Thursday, April 3, 2014

the receptionist

the only life left here is planted
and this includes me
sunk behind a desk
that was once a tree
or maybe many
if living means
I cannot keep him
from looking
I want to be brave
as those potted lilies
folding myself
around myself
like roots
that even death
cannot keep
from growing

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

nothing is subtracted

I have carried the loss
because where else
could I put it?

down?
is that someplace
like heaven
that cannot
be mapped?

I am not a dolphin
carrying a mummified
baby body
what do I have
to let go

must losing
make us less

or can loss be
like the sea
turning rock
to beach?

Thursday, February 27, 2014

for winters

how many
have seen the sunrise
on the clock
and tried
not to look
so long
they learned

and how many more
have met the morning
with eyes upturned
regular as work

if struggle molds
like hands to clay
imagine us all
without it

this thought
has kept me
for winters

Monday, February 10, 2014

organic

where I'm from we'd cure feelings
if we could
but settle
with perfecting the lawn

when we met you looked at me
like really looked 
like you could see 
the inexplicable nature 
of my being,
and smiled
(smiled!)
and I thought,
for want
I've worked the field 
from my yard

I forgot wildflowers
grow all on their own

Sunday, January 19, 2014

speak

wish all anger 
was like anger
for a mirror

that it was always me
who could not see

I don't like fighting 
but more importantly 
how else to manage inequity
if kneeling is needed 
to eat?

I confess 
I have often forgot freedom 
for hunger 

years of silence 
can mute
even memories

is this why the top
blames the bottom?

maybe this is what they want us to do.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

look; one of many

sometimes I fear the problem is
I see the world a little too
Hieronymus Bosch
when we're really all
more like "Nighthawks"
and sometimes I feel the opposite

who you must think me to be
to speak of feelings
in such flash-card art history
is it how I think it to be

if you could see me writing this
in the tub like how it is
would it be anymore
like it is

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

forgiveness doesn't make sense, you said

I told you
I loved you

but you couldn't hear
with your heart in your ears 

like that feral cat
they left for dead 
whose teeth
I still have
in my hand

you're the one without
I'm sorry