poetry
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Each autumn, the leaves surrender in gold to the ground belowWindswept from indifferent branches they fed all summerThe waters know what it means to be battered to and froriver stones worn grief smooth by careless currentsin choreographed odysessys flocks abandon the snowand even the earth accepts the sun’s cold shoulderso why do I hold fast
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Cotton rag 300lb hot presshand-dyed hand spun merinoUnravels in mushy loopsspilling stencils, tumbling rubber stampsthai constellations and white princessesSpurt in emerald clotswillow charcoal and pale stumpspencils, pencils, pencils all rinse awayrip off this last bandagea torrent of purple prose gushes outsoaking my Chuck Taylorsruining my ironic tee slice deep the dead and dyingScrape off the
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OneRed dropOf fine watercolorBlossoming summer juicy ripeOn the virgin cottony groundBurying myself deep as a seedFrom the world with a bleeding brush
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Miles of roots seekingDeep in the damp dark earthMy ability to thriveRenders me invisiblePass me by with an absent smileSee me without seeing me If I were fragileyou would know I could breakStorm ravaged, wind strippedBruised branches, bleeding sapWeeping weariness to the leaf littered layer below If I were beautifulSomeone would stopAdmire how the breeze
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Nurse brings in African violetspurple tinged with white A gift she says to all the patientsIn the maternity ward How nice I sayI’m recovering from my hysterectomyFeeling better than I thought I wouldFeeling lighter Unburdened fromSudden blood and constant painI’d waited so long to let go of this truculent uterus, my red hot poker ovaries
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It was a vacant housefull of that good potato salad and Luther Vandrosssing alongs, tight roller sets, and easy laughtercautious windows watching over the neighbors it was an old housefirst built on the blockpainted brick and that tree the kids used to climbR&B in the kitchen, bikes in the driveway it was a nice housefirst
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Tell us that you hear our concerns Tell us how much you care Tell us how important our voices are Thank us for coming to share The conversation will continue Say we have to table this motion Regretfully for a year or two Tell us how much diversity matters Just not as much as vacations
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Together we hurl through this tunnel of beeches and careless mulberries green silence pressing you and me on all sides my fingers drumming the steering wheel what is the word for it trees that keep their dead leaves dry papery offerings to distract deer from eating their bark in the hungry winter I could rattle
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Here I hang from a limbin the upside downone leg bentone foot bound Suspended from wisdomthough clearly life’s clownhelpless, hopeless yethappiness abounds Apparently in difficultystrength can be foundrelax into uncertainty—poof!and clarity rebounds No swords, wands, pentaclesnor even the hierophant’s crowninstead I hold peace asmy change falls to the ground
circular staircase 