snowfall

you captured my longing
my desire
for cold mystery
for swirling stimulation
cerebral satisfaction
for the geometric perfection of the flake
that is unlike any other

I fondled your uniqueness between fragile fingers
of hubris
of deception

you are my dripping dream
of brittle death

my heart entombed
in a frozen reflection of itself

you are winter
the snowfall that reminds me of home

the wheels roll out
as white wings flex their metallic muscles

I fly through your blizzard
until I am
above you
beyond you

and when I land
I find myself in a place
where the season has changed

autumn in me

cucumber and bread sit with me on a bench
we do not touch each other

sunlight presses on my back
eyes shaded by the sparse stems of the locust tree
whose green has not yet turned to honey
thick with water and light
thriving in the harshness of autumn

emerald leaves laughing at unfortunate company
at trees with veins closed to nourishment
leaves who have lost their color
who will not grow
who find comfort in dirt

withering

dying

falling

sunlight presses on my back
seeking shriveled veins

of late maturity
of incipient decline
of inanition
of autumn in me

coffee

Frothy lips
Heat touches my tongue
I taste sweet

There is dust below my feet
Brown beans and cake crumbs
I look above my head and imagine the ceiling is the floor
Virgin slats of unscuffed pine
that is my mind.
Lights beneath my shoes
My body aglow
My head is a burning bulb

Everyone here is staring into their own heads
On computers and books
On screen and paper worlds
Silent solitary voices simmering
Grinding thoughts
Tamping ideas
Brains reaching boiling point
Dripping history
Dripping poetry
Dripping politics
Dripping emotion
Dripping their minds
Dripping coffee
Into a cup
Into a world

Drip drip
Onto the floor
That is the ceiling
That is my world upside-down

Frothy lips
Heat touches my tongue
My lips are sweet milk
My tongue is earl grey
I warm my hands on a mug of tea
Remember her bitter lips
And wonder what it would be like to drink coffee

this tree

hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
wind

i love to swing from this tree
hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
wind blowing my hair
wind stinging my eyes
wind lifting me, carrying me
i love to swing from this tree in the empty lot next door

walking home from school one day
Bruno escapes from the fenced-in backyard across the street
Bruno is a Rotweiler
Bruno is mean
Bruno is chasing me

i drop my bookbag
i am running
i am running to the tree
my hands reach for the branch
the branch i love to swing from
Bruno's warm flesh touches my shin

"crack" goes the yellow bat
Bruno's teeth clench the plastic
my father's arms are flexed
i can see his veins buldging
his eyes are wide
he is afraid
his neck is sweating
Bruno's tongue drips sweat
they growl at each other

i am hanging
upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes wide
the wind is blowing my hair
the wind is stinging my eyes
the wind is lifting me, carrying me
i am safe
in this tree

walking home from school one day
i hear the sound of metal on concrete
i smell the scent of grass and dirt
the lot next door is not empty

"crack" goes the yellow truck with claws
it is scraping away everything green

i drop my bookbag
i am running
i am running to the tree
the tree i love to swing from
my father's arms are lifting me, carrying me
i cannot see the tree
i see my father's neck
it is sweating
the wind is stinging his eyes
his eyes are wet

my father is lifting me
my father is carrying an axe
his arms are strong, they are bulging
i can see his veins
he takes me to the tree
it is small
i hold the tree in my hands
it glistens in the sun
it smells of shellac and permanent marker
it reads "my climbing tree" above the date

the tree is small
i cannot climb this tree
i hold it in my hands
"it is safe," he tells me.
he places the wedge of tree on my bedroom dresser
my eyes are wet

I am not hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
i am not safe
in this tree

unfinished

Do you remember the time that we

Yesterday I learned that my grandmother

I went to the dentist and they told me

and she said, "Oh, my god, I love your

I was thinking that maybe

He actually yelled out

I emailed him and

And then my mother came and

I had bought you a

And it was so huge!

I got a new

You'll never believe it I just

I remember you saying

When I drove there

I can't find the

At the grocery store there was

Last night the dog

and it made me think of you.


