It seems that you have stumbled upon this site, for which I have no answer as to why you are here. All I have for you are more questions. Questions upon questions upon questions. So, if you don’t want to think, or you expect some kind of answer, then run little one. Run very quickly away. For this is not the place for you, and you have stumbled into an ever expanding mind with no foreseeable exit.
I have learned this,
I am educated,
it must be fact.
cold, warm, iced, or far above the legally consumable limit
served sweet, bitter, and/or a little milky
(maybe very milky)
fat-whole-soy-a little bit of skim
add a little bit of flavor
and stir the stick
swirl the spoon
watch as it slips beneath the surface
the precision of gingerly lapping
at the freezing burn
fingering beneath the miniscus
I so desperately need a crying space free wife
to unleash the emotions rather than end on lightning wings
in a public façade where everyone sees bird teeth
something is wrong narrow star
nothing is wrong amber tongue
don’t you see
I am polished fear
making space for nightmare champagne
emotions of the trills from distant hills
turning toward grey sky
Wherever you are dawn bright
whenever you come back vermillion moon
handwriting like eyelashes
I need to make space for you
when you do
and to do that
I so desperately need to cry.
Unleash scissor threads
down my face
near my eyes
that if I cry
I can smile
and I can make space for you
Linked and laughing
cackle thunder clap
you kaleidoscopic rash coaster
I was late today because I was on the phone with my sister planning a two week trip around Europe. We haven’t seen each other in four months. Way too long considering we lived an hour away from each other, more like ten states, or two vodka shots, or one broken jeep and a trench full of rain from each other. I was late today to plan for some sisterhood. I was late today to make time for myself, herself, and ourselves. I am late today which on other days isn’t late.
Other days, it’s thirty minutes right on time. Other days, it’s a photograph of two lovers embracing in momentary perfection. Two pints in one conversation. A biographical account and a pitied confession. On other days, I wouldn’t be late today. But you see, it started because my sister and I are planning a trip, and our minds are already on vacation. We are already freed from the “traditional” form of life (if there is such a thing!), and we have been freed from the inescapable: time.
So I am not late today,
and I won’t be considered late
Ha! Poetry is what?
Comparing a flower to the complexity of a woman’s face?
Taking the magnificence of a sunset and lowering it down to the level of a canvas’s paints?
Or taking something catastrophic like a combusting star and comparing it to a high schooler’s day?
Or is it the ability to rhyme?
To be able to chime,
with other words,
so that it flows like a song sung by birds.
Or is it finding something small?
Something not really there at all,
and bringing it to life
with such expression that one begins to cry.
Or is it made to make one shout?
To speak against the trends,
the ongoing bends
in the road,
never righting itself?
Well then, I must be a poet.
(Originally published in Toyon magazine 2005)
Who are the people that tell you yes?
Who are the people that tell you no?
Who are the people that tell you to be?
Who are the people that tell you to be anything but?
Who are the people that make you?
Who are the people that are there when you are most alone?
Mostly living alone?
Who are the people that see you?
Who are the people that hear you?
Who are the people that understand you?
Who are the people that would believe this?
When I was a little girl, a spirit followed me to Las Vegas. Running alongside the moving truck, it’s legs twisting into wings, it howled, “write damn you!”
It slithered into the clouds as I turned to tell my mother.
“That’s a nice story sweetie, and don’t say damn.”
Where are the people who would believe this?
★ ★ ★ ★
Smog and sounds of the city.
I am alone here.
I will see you again
in the surreal plane
of the reality
we will make together.
I am happy-sad,
and physiologically confused.