And also with you

Corner seat, up front.
Probably the best seat in the house,
except for, of course, where the big guy's at.
Omnipresence sort of removes the need
for front row seats.
The power of the organ shakes straight up
from my heels to head.
I'm dressed in Sunday best.
Right there, right next to the sound,
I'm tucked behind the beast
that's roaring and drawing everyone along
in often old and faithful songs.
Lyrics of prayer wafting up to the vaulted ceilings.
I feel God everywhere
but how can I not tremble while asking,
"Lord, have mercy upon us."
Holding the hurt and misery out in front of me,
lifting the worst kind of sacrifice to the altar.
How can I express what it feels like
to be the one who gets to turn around
and tell you, "Your sins are forgiven."
Like a rushing wind, a flame.
I mean every word I say.
I understand, that this is just an hour.
A civic duty, maybe.
But I want to tell you that this,
meeting with you. Falling before God.
This. This, is what my life is about.
And I could sleep in pews,
and live off of communion bread
if it meant living in the house of God.
What's incredible,
more than music, stained glass;
is that this God, Alpha, Omega
lives in the house of me.

Alleluia. Alleluia.

Reminiscentia

Struggling to get dinner ready on time
you can't remember
how to work your oven.

But older memories
come spilling out
as I clamber about to scoop them all up.
I don't want to lose them.
The relics, the glass keepsakes
tucked and shelved all around
above the sink and dinner dishes
I want to know their stories.
An easter hen
and fair souvenirs from generations ago.

Tell me about before
walking to work
living in town with an old aunt.
Tell me about the independence
and the sunshine on the sidewalk.
Meeting your future husband.
What did you see?
Was it the crinkle around his eyes?

When you drive down Main Street
vacant and crumbling
do you think about when he walked you home from work?
Streetlight and starlight.

Living in the same house
you grew up in years ago.
Right on the township line.
The memories live in the carpet,
they breathe through the wallpaper.
Up through the heating vents
that inflated my Sunday dresses
twirling and giggling.

tired haikus

boxes and baggage
new shoes in a time of change
help me get going

sunburn on one side
days of delightful sunshine
books returned too soon

no more shared dinners
we eat seasonally here
well-salted cuisine

smudged

I didn't feel old
until
I saw the lipstick
stains on my
blue toothbrush
but even then
how much of that
is simply
a sophisticated game
of dress-up

all-knowing; all-loving; all-powerful

here I am
wearing my sweatshop clothes
crying Lord, Lord
forgive me
for my iniquities
for my late penalties
deliver me
from this world so corrupt
that I've embraced
because I love dishwashers
and a clean face
but why! and how?
could You create
a system rotted to the
roots
the children hungry
forcing down sickly sweet fruit loops
and then they tell me
that You're doing all You can
You're just missing hands
and that I understand
because I'm trying
Lord, I'm trying
and if You are love
You wouldn't let this happen
without a fight
forgive me
My Lord and my God
I'm doing what I can
use my bruises
and tomorrow
I'll be into something new
less beef
more relief
please be there too

belief

breaking down these locks
and I'm jealous of how
you just walk
right through closed doors
and I hate that
because you see me at my worst
but you're always around for my best
telling me
to look around
feel the marks of suffering
compare scars
don't be afraid
you're bringing some serious peace
to my huddled group
right in the middle of our pettiness
prying my clenched fist
apart again and again
breathing life
you invite me to inhale with you
cut the chains
I'm working on it

Not very good thoughts, but important ones nonetheless.

We didn't make it far
but at the same time
you're clearly here with now
and I can't help but wonder
as you sit in my kitchen
with another old friend
coloring eggs like we did before
after a day full of anticipation.

And maybe it was that,
along with sandal-weather
that gets right up under your skin
and that constant companion
worry about being left behind
that has me electric.

But I'm the one prancing ahead
dancing to the songs streaming
right through my ears and my rattling brain
thinking about an array of friends
both old and young and new
and well-worn like a good plaid.

It's so nice to stay outside
to breathe the openness
to consider what tomorrow will look like
to wear a belted dress
and we'll talk about God all you want
the smell of hyacinths and daffodils lingering.

one dream

i'm going to be me
I'm going to be carefree
as beautiful and as humble as a queen bee
rather unrelentingly
and as the sky parts from the red sea
the world is going to open to me
full of squid feet and possibility
from the strong and from the weak
i'm going to be free
feel the beat
singing wildly from the tree
from its roots straight to its leaves
i'm going to dance recklessly
i can see
open fields above my bruised knee
all things that are lovely
and it's so unlikely
that i can hardly breathe

lunch

she struggled with the gritty can opener;
like the one back home--bruised and battered
retching along the grated edge
the shared can of spaghettios torn open.
with coffee, the meal of starving literary types
split in half as well as could be
(even though she shouldn't have given him anything at all)
how was he to know
the sickly tomato smell felt like the John Deere clock at grandmas
the texture of tracing patterns on the olive green rug.
he didn't know that this lunchtime familiarity
processed pasta worse than a deep splinter
was a poor imitation of a life they had
if only in the whimsy of her mind

sneakers

running, running!
shoelaces trickle open
and i break free
tongues wagging behind me
hair cascading
long loose and curly
chasing, flying!

