Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
where the wild winds pull;
over the tilts and truths of this threshold.
So I gaze beyond
for a star's second;
looking in, wondering
how our feet can carry us into silence;
across the blackened floorboards
and back, deep into some sinking room
where I sense firelight. Surely,
I have been here before.
with the snow;
she knows the softer ways
when time was a mother,
but I traveled here over
hills and heartlands, learned
languages and traded love
for some rocks– and never once regretted
the back roads or the unknowns;
so she nodded with my shadow.
The darkness wavers, hovering between
gold and night; I am the streetlights
and the drifting snow; a simple creature,
I only know the silence beyond that top step,
a craving for what is fiercely blind,
my own darkened door wide open.
You have the look about you
of autumn; something fiercely gold,
soft-spoken and fallen. Do you sleep?
Do you close your eyes anymore?
The sound of snow clouds
drifting low from the sky,
ready to drop to the ground.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Just fuck. Sometimes I feel so fucked that I want to scream at something, a wall or a floor, or someone who'll understand... I'm so fucked, I'm not ready for this, I mean I am... or at least, I keep telling myself I am, but the honest truth is that I'm terrified. I'm a terrified child, alone, a little girl who just wants to hide in a corner. How do I go back? How do I get out of this? I am so blindsided right now that I can only think up to a week in the future, otherwise I start panicking. The panic doesn't come from the idea of not being able to keep the house, or not being financially stable... it comes from the realization that from now on, this is it. I'm on my own. There's no turning back; if I decide I don't like life on my own, I can't come home again for a few years to get my shit together... no, I have about three months to go from a completely dependent child to a full-fledged, functioning adult who can provide for herself, and a house, and a car... and sooner or later go back to school... I know I can do it, I know I'll survive... but it just seems so overwhelming. It's just me. Just little old me.
Friday, September 11, 2009
left nor right, she stumbles there alone and
needs a place to lay down, but no rest comes
on a road of no moss, just broken bones
that line the pathway, and old, splintered teeth;
she tried not to look, but his hand was so cold
when she touched it, she remembered his grip
she would hold, as they walked, as they searched
for the road that she wanted; well now here
it is, though it's nothing like glory, a bit
more than she asked, and his warm hand is gone.
Is there no place she can rest? how does one
finish a story, or replace all those pages
with no chance left of love...
She has nothing to write for, no meaning transcribed
on this bone-laden road, undisguised.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
they keep saying a word
but that means
and I have parents
In all of my imaginings of God,
I cannot imagine Heaven.
Nor can I imagine grace.
Nor can I imagine wholeness, or home;
And often I wonder
was it somehow planned this way,
How do I live through
one more day--
I can't; but the body can, they say...
I am dying a new kind of death.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
we'll claim it is the wind
anything, only that the sky
is free; I can afford to keep it,
too high for me.
as though anything can be kept
Friday, September 4, 2009
in your care, but only for a few years
because you see, I need her to be like me
in all of her ways. Many of your ways
were my own, and so I kept you, and trusted
you would teach her how to think, how to be kind
in the face of hate, how to hold herself proudly
when she is humiliated, how to bow herself humble
when she knows her betters, and how to sit, and listen,
and learn. But there are parts of her that still
must grow, and I have many parents and teachers lined
up for her in the future, people who will also take
good care of her, and will allow her to bloom
and receive all parts and facets of me, that she might
fulfill the task she has taken on herself. It is she who asked,
and I simply give what she asks for; she asked for help,
I gave her help; she asked for hope, I gave her hope; she asked
for love, and I give her love, and I see that the love I give her
she gives the world, as a whole fruit, as a generous heart.
So I am sorry, I know you have loved her dear
and that she is your child as much as she is mine; but you are all
my children, and I allow you each life to only have a few, that you
might know what to value, and why I value you,
and why we must value each other.
and a bag of flowers, wrapped in twine,
sitting in the sunlight, growing
until we grow to mud.
Seems that we have only a little sky
and a patch of grass to cushion our feet,
and then we are forever encased and veiled,
packaged and displayed in long, silent hallways,
bordered with flowers trapped in vases.
Flowers grown in boxes,
buried in boxes,
seen behind glass
or under roofs; how many flowers die
to grow inside this place,
and give it the illusion of life?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
embraced once more by night's sweet breath
of remembrance, here I stand again
and prepare myself a seat with death.
I wait upon the white-washed stone;
he is an old friend, long acquainted
yet seldom seen, he's hovered here and faded
to the back of my book, but now has deemed
a visit due; I suppose he knocked
and I heard him, though my ears were tuned
to other things, like my father's laugh
as he fell in love; 'twas just too good to last.
I sit here with my childhood friend
in silence, no words to break this place--
I bow to death, my long-missed muse,
here come to prod this hand awake.
And for what purpose shed my tears?
My heart's been hammered to the mold
and yet found lacking, as my years
are lacking still of wisdom's grace,
though I have walked this withered road
twice, no lines have graced my face;
badges of courage in a world
where beauty replaces chivalry,
and age has become a disgrace.
I would remind you now, I have not age
to offer, though my lessons are well learned--
I shall sit here, silent, listening clear
to gain the years your heart long earned.
a penance' worth, if one might be so kind
to give me leave to speak my heart, you'll find
a moment's worth is all I need
to float me on the harshest ocean, sometimes
just one whisper can lift me along
to the future's bow, driven by forward motion
in the heart of change; I am lost, surrendered,
and trapped, my heart a road in winter,
fallen, false standing, adrift in snow
to see the stars, a desperate distant glow,
hidden, dimmed, their light misty now
and drifting, so I beg for love--
just a second's worth, for my heart can take no more
than a simple dose, enough to clear my voice
and hold me close; I've been afraid before.
This dread winter has already marked its years,
and they shall never be restored.