untitled
We had sat for a hour,
bumper to bumper,
in the blistering sun,
for reasons unknown.
But with my windows down,
my music up,
and strawberry milkshake
on my lips,
I felt perfectly content.
Wanting to be everything
And feeling like nothing
I lay on the floor,
Staring at the ceiling
My thoughts like a pinball machine
In an old arcade, loud voices
And sneakers squeaking
Closing time is always past due
The ceiling turns into a map
Of everywhere I’d like to be
With to do lists and bills piled on top
Unread books and pictures from the past
All these things I can see,
I could touch and smell
All of the conversations I might hear
But I fear,
I’ll never make it off of this floor
i go the least
expected way
off trail
into deep grasses
where a turkey
wrangles the air
with all her startle
and I touch my heart
when I look down
to discover
her clutch of 13
freckled eggs
namaste I say
with a little bow
and tip-toe back
to the beaten path
down the hill
out of sight
praying for the hen’s
quick return
knowing
this scene
is better off
without me
I hold you tightly as we dance
alone in your room
to music only we can hear.
I’m intoxicated by the smell
of your self-inflicted wound.
I try to swallow my hunger
(for once).
I’ve been a teenage girl
for centuries.
This is your first time around.
I’ll teach you.
I want to save you,
meek, dangerous creature.
Looking into your eyes
is like looking at my first love
again
from beyond
oceans of time.
At sixteen,
you’ve acquired the kind of loneliness
that usually takes a hundred years or more.
You tempt me in so many ways.
You want me to help destroy you,
to take the pain deeper.
I just want you,
all of your sadness and mystery,
reincarnation or not.
Even as I hate to let someone in
and complicate my existence.
We cling to each other
long after the last note.
Our darkness is not the same
but we share it anyway.
I.
six river snails
four taps of salt
three ancient newts
each color of the pale
II.
breath unrolled
from deepest lungs
a yellowed scroll
a tongue
III.
feathers tapping eyelids
then the throat
again again
this ritual on rote
Growing up too fast,
necessity of the life they’ve led:
them, us, me.
State of serious situation after serious situation
turns a child into a man, a woman, a being
stress on top of stress
and endless loop-da-loop of anxiety
on track to chaos
and utter loss of control.
Youth turned old in a matter of years
and they’re only eleven.
Fastforward: child turned adult,
already was far too soon,
but rather than dwell and bitter
they, us, me
we found ways to awaken the inner child
in all of us.
Music, games, movies, shows;
outings with friends
we never got to have:
painting, sleepovers, midnight car talks
about nonsense and everything that doesn’t matter
at least not in adulthood, but in childhood
it’s everything.
I processed my grief today.
Not a loss of a person, pet, place, possession or position…
I am grieving my perception, my progression, my plan…
That my past is still my present.
A poignant reminder I’m stagnant;
And this isn’t pleasant.
Part 1
Ninepins they stopped short of ten
What if I crash their party again
1 afternight óut of sight
Temperance ‘last out of mind
Sylvan Spirits don’t betray my sins