barking up the wrong tree or guardrails

on these road trips
when you're driving
i realize
we may not have had anything in common
and i can feel the greasy roots
of my hair, unwashed, unkempt

until our favorite songs come on
and i hear your laugh again
and even if you don't understand my life
the tea kettles and video games
it's okay

look at the trees
creeping up to the guardrails
look at their highest branches
spindly and vacant

the first bits of sunlight
heat the car burn my face
i don't mind
it forces me to think of books outdoors
and new places

after a long season of new people
and a chill that went deep to the bones
i can't look to you, my past for roots
and we've seen the spaces new leaves should be

look instead at the sap
the deep, sticky syrup deep within me
that feeds me
and makes me alive
the stuff of jane austen novels and acrylic paints

my glasses sit crooked on my nose
and i breathe deeply past the tension in my neck
watching the dents in the guardrail
listening to you once again but
mostly
looking for myself

things get turned around sooner or later

I don't like to think too hard about the way
Elliott Smith makes my heart pound
and the way he killed himself
more alone than the lyrics in his music
and I don't want to think
about starvation
when I live in a building with vending machines
don't make me think about what I see
when I look into your eyes
and I stop thinking about the world's problems
and how disgusted I am
that you make me think about mine
when I'd rather be pretentious and be concerned
about those dead and dying
instead of what living means when I'm with you
when I'm feeling most alive
because I'm toeing the line of sanity
because I can't hold all of these things at once
and I see bombs exploding
and limbs flying with gruesome accuracy
and all I want is to hold your hand
how are we supposed to live like this?

crocodile tears

the grasshoppers are anxious behind my eyes
and all I can think as the water drips down my back, is
"you don't love me"
"you don't love me"

"you don't love me"
and I want to chase away
to let the sunflowers sprout from my palms
crackling through my skin
to carry me towards the sky
to live deep within the earth

I can avoid your eyes
devoid of watermelon love
crisp like a Sunday

and I'll try to dispel this morning chill
that lives like the ants deep within my bones
tunneling

and I stand with the water off, immobile
as the water drips

snow moment

huge forts of snow
perfect for burrowing
to crawl inside
and wait
watching the sidewalk freeze
and the snow
fall, timidly
weaving in and out
of the streetlight

the sad beige color of unbleached linen

vacant
the gravel-pocked road stretches its
crumbled
long and winding arm
for miles.
horrible little grass tufts
covered by the dandruff of smut
lecherous barnacles
and feet.
kicking up a long line of dust
from this town to the

next.
chasing
i'm running
on this barren road
watching your bumper drive away
pulling away from this miserable place

and my ankles snap,
unable to take the weight
of dirt
clods collecting deep within my lungs
accumulated filth
a broken hitchhiker
listening to the engine pull away
watching the road decay

dinner for one

he is content sitting alone
the bustle of the restaurant
a calming reminder
that the buzz of the hive continues
long after his wings are clipped

back in the days he flew free
meals cooked by his wife of 53 years

it's been so long
that's a wistful memory
he conjures up by ordering liver and onions
despite the grimace by the young waitress
a favorite dish
reserved for Sunday nights

he sits and waits
slowly sipping his coffee
with barely trembling hands

waiting for a meal he can no longer cook
waiting for the return of a faithful companion
knowing he can only order one off the menu

danger

prying apart the sinewy ties
between my mind's fantasies
and reality

the dreams pumping a poisonous blood
into my everyday activities
sickly muscles
growing stronger and stronger

you nonchalantly feed the beast
one handful at a time

do you know what you're creating?

time well spent

I. waves
sunglasses

we walked for miles

conversation between old friends
as old as you can be
when you're sixteen

the sun slowly swallowed by the surf

watching people go by
envying suntanned bodies
and hands held tight


II. sand
sunglasses

wondering about a future
admiring spacious balconies
families

small creatures
burrowed deep in the sand
broken shells from the past

sketching hearts and initials
recklessly sharing in the moment
hide tide erasing all confessions


III. we would walk
we would hold hands
and share
on the beach
in our sunglasses

on aging and happiness (in a swimming pool)

it's nice to know
that as we age
this anxiety will fall away
our terseness will push us over

(we can momentarily watch this from the lifeguard's chair, at the neighborhood pool in the heat of summer, wilted vines crawling up the chain-link fences)

men and women toppling off the diving boards
bodies, frame by frame, aging into wrinkled shells
falling into one elegant splash
creating ripples of happiness
that casually push the group along
swimmers slowly liberated from the congestion of acquaintances
faithful companions doggy paddle side by side
long strokes towards the shallow end
and the stairs to climb up and out
shamelessly displaying aged bodies
sagely glancing back at the deep end
the youthful thrill of not being able to touch the bottom
replaced by the confidence
of feet on the ground.

zip code

he crept out onto the roof
to feel the crunch of snow on his boots
and to feel the burn
run up the inside of his thighs
to wait and think
before morning whisked away the brilliance of the moon
and thousands of evening stars

looking over the emptiness
that comes with rural living
lives marked by mailboxes
miles and miles apart

he knew she was out there
pausing in her driveway
neck tilted up to examine the stars
if only he knew what she was thinking
if only he knew she was thinking of him

instead he had his own thoughts
haunted by science
things dreamers shouldn't think about
the enormous shifting plates underneath him
slowing dragging his world out to sea