I miss you now. Suddenly I near your shadow and as the light eats holes in your closeness I wake

1-8-08mother

I never thought I would miss the hardship of my childhood. What is missing is who lived through every break down to these remains. If I were given a birdcage of bones to hold me up, my heart would swing within, a red bird. I could watch from within, entertained by the dangers outside of my cage. I would see for the first time how shadows bow to the light. I wish for a cage to give me freedom to look at the world as if I weren't in it. My mother was a cage before I can remember. I only felt I had been taken from a place she had forgotten. A place in her eyes where I'd be trapped, a place in her joy that my name could fit into. Being called for nothing, hearing desire in her voice for anything at all, knowing she did love silly things, so she must love me called in different words for things she loved.

may 30

When the sun was named sun, and you learned the difference between silver and gold, you lost the sight of blue under the film of skin and bone. You lost your mother the day you broke your heart climbing the steps to your father's house. You left a grave empty in the yard, where the birdbath fell. I lost your hands when you ran to catch someone faster. I lost your name when I called for another in my sleep. I haven't put you back together, your nimble tricks are too quick to wait for a slow robotic shadow that only knows the ropes down. I only know the way out, and you are always thinking of ways up into the trees. You are a thief. I will never be a thief. I will always wish for what is mine. There are eyes on the other side of the windows that you pass on your way through the city, they hover over books, just waiting to catch a glimpse of your tale. Don't forget me. I will be in the hot summer bedroom of a girl in tears over her favorite song. The song will open up her arms and she will mouth the words that will form you.

What you love will develop legs so it can follow you, arms so it can hold you when it finds you.

Balloon

Lacey is trying to catch crows on her tongue. She stands in the back yard, a fenced in lot of brown grass. The sky is clean as a plate. Lacey turns in circles, her skirt spins a song, it takes too long; the dishes pile up inside the kitchen window. I am trying to tolerate a balloon. Blue as the nose of a drunk, it bobs like a wish, foolish. It drifts from its anchor, a tiny red fist. It roams among the heads on the street, ignored like the beggars, barging in and out of crowds, lifted by the static cling of another’s happiness. I see myself in the time it takes to float away. I see the birthdays, tied to colors and strings that make little girls dance. I see the candles in my eyes, blurry as bathwater, blowing out the fire in my appetite. I see years walk away, without looking. Lacey, twirling on her square of earth slows, and stops, like the ballerina in a music box.

River

You know my body
better than anyone.
the way my back hangs
like a hook, arched
for you to snatch
the weight away, the wave
goodbye as I play
dead, the smile I pay
to the sun.

The Questioner

On his last day, surrounded by his closest friends, Socrates drank a cup of poison and died with courage. Plato wrote: “This is the way our dear friend perished. It is fair to say that he was the bravest, the wisest and the most honorable man of all those we have ever known.”



The Questioner

I would not escape my fate.
Human laws, be they imperfect
allow society to grow.

It is not a foreign god;
the colored mind becomes an animal
that on my shoulder sits and
breathes these questions into me.

Questions to animate the corpse
of our beliefs, that lay heavy
as tombs over beauty; she
is raised when asked, “who are you?”..

In a circle we sit, a goblet of
poison to end my questioning,
drown my tongue, my only instrument.
These thoughts were not recorded
by my hand. They are drifting
seeds, winged animals nesting
In your generous and fertile minds.

May

Ogre, claim me once and for all. My poultry parts are growing cold, laughter breezing through my openings There are few to capture these last breaths. I am humbled knowing all I made was a sound. I am ready to give up this poverty for the fullness of another. To fill the growling belly of the earth and cry one last time into the mouth that has always wanted me.

My Mess

You rifle through me.
The things all over my floor
that I never pick up
I’ve just decided
I want to keep them there
piled where you want to step.

I walk, a star in my dress
white flare across the street
legs shoot black darts
stalk a tall shadow one step ahead.
My blood is thick as the heat today
and you aren’t getting any.