose
allow myself some grace
head another direction
He wanted a woman who would finger rosary beads
in the twilight, be his lodestone in the desert, iron
for hours but shed only a few drops of sweat
not the woman
who would make him reach for his rosary, cross
himself three times, put holy water in the font
below the Virgin, the one she left as a blessing.