You left me with so much unfinis

recipe for falling out of love

Ingredients:
1 c.    selfishness (can substitute with "I'm not happy")
1/2 c.  misplaced desire (can substitute with emotional immaturity)
1/2 T.  cold cruelty (can substitute with lack of trying)
2 pts.  salted delusion (can substitute with "this is not my life")
1/4 t.  unsweetened lies (sometimes sweetened are too obvious)
1 pkg.  human body (amount relative to desired quantity/servings)

Directions:
remove conscience from body and discard

score the heart until dry
stew, stirring continually as it fully softens
let dry
(repeat until satisfied with texture)

set aside heart 

parboil lies in conversation (should only be partially tender)
blanch with sex
caramelize physical attraction
remove from heat quickly (don't let it sit too long)

fold into:
a pinch of lust
a smidgen of sadness
a dash of hope
(this keeps pockets of unwanted air from taking over the mix)

julienne feelings of trust and certainty and disperse throughout
cut in commitment (you don't want too much)
mince desire so that you can't tell what it is anymore
add everything to mix and dredge with sugar

garnish with true love
serves two

Important note to remember: 
the only cure for love is
to let yourself fall in love with someone else

painted woman

I painted you
mingling mediums on a mixed palette of pride and pain
a patchwork picture of my past
to cover your blank page

rumbling rage to redden your brow
an open orange and honest face
white wine to touch your wanting lips
ghost gray in the eyes

a golden hope lightens your hair
violet vanity veils your face
charcoal knuckles of candid confidence
turquoise tongue tainted with truth

pale skin, unripened peach
brownish back, the color of fruit turned rotten

pink pores of passion
green groin of guilt
yellow marrow
black bones of silvering shame

I painted you
with every color on my palette
each drop of my blue blood formed your crimson soul

I painted you - beautiful.

you peeled yourself from the parched paper

go.

go.
live.
you do not need me anymore

afraid

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you are."

I fear being wrong.
I overcompensate with confidence.
I live boldly into whatever comes my way
because I fear being wrong.

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you want to be."

I value knowledge, but what can I ever really know?
perception, recognition, certitude...
direct cognition? no.
I fear that I know nothing for certain.

"Tell me what you were afraid of,
and it will tell me why..."

I was a afraid of her uncertainty.
It made me impotent, emotionally numb,
I fear it even now.

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you are."

I do not know what I am afraid of.

the pit

I am climbing out of the pit
a nostalgic clutter of retrospection
of remorse
intuiting

There is a past that never happened
a future that never existed
you and I are there
dreaming

I extend my arm over my shoulder
clutching clods of broken stone
and scale the rocky cliff
grasping

They tell me there is light above my head
I am looking down
into the abyss
longing

Liquid drips from my hands and wrists
grated and scraped, rasped, cut
my life bleeds to the ground
falling

"Keep moving" comes the vociferating cry
my ears chase the sound
a skyward voice
calling

The walls are tight, I am constrained
my body bowing in the in-between
I am floating
hanging

melancholy and mirth

You do not miss my love, My Love.
You do not miss my love.

I close my eyes and see you here
you're lounging on the couch
the computer screen makes you laugh
unquestionably louche

I gaze at you half-knowingly
your pleasure's my delight
you glance my way, feeling my stare
and bruise me with your sight

You do not miss my love, My Love.
You do not miss my love.

I see you in each passing car
In stranger's faces, hair
I look for you where e're I go
Knowing you are not there

Of all the lovers in my life
I'd placed you far above
trusted you with my fragile heart
yet you never think of

my love, My Love.
do you not miss my love?

I still desire your love,
My Love,
but you don't miss my love.

a word

a word
one word
is all you seek
a word to shape your soul

you open mouth, eyes, ears, and mind
receive whatever comes

a word
one word
a form of speech
with which to build a home

a place where masks can be removed
a place to write your tome

a word
unique
an utterance 
perhaps this is the one

abstraction, image, notion, thought
your labor's never done

a word
one word
from whence it comes
may matter all the more

for deep within it shall emerge 
the other words ignored

to speak
a word
you must unlock
your lips, reveal your place

until you can release your fear
no one can see your face.

My love,
Psyche,
Oh Butterfly,
Why have you flown so far?

Afraid to face the ugliness
and show me who you are.

movement

There is love in the world.
It tells me I am beautiful.
I am wanted.

Unbinding burial dressings fall.
There is movement.
My feet dance.

