Musings and Misgivings
Cells pumping in veins
like Texas oil,
thick and black as night,
red as waning sunlight
then the peace of disappearing hope
and the stagnant warmth of stillness
It hangs on me like dead skin–
an extra layer of once was,
the dichotomy of rain and rust,
and everything that should be
but isn’t
and everything that will be
but shouldn’t
01-30-20
The sun glints in the rear view
and spotlights a trash bag in the back seat
My eyes are pierced by a flash of white
and I mistake the bag for an intricate cobweb,
a creature’s hard-fought work of art
When my pupils adjust, it’s only plastic
and I wonder if I could ever see beauty
where there is garbage,
if I could ever look back and see boxes
filled with treasure and laughter
instead of mismatched socks and uncertainty
I’ve learned how to pack properly
how to fold clothes neatly
how to separate the pots from the pans
how to throw out tired utensils
but I can’t throw out the tired memories
no matter how much they exhaust me
I heard once that men are compartmentalizers.
They can tuck information into filing cabinets
and store them in the recesses of their brains
and control when anything is retrieved
But I am a [insert derogatory reference to psyche] woman
so when I see a cardboard box, my neurons scream
“abort, abort!” and suddenly I am 8 years old
and everyone is screaming
and we have two weeks to leave
and I don’t know where we’re going
and I don’t know if we’ll be together again.
People tell me not to look back
as if it’s a matter of fact,
as if it’s a decision you can make
even when the sun is behind you
and you can’t see what’s ahead.
Then and now and later are a blur
of here and there and fact and fiction,
but I finally realize it’s an optical illusion,
so I’m not running away.
01-06-20
Robin Hood, the wayfaring thief that fed the hungry,
has disappeared like the humanity
that prompted him in the first place
Friar Tuck tried to save the poor,
but the rich have always claimed
their full pockets are God’s blessings
Hard Work pays off, they say,
and pays no taxes
Hard Work pays no mind
to the misty eyes of the beggar
or the sex worker or the addict
Because Jesus made his choice
If only they could see,
Jesus was more of a Robin Hood
than a billionaire
11-19-19
Dancing, black silhouette behind a snow-soaked pane
A tree or a sprite, maybe,
It’s hard to make out through her wings–
like mossy green growths from her chair–
brushing the walls in narrow halls,
trailing her scent of clove and citrus
with traces of glitter
when she sings, the trees bend in half
and my heart swells against my ribs
until we’re all pleasantly uncomfortable,
inside and out
For a moment I remember the first time
I heard Tori Amos while reading up on time travel
and I feel myself astral projecting
beyond the dark strings and siren notes
No one notices me flying before I catch myself
staring at the shadow outside, still dancing
11-11-19
Shhhhh
I can hear him now
He knows what he’s spinning,
but fragility is a master crafter
and he is her apprentice
He tiptoes on eight legs
and argues that he is complex,
but I don’t think so
We all keep secrets in the bathtub
next to the soap
so when we cast silken nets
and late night texts,
we can clean what we catch
Anyway, stoking the fire
is better than burning bridges
and social media is just a pleasantry
So he reaches with each limb
to keep his web from crumbling,
but what’s left of our nest
has already fallen
You see, some secrets grow up
to be big black holes
and I won’t be sucked
into someone else’s mess
10/22/19
the dry leaves dance,
but the earth stands still
a hesitation
like one last squeeze of Mother’s hand
before taking the teacher’s
while the fog is crisp
and the sun is soft,
the mornings drag
like stale cigarettes
in a prison guard’s mouth,
watching
as the world falls,
she soaks in hot springs,
shedding summer’s robe
and painting in brilliant
gold and then white
only for you to stain her canvas
with fumes and false promises
10-03-19
Barelegged and braless,
stargazing at the wall,
waiting for
a burning ball of gas
to sweep me into a vacuum
where the air is so thin
that my brain can’t
find it
“How does that make you feel”
they would ask
and I’d say “weightless”
for now, though, it’s all heavy
and my eyes are falling in
so I can’t see the starlight
only a wall
9-04-19
If I was a bird
I’d fly as effortlessly
as she pulls on his heart
and watch him watch her
through the clouds
There are other wings
he’s fixed
but he’s never had to bandage hers
so I wonder sometimes
if he sees me as wounded
or if someday he could look up
and see me
in the same sky
8-22-19
Sometimes shattered glass still cuts my brain
and you see me wince like the child I was
when I went running through the tall grass
with snakes and ticks and spiders
who made better company
than the venomous tongues in the kitchen
Resolution was a closed door
and three young girls
talking about tomorrow behind it
Peaceful were the days when I foraged for
shredded cheese and ketchup sandwiches
and raced the dogs to the creek
Heavenly were the days when I visited
my friend in the trailer park
and we sang Shania on the trampoline
while her mom made us macaroni
(she always asked if I wanted seconds)
Now I nod along to J.D. Vance
but you can’t understand where we’ve been
and how hard it is to throw away the white trash
that we’ve collected in heart-heavy landfills,
our memories like landmines exploding
with a mere whiff of mildew
or the sound of shattered glass on linoleum floors
8-16-19
