subway murder, 30-year-old man 

breakdown yell

I’m hungry

marine, a chokehold

passengers hold him down

his body becomes limp

he’ll be okay

minutes pass with no okay

his sister says, we tried to help

he just kept falling through

We walk by pasture upon still pasture
of horses grazing, swarms of flies
on their muzzles, a plump of geese

on the lake, one, head tucked beneath
a wing, dozes. Men and their dogs sit on the bank
motionless, watching their bobbers.

A red-headed woodpecker chases a bug
threading the black-painted fence posts.
A hawk drowses on the branch of a dead tree,

tracking us with a slight tilt of its head.
Another is wheeling high in the sky. A third
drinks from a muddy puddle.

A rabbit freezes in place as we pass.
When we cross the bridge to leave,
some twenty birdsongs later, sweaty and tired,

a heron lifts from the pond below us
and glides to the far shore
to roost for the night.

We dreamed of boys on boulders,
soft moss for a mattress,
sunlight dappled like blush on our chins,
but woke to pool cues,
popcorn butter,
and Sting on the stereo —
Bollywood mornings in borrowed pajamas,
your mother’s aloo chat
the closest I’d come
to sacred.

You never broke,
not the way a girl does
when the tether frays and she’s still pretending
the kite string is held.

If you stumbled —
a bad Catholic boyfriend,
Planned Parenthood and stealthy pills,
schnapps after prom —
you regained your footing quickly,
balletic recoveries from teenage dreams,
pirouettes, not pitfalls.

You turned right
into the MCAT score, the white coat, the right husband,
the three girls in silks, ankles ringing like bells,
just what your parents prayed for.

If you don’t call any more
I want you to know, I don’t mind.

But sometimes I picture
your daughters dancing,
and us watching from the kitchen,
just like we used to watch TV —
you cross-legged,
me curled like a question —
and I wonder
if you still remember
the rock,
how green it was,
how quiet and lush,
how pristine we left it,
out of goodness,
out of time,
out of everything but
want.

The house is full of arms and legs today.
I feel them expanding, taking their space,
I hear them lengthening and grasping –
the sound of ancient doors opening
and bones crackling with excitement
to reach ever world-ward.

In my dreams I am Alice, tiny, watching
as another Alice’s arms burst
through the windows, a head pops
through the roof, her feet plant, the house
rises, and with each step I get carried away 
rattling around and bouncing off the walls

crying in my helplessness and wondering
what is next 

Pema says we’re suspended 
Between dualities

Energy expended
On dreams and casualties 

For each pleasure there’s pain
For each loss there’s gain

Counter to fame is shame 
The pole of praise is blame

We find that true wisdom 
Is knowing we can’t know

The space between atoms 
Or the thoughts of fallen snow

A full life in each breath
Inhaling we’re reborn

Exhaling into death
Freedom comes when we scorn

The lie of certainty 
We’re absolutely freed

From these dualities
Embracing righteousness 

Doing what’s right despite 
The expectations of those 

Including ourselves 
locked in a pattern, 
needing resolution. 

To be is all we need to be
Each moment, an eternal discovery

giants stride the sky
playing catch with lightning bolts 
beating their war drums

ghost words lurk 
around my head
watching my pen inking
drops of soul
……across …. a book

khaibit

inspired by Normandi Ellis’s book, Heiroglyphic Words of Power.

Here, poet, take a first line.