Posts
-
17
Seventeen is shamelessly begging for an attempt at childhood
after you have devoted each year since birth to the preparation
of becoming a voice to be heard and ultimately reckoned with. -
I’d love you (if) [it’s] {only} |us|
(if you’re wrong.
Wrong for the right reason.
Wrong to reason in gazing at eyes.
Wrong as eyes see and mouth swallows.
Wrong as swallows fly and explore life.
Wrong while life continues in being. -
November
Clothing
There are so many dresses I have bought for events I will never
be invited to, but I do not give them away just in case I am.
I will bring home new hoodies knowing I will wear the same -
Three days of rain (and I believe this might last forever)
Sometimes you have to wait for the flood to end.
My chest weighed down like a penny in a puddle,
I wonder if wishes apply to wayward pothole pools;
at the edge of the road, I wait for a dream to surface. -
Teeth and Tongue
Teeth tears through the enemy;
searing past the layers, seizing
its dense core and shreds it.
Tongue saunters the problem;
suave in its protest against the
brutal violence that is seen daily. -
Three-Hoofed Lamb
Laying in the desolate corner of the pen
a little lamb is curled safely beside her mother,
dreaming of all the vibrant flowers in the eastern
field of the shackled barn further down the hill.
Loves
-
Before the World Even Existed
She imagines the universe,
the world suspended in midair.
Before, nothing except possibility even existed.
The Milky Way, Earth, evolution–shimmer and dematerialize.
-
Birdwatching
meet me in the dream where the windows open onto bird flight
with sparrows flitting shadows across the room,
-
The power of the feminine
I believe that femininity is power. I was born a girl, and even though I know now that I am more fluid than the word “girl” can contain, I am still feminine. I am feminine because I choose to be.
-
God
As children we are taught God was the big man in the sky
He who watches over, tall and overbearing
Thorns stapled to his head and bleeding, he was resurrected for us
-
November death
It’s stick season
again.
The leaves have passed and gone.
Spirits ran rampant through our world for one night.
It’s not yet the Feast
-
she is maiden, mother, crone
Wind whispers through the air,
snatching at the girl,
sitting in the dark
her face shining though,
in the moonlight.She is anything but what she appears