Sitting still and waiting
for my phone to do its thing
to let me know
that we're still okay.
Oh my god. I haven't felt seconds
this steeply threaded
in so long. Don't let me
tell myself I have lost
again
over events I could have
handled better. Not now,
not over what seemed like
eggshells made of cast iron.
Don't make me wear it.
I will, I swear I will,
but don't
make me wear it without
your word in my ear
telling me I have to.
Panic, panic, panic,
running off to the far corners of a pen
like fire licked pigs, still breathing,
still bordered, still picketed.
original works of parts
Cherry Blossom Girls
I was in the backyard
the other day, marveling
at the beauty of my neighbor's
tree and, come to find out
the season of the tree blossom
is a span of white fire worked weeks
and not months and all around
was the dead fallout and
I wish I took a picture
so that I wouldn't have to commit
to living through another three seasons
to do so. As it stands
it is what I have to do
so that I can show instead of tell you
about a thing that gave me
pause.
the other day, marveling
at the beauty of my neighbor's
tree and, come to find out
the season of the tree blossom
is a span of white fire worked weeks
and not months and all around
was the dead fallout and
I wish I took a picture
so that I wouldn't have to commit
to living through another three seasons
to do so. As it stands
it is what I have to do
so that I can show instead of tell you
about a thing that gave me
pause.
Good Bones
Some days I pretend to be weak.
Weaker than I am.
When you're strong
everyone assumes you can do things
you were not built to do.
Sadness sighs out
"not again"s. I'm a bull on a hilltop,
savoring wind and a little sunshine
when the clouds give. Fists closed
on tips of grass so lucky to be.
I am you and you want to be
the fingers in a waldo
that isn't quite, but I try,
hoping it's worth my weight.
Sometimes, if you'll smile
the way I do,
nose full
of rainbows and butter moths
day dreaming
against stacked smoke,
the image comes to focus,
like rays to cut glass,
and you can see the bones,
the good bones
that make everything else
work.
The bones, the good, the tired,
bones pushed to skin and so
malnourished. So happy
if not for all they have to support.
The bones, the bones. Still loving
you, when the rest of me
cannot.
The bull in noonday.
Parked sod happy, nothing doing, hill topped.
Weaker than I am.
When you're strong
everyone assumes you can do things
you were not built to do.
Sadness sighs out
"not again"s. I'm a bull on a hilltop,
savoring wind and a little sunshine
when the clouds give. Fists closed
on tips of grass so lucky to be.
I am you and you want to be
the fingers in a waldo
that isn't quite, but I try,
hoping it's worth my weight.
Sometimes, if you'll smile
the way I do,
nose full
of rainbows and butter moths
day dreaming
against stacked smoke,
the image comes to focus,
like rays to cut glass,
and you can see the bones,
the good bones
that make everything else
work.
The bones, the good, the tired,
bones pushed to skin and so
malnourished. So happy
if not for all they have to support.
The bones, the bones. Still loving
you, when the rest of me
cannot.
The bull in noonday.
Parked sod happy, nothing doing, hill topped.
Hour Grass
It takes twelve hours
to get in touch,
to gather the caucus,
to corral the mocking birds
into the lens
and then
to make them speak
takes that much more
if not less.
Forgive me
if I am
a little less than I was yesterday.
I've had a late morning
writing.
Growth
takes time and I
am still battling Dandelions.
to get in touch,
to gather the caucus,
to corral the mocking birds
into the lens
and then
to make them speak
takes that much more
if not less.
Forgive me
if I am
a little less than I was yesterday.
I've had a late morning
writing.
Growth
takes time and I
am still battling Dandelions.
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