good, not excellent

much
done well

good
not excellent

and yet
it is enough

shadows

on an expired license
that ran out after you left the country
you're driving along
following the curves of the hillside
warping shadows across the dashboard
sliding from left to right
i can't help but watch

we've stopped talking
listening to the music as it buzzes out
beating from a half-broken speaker
we've got more to say
but not now

i catch my own eyes in the rearview mirror
a rare moment of self-awareness
quick to avoid what i see
looking out
among the rambling, barren trees and crispy fields
watching the sadness of trailer parks
with methodical rows

we're curving back onto one another
we can move
the distance spreading out
in stalks left broken, stranded, startled
the fields of my homeland
lacing up
turning in circles
back home under the sunlight
the force of wheels
we're shadows moving

candlelight

we've waited
watched, wondered
in cold darkness
eyes adjusting
to faint shadows

candles sheltered
cupped in hands
wax dripping
sliding across knuckles
burning
lighting the way

hands interlaced
eyes aglow

chomp

i didn't understand
sitting stabbing jabbing jabbering
over pineapple chunks
why are you crying
sitting here trying
to catch up on your life
chewing, the luxury waste of disposable
cutlery cut chomp spin
your stories for sympathy
i don't understand
squelching my unease as your eyes flood
biting into the gross exaggeration
of corn syrupy pies
my saccharine lies

light is movement

I sat in the second to last row
simply because
I saw the strip of light
lining the chairs
sunlight through stained red glass

And I loved the way
when I opened my hymnal
that line covered certain words
across my hands
and through the pages
marked and noted for careful attention

And I could hardly think clearly
when the same happened
as I opened to Isaiah
and couldn't understand a word
except that all was illuminated

overflow

it's the sound
my cup runneth over
the water filling the glass makes
my cup runneth over
one hand on the tap
you leadeth me
you know
my cup runneth over
to let go
my cup runneth over
without thinking
you leadeth me
listening to the rise of water
my cup runneth over
about to overflow

standing in line at the post office

"look, she has hair like yours!"
he said, to his son
pointing at our red hair
(his more natural than mine)
i only smiled in response

i really didn't mind
even if i would usually be annoyed
as he had held the door
and let me stand in front of him
the slow moving line at the post office

and i had already watched
as his son gave him a hug
clutching his side
thinking for a moment how i missed my dad

and they seemed so giggly
so chatty
how could i mind

"you'll be with me tonight"
he said, holding his son tight
"and your mother tomorrow"

suddenly wondering
about the nature of overcompensation

we were young

down the beach
we walked
my hair catching the salt spray

we talked
i can't remember about what
only that the sun
was fast disappearing
and we knew
our parents would soon be wondering

trying to hold on
to stretch out the week
the impermanence of the ocean
lapping at our heels

knowing we couldn't get lost
the beach one long line
we were young
gas station sunglasses tucked in your back pocket
we were young
unconcerned with little beyond boys
and knowing we wanted to be friends forever

a chance of rain

drops of rain
pushing through
creating new worlds
giving way

walking back
a quick jagged flash of lightning
underlined the sky
huddled under my umbrella
watching
i stopped on the corner
waiting for the traffic signal to clear me to walk
no cars for miles

rain fills in the cracks
glassy surfaces
smoothing it all over

tiger eyes

grief is hiding.
tiger eyes darting in the night
wait wait wait
murky yellow tiger eyes
that comes waiting
to lurch out in deep
guttural sobs
haunches quivering
it's been hiding too long
too hungry

oh, how i had thought i domesticated you

again and again

when I start feeling
pulled down
into the weight
of life, I think,
is this what evolution
is like?
the grinding
changes of consciousness
that makes me feel as if
synapses are snapping
only to rearrange,
again and
again and
again.

sabbath

i play my best
at old, creaky
church pianos.

chipped keys
with hymnals
scattering old bulletins
and the faded, crumbling edges of pages
all around.

where i can be alone.

not really a performance,
unless the audience is one.
and i don't have to think anymore.

just playing,
old chords
i don't have to worry have been repeated
because they have
and that's the beauty of it all.

Page one

I feel hunched. And sticky.  But mostly unsure of how I feel.  I like that he has laugh lines.

The trees are beginning to change.  I'm using this stupid seminary pen connected to someone I don't really know.  The water moves.

He was engaged once.  We are all deeper than I realize.  The sky is so beautifully blue.  I ache.

Each time I feel I have a breakthrough, I must remember these things take more than days. Years.

I can feel the concrete up my spine.  When I looked for the cricket, I found a wandering, wriggling worm.

Slowly I am being pieced together.  Peace, calmly.  All for the lavender in the sky.  I'm gathering what is interesting, and only now I'm realizing its because I want you to see.