I rise with Maya Angelou
and breathe the moment with Margaret Atwood.

I give ode to pity with Jane Austen
and remembrance with Emily Bronte.

I let the turtle go with Mary Oliver,
I let go of our whole life with Adrienne Rich.

I have found them and with them I am found.
There is love in the world and it tells me I am beautiful.
I am not alone.

unbeautiful sunset

I can feel the finality in the pit of my stomach today.
Hands trembling for want of food.
Throat sere; eyes a drought.

you. are not. coming. back.

This is an ending.
An unbeatuiful sunset on a tenure of dreams.

I give you my future that the day might rest.
Tomorrow is no longer mine.

I will sleep without the whisper of your breath upon my neck.
I will wake and rise with no lips to graze my cheek.

I will not let love whither under your gallows any longer.
My soul will not be snuffed by the squall in your wake.
I will wind with the morning wind, with the new gale of a rising sun.

And someday soon I will forget to remember
that you are not coming back.

I will forget to remember
you are not coming back.

monster

when we loved did you grow smaller
when we laughed did a part of you die
was my joy your hell
your delight, my pain

you are a monster
invisible and ever-present
threatening and mute
you are sinister
you are ugly

beware, Oh the beautiful
her pleasure is to frighten
intentionally, deliberately
you are dangerous
you are deathly

I live in a wordless world
a saturated silence
all is quiet, sickeningly still
but my ears can hear you screaming

i would have listened

I would have listened to every word you spoke
waiting as you cleared your throat
watching you choke out your fears
letting you cry, drawing you near

I would have listened if you asked me to
searching eyes to know its true
biding as you gave your speech
said "I'm sorry," kissed your feet

I would have listened to anything you said
craving thoughts inside your head
even if you were a jerk
wishing I could stop the hurt

I would have listened if you opened your mouth
but your tight-lipped frown won out
"I'm sorry... I have to go..."
Three years, and that's all I know

far away

You feel so far away.
Not distance.
Not space.
It's in the wanting.

Where has your wanting gone?
Have you given it to someone else or are you keeping it for yourself?
Does keeping it make you feel strong?

desire for... without you mine is incomplete...
You don't want me where you are
but where you are is what I want.

lost

I feel lost.
Like I don't know my way.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

Where do I go from here?
The signs are unrecognizable to me.
The earth gives way under my feet,
am I sinking?

I feel alone.
Like I don't know myself.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

Where do I go from here?
The signs are unrecognizable to me.
The earth gives way under my feet,
am I falling?

I feel empty.
Like I have nothing left to give.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

I keep walking.
I know not where.
Certain only of my love.

commitment

I still have it.
I can't bring myself to give it up
        yet.
It means something,
something I don't understand.

I haven't seen it since you left.
It's in a black box tucked away.
I remember it when people laugh,
when they smile and are happy.

Today I found it in my mind,
felt the weight of it in my hand,
looked on as it glistened,
until the water ran cold and my toes wrinkled.

I can find it in the shower,
when I hold my own arms.
That means something,
something I don't understand
        yet.

the kiss

I no longer remember your kiss.
I can see your lips, thick and soft.
I know firm pressure and the taste of coffee,
but I can't remember what it feels like.

I no longer remember the smell of your hair.
I can see your curls, thick and soft.
I know the wet pillowcase and the scent of fresh,
but I can't remember what it smells like.

I no longer remember what the poem read.
I can see the paper, white half-sheet and blue hotel crest.
I know you told me that you love me,
but I can't remember why.

I no longer remember the touch of your hand
the tight grip of fingers

I no longer remember the kiss of forehead, the nuzzle of nose

I cannot see your eyes.
It is dark.

I lean in.
I cannot see your eyes.

reflection

unattractive
undesirable
unwanted

controlling and territorial
helplessly hopeful
oblivious

too tidy
too bodily
too confident

too present
too attentive
too detached

"I was never in love with you."
"I'm attracted to someone else."
"It's a symptom not the reason I..."

a fearful anger
a naive generosity
a beautiful foolishness

I squint into the glass
and try to see myself reflected in your eyes

I am afraid.

memory

i've lost my grip
you slip away
no tears of mine were shed today.

brittle paper
and inkless pen
no ripped remembrances to mend.

i cannot cry
i will not bleed
no one is here to hear me to plead.

the walls are cracked
with empty frames
they do not dare to speak your name.

tomorrow comes
today will go
another night you will not know.

i am still here
my love unchanged
exposed by ardent burning rage.

you lost your grip
you walked away
these lies will tangle you one day.

to loneliness

there is no hope
there is no saving this
you decided it.

