for a springtime child

She has broken into springtime
all bloom...
Golden days & daisy smile
I watch through streaming rays,
Pollen dust shaking from her hair 

as she twirls, runs,
Dancing.
Each spin taking her further
Farther from my reach

And I suddenly am autumn
Turning. 
Trying to stretch my bare-branched fingers
Across the growing winter
To pull her back to me

Divinity for my Daughter

 I have a small & growing altar
gathering in my apartment
composed of stolen bits
of honest art.
nuts & leaves
shells & sticks & stones
This, is the shrine
I've brought to my daughter.
I place it around her
so that the beauty
can climb up these walls,
fill empty spaces on dusty shelves.
I want her to see
that divinity
is abundant
it hangs from trees, nourishes hunger
erodes to softness with time
or sits firmly still,
 allowing us to pass quietly by.
I want her to feel
her own connection
to the wind
& the rain & the mud
& to know (soul deep)
there is a growing deity
that lives inside her skin

Bigger Than My Body

I hate being described as the skinny girl
Getting dissed & dismissed for being small
Like all that I amount to, is my lack of extra skin
when my body, is only a place where the size of me begins
If I could somehow be cracked open, & laid bare for
all the world to see, with this pounding heart (as a place to start)
measuring the expansiveness of me.
I am big, even infinite.
I am a lover & a mother, a daughter, sister, & an aunt
I've carried Loves & burdens that much larger people can't
I have held a dying hand & sang
"Amazing Grace" to help them go in peace
and stroked the tiniest fingertips
singing lullabies til sleep.
I have learned tough lessons about disloyalty & pride,
I've been moved so sweetly, hurt so deeply
 I have laughed until I've cried
I've recovered from rape, only to have
someone I Love be preyed upon & victimized, 
reliving the horrors tenfold, when I saw them in their eyes
Being forced to go back
 & fight the battles over & over again
wanting to wash the memories off both
of our minds & skin
Yes, I've faced deaths & births, war & woe,
& walked alone down the hardest paths
where even the bravest men won't go
See, I am so much heavier than whatever it is I weigh
What really makes me big is that I can still wake up
everyday, and find beauty & joy in the world
& despite the pain, I can still be in Love with it all
what I'm trying to say is that despite my size
everything inside of me, really isn't small

unlearning

Is thirty too old
to retrain my mind
& unlearn the pains
I've acquired?
I yearn to Love
fearlessly
with a wholehearted 
wide-eyed 
Belief. 
But I am thirty.
I have seen
the devastation
I've watched homes crumble
seen lives reduced
to rubble, left
crushed underfoot.

How do I erase that from 
my heart's memory
& wake up feeling
sure & secure
that Love is really more
than these wounds
I am wearing inside.
I struggle to hide
from my fears
find myself fighting
to choke back the doubts
before they find a form
to spill out
& wound someone
who doesn't deserve it.

Because, at thirty
trust is sometimes
a hard pill to swallow.

the simple truth

We had arrived
At this
crucial moment
All communication
Had broken
down
To a point
Of no return.
 
"I'm going to tell you
The truth," he said.
"I've always been
A liar. "

to be brave

He asked me,
"What if this goes wrong?"
& I told him gently
that there are no
Guarantees in life.
Sometimes, you've
got to make the choice
to be brave.
Like the heroes 
who go running into
burning buildings
with only a hope
That they'll make it
out alive.
"Certain risks are just
worth taking"
I said.
So we joined hands
& walked together
into the flames.

falling in Love in the springtime

Fragrant swirls 

of bright

spring sunshine

stream down

collecting pools 

of golden warmth

& pollen

in my hair.

All the bees will

envy me,

my honey, sweet.

Rolling sticky

& thick with Love.

We're laughing deep

in the soft

green grass.

Frozen moments

of Heaven on Earth

Together,

we become

timeless

For we've created

our own season.

on your Love of Bukowski

I think you like Bukowski

Because he's the kind of

Thick skinned

cunt-of-a-man

You've always wanted to be.

So, you shape your poems

In ways

that fit his forms.

& you

Force

that same bitter &

Hardened nonchalance

To fall with crushing weight

from your tongue.

You're so full of

Those razor blade words

That seem to

sharpen your wit

& drive the point home

Straight to the heart

of the matter

& cleanly through the hearts

of anyone foolish enough

To get too close

So go on.

Knives out &

Bluebird in...

you're very

nearly there. At this pace

You'll become that bastard

in another verse or two.

fingers

my humming fingers

wake & break  

the morning silence

melodically drumming

against my coffee cup

or pouring my heart

onto a blank page

while they’re

wrapped, passionately

embracing a pen

instead of the tremulous

strumming they’d make

singing out a

symphonic climax

across the continent

of your skin

oh, yes. my fingers

are awake & pressed

against the keys

that pay the bills

still sometimes longing

spills out of them

composing prose

instead of data entry

all in a day’s worth

of mindless work

to kill the time

but I always find

this, meaningless

the full power

& potential

of my fingers

is never realized

unless

somehow

they are reaching you.

ex girlfriend

I can recognize Love when I see it

(& I can recognize loathing)

just as well as you.

If her looks were lances,

surely they would cleanly pierce me through.

What kindness should I offer?

To the one who would lie in my bed

if she, now, had the key

to your current doorways.

No dear, do not begrudge me

for my lack of trusting

her ulterior intent.

She once came, and went

where her tides left you half-drowned

washed up, on lonely shores.

So forgive me,

I won’t ask you to distance her

if don’t expect me

to cherish her, anymore.