Author
what would it mean
to breathe a life
of imagination?
colors would bleed
from my fingers,
unfurling wildflowers
would burst
from where my bare feet
have stepped.
and inside? –inside me
there would be a forest
no voice could penetrate
which I did not let in
which was not welcome.
the solemn green lushness
of it would
cocoon me
lifting me to fly on
whisper soft wings
dark and sunshaft woven
into the fabric of me.
a song made ephemerally
solid, spearing gently
through the trees.
– 2/6
I wonder why you like Julien Baker.
At first I thought, the way
she sings–
but no.
Because we listen ’cause we’re drawn
to the heartbreak in her voice
finally, someone who
understands
even if we can’t admit it to ourselves
even as we cry tears
of relief.
So why
you?
What are you drawn to,
in her words?
Always so happy,
bouncy,
compartmentalized
even when life isn’t
perfect.
What is it in you that
draws you, magnetizing
to her words
a homing beacon, a haven?
Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.
Maybe it’s just
the music.
But how is it possible to not
bleed at the sound
of a heart breaking,
how can you not
have a wound of your own?
I know you do
half-processed, half-buried
under childhood years and
moving on
and yet–sometimes I see the boy
and then the teen in your eyes, your
hands, as you grip me close–
before you put it all away
like nothing happened
and are you, full of light again,
where those words can’t reach,
crooning, into the dark of you
that corner we all have.
But whether or not you show it
or even know it, yourself
whether or not your tongue can
admit it, or even if
the confession trips
off your teeth–
know, that as we listen. sing
along together.
my heart knows yours
masks and all.
– 1/27/22
when I think of my Abba
I think of all the things
he gave me
to show me he loved me
when I couldn’t–wouldn’t
accept it, didn’t
feel safe in it.
puppy kisses and the smell
of living fur
laughs and rowdiness around
friendsgiving table
the cool wind pushing through
my hair and the rough rock beneath
my fingertips
the laugh I hadn’t felt in days
weeks, months
the boy growing up without me
soon to be my world.
when I couldn’t–wouldn’t
think of him as safe
he crowned me as queen in all
the little ways he knew
would mean something to me
and in it all
instead of shouting his love
from the mountaintops
he was caring enough
to whisper.
– 12/6
take me the way
the Wild Things go
over the snowy hills and the
dirt warmth below
take me the way of
pleasure and pain
as long as you always
lead me home again
take me the way
of the Wild black crows
the tumbling badgers and
fleet footed fawns
take me the way
the Wild Things go
to drink from a creek
fed by melting snow
take me away
lead me by the hand
no need to know
where I go
only where we land.
– 12/6
Lately, I’ve been afraid.
Afraid of seeing him walk
through that door. Afraid
of not seeing him. Of not
knowing, if he’s okay.
But lately, more afraid of
that shaken up feeling, like
a jar that’s been violently
thrown back and forth until
everything’s mixed up
everywhere and things that
had settled to the bottom
are no longer settled but
floating around, suspended
queasy inside, and things that
were clear are no longer
clear and everything is a
jumbled mess of not being
where it’s supposed to be
and not being able to
orient myself like I am
floating in the middle lost
in the memory of used to be
and the empty of what could
have been and the hollow that
is now–can you blame me?
he’s mine
a feeling, a truth
I’ll never
get used to
a warmth budding
in my chest
he’s mine
walking ’round the corner
seeing you sitting there
handsome, cute
so fully you
he’s mine
looking at your sleeping
face, all rest and being
he’s mine
holding me, smiling
into my eyes
arms around arms
he’s mine.
– 12/6
to lie tangled
under white down as
the sun bursts over
the mountains’ ripple
and curve, protecting
the long flat tangle
of farms and orchards.
I lie there, under all
that flagrant blue, warm
and small and curled
into you, just as you are
into me.
and we lie safe, and home
in the beautiful bigness
of it all–
small
and safe and
free.
– 12/6
as the mountains rise
into view, a barely
there blue
I began to feel you again
the way I did mere hours
after our words changed
everything
and our worlds merged.
they’ve been merged, true
since the day we promised
and every day, wonderful
and yet
these last weeks, I’ve felt
that I’ve been
losing you, a little, in the
day to day, our unity
fading
slightly with each passing
friction and uncovering.
desperate but not knowing
how
to draw close again, to you or
myself.
but here as we enter a little
bit of wild again, I feel
our circles of self coming
back to overlap, to
harmony and I look over at you
and think–
there you are.
I’m home.
– 12/6
I was already underwater
when they told me to put it on.
the scuba suit, the mask
the too heavy oxygen tank and
cumbersome hose–
but I was already drowning.
underwater world, everything
a strange tint, too still, too
thick, like moving through goop
limbs
heavy
lungs like banded bird wings
flightless
while everyone else can breathe
just fine
yet I can’t
get enough
can’t force
the little air in
through all this pressure
on my chest.
they look at me
disapprovingly.
‘just put it on,’ they say
‘get yourself under
control, you’ll feel better.’
they’ll feel better.
but it’s the world that’s wrong.
no suit will change that.
but I wrestle it in place and it’s
oh so claustrophobic but
my skin feels a little thicker–
‘I did it,’ I say, looking at them
underwater breathers
ignoring the world
‘you happy now?’
but they bang on the glass
leaving fingerprints
‘let us in, let us in!’ they cry.
I pull back, now afraid
they’ll break it, and I’ll lose
the little air I have
wrestled into steel-trap lungs–
‘I can’t,’ I say.
‘don’t you know? you
should know–
I can’t.’
– 11/10
Sometimes
I hate myself a little
for still grieving
one universe
when I’ve found another.
but universes don’t
replace universes, don’t
you know?
they are their own entities
entirely unique and
special
and whole in their
ownness
and of
course I’m still
grieving,
who wouldn’t?
you can cry and laugh
at the same time,
don’t you?
endings and beginnings all
bundled into
one.
I forgive myself.