I am surrounded by ugliness
burning things and smoldering memories
the air is pungent and weak

you are hideous
you are death
there is no life in you

no words can reach you
no body can warm you

you are cold
you are wretched
you are excrement

my perception has changed
you have changed me
i am forever new

to hate

I've been circling around the word for weeks
a vulture, conservative and chary
scaling and skimming the air, sliding and gliding toward you

Is the body still fresh?
Is she breathing?
are you alive?

weak and woozy from the dive
I soar upward beyond all reach
the stench rises with me

you are dead and rotting
grotesque irregular curves
devious, sinuous, torturous

a carcass impressed upon memory
scorched into skin
I cannot escape it

I see you waking and sleeping
leave me alone.
I do not want you.

the naked more

orange paint.
gray ink.
I draw your hips round.

shoulders soft
concave back arched
neck thin and light

waves of blond and straight brown clumps
blue eyes, the color of bruising.
bulbous bottom
ballad cheeks

feeble fingers fondling
full lipped
fallen face
freckled shoulder

legs thick
stomach strong
skin pocketed smooth
rough, tight, and sagging

and then there is flesh.
the naked more.
I long for you.

dry and tepid
numb

orange paint.
gray ink.
I draw my hips next to yours.

beauty

koi ponds and thick patches of wild flower
wood burning stoves
poetry

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

incense
candle light
groans that come like prayers

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

a gentle voice and concerned gaze
the kiss of lips, a knowing moue
tight grip of hand

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

the cool breeze of autumn air
idle walks in warm sweaters
a serendipitous song

I chant the beauty of the good
and wait to learn what others have learned before me

I can almost ...

who is this skin

my dreams have changed
love enfolded in rage
recognition
of your carelessness
of your naivety
of apathy
of guilt

like a child playing Russian roulette
the revolver aims at my chest
senses heightened
I can smell the rush of your adrenaline high
my palms sweat tears
I feel only terror

"I win
you lose
game over
now we both need to heal"
you whisper

recognition
of your carelessness
of your naivety
of apathy
of guilt

a hand brushes against my flesh
is this my hand?
what once was soft to touch
grows thick callous
forming over a deep wound

I don't recognize my own skin

fantasy

Last night you came into my dreams.
"I'm coming back," you said.
"I love you."

The crease on your forehead,
the teary blue eyes,
asked me how I could have ever doubted you.

fantasy
longing
sanity

I want to go back to sleep.
My dreams protect me from the truth.
For the first time in weeks I awoke after the sun had risen.

fantasy
longing
sanity

Come to me again tonight.

blue-nude

Your body is beautiful.
I nuzzle my nose into the slight twist of your spine as you undress for bed.

"hold me," you would say as you rolled to the other side of the mattress.
You asleep in my arms was always my favorite time of day.

I feel your shoulders pressed against my chest.
My stomach bends to you.
You are smooth and warm.

A hand rests above your navel
gripping at sheets below your breast.
I hold you tightly.
I breathe in your hair.

Your silhouette is lit by streetlights slanted through blinds.
I am spellbound by the curve of your torso.

I love your back.
I never knew that seeing it meant that you had turned away.

pain

My pain is real.

I touch it
when I pull a strand of hair from my sweater.

I hear it
clinging to roads and reverberating off of restaurant walls.

I smell it
in the fabric of a house that is not my home.

I whisper it
to my tea and toast.

I see it
when there is no light
though it is not here.

My pain is real.
I can feel it
climbing into my bones
draining blood
emptying the stomach.

My real is pain.

grief

Rain spattered on a windshield.
The drip of a car muffler.
When I drive they come.

They come when I lay down.
Mascara-smudged sheets.
Cold toes wrapped twice in blankets.

Flowing down cheeks into mouth and nose.
Dropping to wooden floors.
Staining clothes.

I am drenched with grief.