Credo

God is like the sound my shoes make when I am walking alone.
God is nothing like the overused words of grace and love,
unless to you they are as worn and comfortable as an old sweater.
God is a whispered 'good morning'
God is nearer than all of that, hidden in the wood of rafters
in the pulse I find in my wrist,
God is all that keeps me alive.

Persistence beyond measure.

meeting you

i can't decide
but maybe it was the cat
curled up in the crook of my knee
tucked away
under the blankets
and layers of sleep
that brought on such dreams
a repetitive story
that allowed for surprise
wandering from room to room
every time i saw you
i felt the blush of satisfaction
like the purr of a cat

here to there

knowing
the space between
two ears
is small enough
to contain just enough

or the expanse of sky
end-to-end rainbows
(large enough, they trick you into seeing
the curve of the horizon,
now we know the earth is round)

f-a-c-e
intervals

the dangerous moment
when distance
is bridged in a keystroke
the bit between heartbeats

space, spaces
all the same

just the bits between words, worlds
all the same

this is what you should know about me

i tried to look up why i walk on my toes
googled it
searched for something official like
"toe walking"
it's a real thing
i suppose
i did learn a new word,
idiopathic
it means,
you don't know why
something medically unexplainable
it just spontaneously exists
which took me back to where i started
and to something i already knew
that something
lurks in my family genes
and every so often we just rise up
i rise up
like i'm daring the world
to tell me i'm 5'2" instead of 5'4"

wishful thinking

sometimes
i look
at

     well-decorated homes
and feel

the same
as when
i watch
  sappy movies
  (stupid movies)

so
wistful

afoot

i used to be concerned

about my feet 

in the dirt and 

wear and tear

of the summer barefoot months

even then

i knew

princesses had feet

soft and delicate

to float amongst clouds

a sign of privilege

later, i longed 

for

a natural sole

toughened 

i wanted to be a boy

to run across pavement

crawl though imaginary jungles

of prickly weeds

maybe all i want now

is a new pair of heels

(still size six)

to prance about in

that i can kick off

to burrow my toes

in the mud

after rain

reaching the end of a book on a hot summer day

lingering at the edge
of a book haze

     my mind fogs over

like the humid
haze
that's been circling
for days, now

     i'm thirsty
     but the water is all around

to dip back
into the languid rush
of cool words
instead thunder calls
a sharp clap
to return to the world
without neat endings

 

to-do list

this summer,
i'm going to drink sweet tea
until my teeth hurt
and read library books
all day long
losing myself in worlds
not my own.
listen to albums
straight through,
one complete masterpiece.
(important things take time)
paint pictures of places i've been.
think.
write letters
to friends overseas
crafting sentences
that explain what it's like
to wait
to sit alone.

thin spaces

once,
the world
said
come closer

all the
worse
we
listened
and now
we can't
get back
out
again

so much
color
and
curiousity

stirling

we sat
one on each green step
on the door stoop
eating ice cream
scraping carmel off the sides
with small plastic spoons
facing cobbled streets
talking
about sunshine
basking
in the sensation
of simple pleasure

being awake to the world

after sunset, before dark

seasonally

the light lingers longer on the day

gracing us all with minutes

of dusk, and shadowy purples

we haven't seen since last year

walking,

i forget this

and my eyes keep widening

as if that can defeat the darkness

losing track of time

until the street lights

turn on with a buzz

as i pass underneath

friends i haven't seen in a while

and friends i just left

cross through my thoughts

not knowing how they see the spring

as a time of warmth

renewal

just wondering

my boots hit the ground

the heel wearing off

into frayed pieces of plastic

the idle confusion of thoughts

significant enough to keep myself company

yet not enough to distill

into a single, profound poem

petrichor

if i sit still enough
and wait for the silence to approach
i can find the silence isn't still at all
and welcoming it in
i hear ambitious bird calls
trumpeting, forceful and beautiful
and the tentative sound
of rain on leaves

education frustration

it was the same feeling
as before
that one time
i made my english teacher cry
because we weren't treating literature
with the proper respect
and i couldn't sit back
and not defend the beauty
of wilder
and emily webb

so today
i was horrified
as you sliced it open
watching the brutal dissection
red and raw underneath

mystic poetry doesn't need categories.

