Sawing through the neck,
I learned one can kill without
knowing why or how

the moment you took your last breath
my hand over your heart
strangled
by the huge hand of Abitanga our Tongan caregiver pressing over mine
your eyes blankly searched the room
your big sister stood tall & strong on the right side of your body
lovingly walking you over the threshold

the October light dimmed
the room seemed to spark ~ grow quiet with an afternoon hush
they all came, loved ones who had crossed over
they came, as if summoned to a big party!
your bedroom was full

ancestors i’d only heard of in family stories and WWII tragedies
they were there, those who had been welcomed to dance laugh and cry
in the arms of our family’s generosity
they were there, welcomed in this liberating air

your face grew younger
freed from the oppression of a tired body
they all circled your bed preparing to escort you home
such lightness of being, liberation in the air

all those considerate loved ones who cared to come
bringing their wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, cousin ~ home

surely angel food rounded the cake lady ~ frosting & sprinkles led her way . . .

Who hurt you?
The firefighter pup
messes up too much
for someone not
to be planning revenge
by animated slapstick.

I wonder where she is today 

The Ashroot Ritual

The Ashroot Ritual, a spellbinding charm

that eases the mind and heals the heart,

a cleansing that mends every cross you bear.

Through power and prayer,

light swallows any darkness that dares

to enter this forbidden lair.

Like lightning swirling through a storm,

you have held this power

since the earth and angels welcomed you here

the day you were born.

A right, a law

the power of healing floods through us all.

Once upon a fortnight
There is pilgrimage
To a forbidden altar
Of art, of prayer, of knees
Along dirt, yearning for
Delicate brush strokes
Against darkened canvas.
This brush blows
Coarsly, roughly,
With strength,
Toughness,
Speed.
Mad with love,
White paint spills,
It fills, coloring
The dark of canvas
With white sheen of purity.

Those little pennies
got pushed off the cliff
we watched them roll
down the high slant—zipping into oblivion

no hands, or tentacles,
or little hooks for them
to save themselves
from having no direction

they were too poor
to own themselves
they just rolled wild
—often found laying on the floor
“oh, its just a penny, I’ll get it later”
little round circular things
going to meet their destiny
until they were out of sight
“Impractical!” they said

But I have hundreds in jars
How about you—you know you do
None the less,
No more shiny brand new
to be minted—
making 99 cents an impossible price!
I will miss our brief encounters
as you were the perfect size

6 dollar sushi wednesdays

movie nights in bed

going to rebecca’s house

and public libraries

see i could get used to this

learn to love this lifetime

but a plane ticket in my name

a man threatens to ruin all