He is a thief that steals my days.
Collecting time and keeping it for hours.
He scatters it about the house.
Scribbled paper, thinning photographs.

The faucet leaks into the tub.
The steam rises to cover a body soggy with misery.
Saline soaks my soiled skin.

I am clean. I am clean.

home

home.

The smell of shampoo on a pillow case.

home.

Hauerwas, Stringfellow, Wittgenstein, Wells...

home.

A forgotten mug, an empty glass.

home.

The clutter of unwanted mail, post-it-notes, and cookie crumbs.

home.

Macy's bags and Banana Republic receipts.

home.

Grapes and goat cheese, strawberry smoothie, peanut butter toast...

home.

I drive southwest in the rain for miles.

home.

I can't find you.

vanishing

Time moves slowly. It flays my skin with every word you never speak. 

Am I disappearing?

The ink beneath my flesh bleeds onto each page: truth and love. truth and love.

If not yours, what words will form me today?

The poet enters into herself to create...

Whom shall I enter into to be created...

desire

She saw you naked when you were fully clothed. Your eyes and lips gave her everything.

Unpacking boxes I found your mortar and trowel hidden underneath my pajama pants. You bought them for me last winter. Don't you remember? Or are you too busy building walls?

She sees you each day that my eyes are hidden from you. Woos you with her smile and wrinkly eyes.

Your emotions are a tree swaying in the wind.  You give yourself to her words as you gave yourself to mine. Your leaves flutter. Your fruit ripens. You reach for the sun. Desire. Desire.

My world is a cloud. The graying flood of rain pools my love into muddy puddles of wretch and want. I choke on my tears to stay alive.

Keep breathing.
desire. desire.
Keep breathing.

tethered

I was born inside of you. Conceived by desire and poetry. Nursed by your mind, weened only when the tether was cut.

I am hungry.

Does your stomach still growl?

I bear the wound where our bodies were joined. You bore an abyss where memory falls. There is no ground beneath it. There is no steadying. There is only wet. There is only dry. Will they never meet?

I lay beside the gaping hole and try not to forget.

You surround me.
I am still inside of you.

painted bunting

Full-lipped and free the nightingale purls.
As sun reaches sky his reddish tail unfurls.

Perched in morning dew the robin swells with sound.
He flutters from the maple branch to bed in leafy brown.

At twilight hear the hummingbird's vibrations fluctuate.
The trill and tweedle twittered tune of busyness he makes.

A bird unnoticed hides behind a wooded screen.
Her intonation syncopates to blackest darkest green.

Quietly, cautiously, the painted bunting sings.
Hidden in the underbrush she births the song she brings.

"awake, my soul, awake."

gurney

Her fingers gripped the pen as if a scalpel, knuckles sterile white, the red pen bleeding across the page as she cut through my words with practiced precision. 

Her steady hands offered me the wounded organ mended. But in my quivering grip it felt like a starched bed-sheet menacingly awaiting its next sickly occupant. 

“I will never write again.” 

The statement was a heartbeat, solid and certain, but it felt as lifeless as the morgue.

“Wounds heal.” I whispered to the words covered in scratches and ticks. “And scars remind us of the battles that we’ve walked away from.”

The words were therapy. 

I could feel the warmth returning to my fingers as I flexed them. I read through her systematic analysis, her diagnostic chart. She pressed into each wound, stretched every tight tendon, exposed all of my weakest parts.

“Will she survive?” I whisper to an empty room.

morning

I wake to the sound of glass clanking on plastic. My drowsy eyes smile at the thought of you making coffee when you’re half asleep.  The place where you lay has already chilled. I’ll never get used to the days you wake up before me. 

Our love was once a vagabond. It travelled miles and miles so that we could fall asleep holding one another’s hand. But now your warmth is cupped inside a mug of black liquid and mine is wrapped inside our bed sheets waiting for the sun to rise.

I love you.

I whisper these words to the darkness and imagine them spiraling down the staircase to meet you. I can picture you clutching your coffee as you browse the morning’s news, oblivious to the words floating just above your head.

I love you.

They teeter and sway until they snag the steam that rises from your lips and you take another sip. 

I love you.

You whisper into your mug. The coffee winks and smiles. And I know I must share you this morning, just like every other.

But I love you just the same.