you were taking apart
something i could never put back together

skye

no sign of life
cold oversized hills
only betrayed by
occasional
boot prints

shades of mauve
shadowed
stalwart, faded trees

melted snows
gusting around
ruins worn and torn
roots and branches
steadily gaining

unaware
muddled
water
patiently carving out stone

here,
mornings come too late
and nights end too soon

on being friends and coming home

i've got so much meanness
and selfishness
and jealousy
it's crowding the air out of my lungs
and the space in my joints
that allows me to bend and stretch
i can't breathe

but to be true
i've got to let go
and realize that i'm okay

it's impossible to link souls
when i've left no space
and i can't let you overtake me either
because i'm still a home
i am a home
a place to sit and stay a while
the door is open to speak
but please
like in any good home
do not shout too much
leave your shoes at the door
i understand weariness
because that's the plague that makes me want to
shut up tight
and try to keep this all to myself

but it's a treasure to let you in
oh weary wanderer
to see what you see
the sights of another world
colors i don't understand
please forgive me
when i forget to pull out my best china
i can't reach it on the top shelf
but i'm getting there

walking home from church

the trees are damp and singing
twisted branches, conversations

i don't notice the rain anymore

the bits of lace flowers
dripping
puddles shiver

we must be cold under our scarves
unaware of the ground reaching up
and the sky curling down
whispers
fallow and gritty

days (incomplete)

morning:
we were all squinting
stretching out
it may have been too much sun

dusk:
presiding like kings and queens
conquering the small clearing
scrounged twigs ablaze

smoke in my eyes

and deep

widening into my lungs

cliffs, precarious

looking out for miles

it's empty

embers fading

it feels like home

night:

climbing back down

thankful i had you next to me

paths in daytime, treacherous 

night, absurd

eyes down to the pool of light ahead

listening for the echoes

after today

so aware of you

i could follow only the sound of your footsteps

your hum

dirt

it's late
and I'm feeling dirty

the kind that should multiply
cigarette stains
scattered across calloused hands
and coffee rings
hardened overnight

but I don't smoke
and my coffeepot has been broken
cheap
as it was

if anything
I've overindulged in m&ms
Pepsi products
and a lack of mobility

I'll just wait for something truly lavish

and I know I've read more books
I just can't remember
maybe it's because they were all smut

there's that one cobweb hanging
dangling from the corner
and I'm too lazy to get it

if I had a kitchen of my own
I'd make sure to put a bench
right down the side
with cushions
some kind of kitschy print
kitsch, kitchen, it makes sense
so I'd have another place to sleep
on nights like this

that one time
I slept on the bench
next to the cracked window
somewhat guiltily
air conditioning running high
but to breathe the grass wind
and watch the moon
captured so bright and incomplete

14 again

i can't help
but listen to the same song on repeat
over and over

it's silly,
but it's beautiful

because that's when i think about
the way he
waits
and how everything he creates
is honest
authentic

and it's a thin thread
from me to him
and i can't pause the song
as much as i can't
pick up the phone
and make that call
or make a move
or any of that
would make this
honest

because
honestly, honesty
would mean it's nothing

i'm not going to make that happen

unseen

breath isn't anything you can see
but in the waters
the spirit across the deep
the waves are the
wind
and we need washing
a chance to come forth dripping
and new

it's crashing and
breaking so
as not to leave anything behind

catching my breath
keeping it
still
because i want to hear
the hum if not the sight
the sound
of air shaking the strings

i want to wait for the dawn

like when my head
was against your back
listening
to your voice
through your backbone
like one long chord
in that moment
listening

i could've left myself behind

you can't spell alone without one

after the show
i'm uncomfortable
perfecting the awkward fidget

pacing, waiting for you to be done
listening for the flush
sounds of you washing up
counting tiles
retying my shoes

i don't like being alone
but if you were gone i could just leave
instead of waiting for your coffee addiction

for a moment in the middle of the set
when the chorus hit its stride
watching the bassist sing the words of his dead friend
(too soon, too soon)
i lost this anxiety
tapping my foot in time to the buzzed,
swaying bodies around me
because i felt part of the collective crowd
if only because i could hear the palpable loneliness
alone as one in the room
content with the contents of our minds

tapping, waiting
frustrated i've lost that melody already
about to go home, take off my shoes
discuss the evening with you
pretending like always
we actually understand one another

aging is gravity

for years

that's been the family vehicle

the only one where everyone fit

it was used when we got it

but still surprising

glancing up

when the ceiling fabric's sagging

pockets of air

blowing

dragging down

like we all do with age

skin that no longer holds tight

hands that simply let go

escape

cracking the pane
letting a gulp of cold air in

i jump out the window
dashing through the yard
over the rusty clothes line
leaving slush footprints behind
muddy boots, thoughts
reaching for the road

more side roads,
less highways

shedding the bulky knit mittens
fingers wiggling in the wind
coat, gone
breathing again

running
running
i'm gone

the neighbors shake heads
visible through their kitchen windows
spying on my sloppy trail
left so you could come too