Thursday, January 18, 2018

our bounty

there is a sickness in silence
that passes in secret
while women women and more women
stretching over continents and centuries
feel the same sword.

1 doctor, 125 women. 
decade after decade after decade. 
how sick the size of one man's damage.

we are in this bubble together
and for every time i fail to warn you
and for every time you fail to warn me
the damage done is doubled.

when your lover beat you with words, fists, or lies
why did i not rise for you?
when my lover beat me with words, fists and lies
why did you not rise for me?

behold that we are our bounty   
so our bodies are bound for reverence.

Friday, January 12, 2018

settle the unknown

I have a truth I carry
In the palm of my pale hand
When love left for India
I came to understand

A map may reveal distance
A watch will tick and wind
This knowing you placed within me
Settles the unknown in my mind

My body may grow weak
You remain soft by my side
You are my deepest root
You are my strongest guide

A map may reveal distance
A watch will tick and wind
This knowing you placed within me
Settles the unknown in my mind

Saturday, December 23, 2017

raised to love

a fever brews in the blood
and shivers surface over skin.

here the beating self begins.
here, the weak body.
here, the wilting mind.

i fear being the burden
that slows her race with destiny.
i fear being her burden
that distracts her from joy.

i fear being unloved when i am most vulnerable.

she holds my face
and exorcises these notions.
she was raised to be kind and gentle.
she was raised to love.

this is the last fever i will be the fool.

Monday, September 25, 2017


the last time i was on manhattan
your fingers rubbed arnica over me.
with gentle compassion
your eyes stared into my skull,
with fierce protection
your wine numbed our shock
with soothing tannins.

with stained skin and bones scarred
i carried the silence too long
and you let me speak.

we have always let each other speak.
for twenty years 
through first loves, first heartbreaks
first highs, first depressions
first babies, first albums 
first homes, first deaths
first careers, first breakdowns
first acts, first curtain calls
first firsts and more firsts. 
i have always felt heard,
i have always heard you.

we have been young on highways,
shouting at the wind with pink lungs.
we have been older on desert mountains,
starving for oxygen and solace.

in this moment, 
i'm looking at you across a rooftop that overlooks Manhattan.
there will always be distance.
but we are survivors.
this friendship is prolific.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Five Years

does it ever get old,
this second chance at life?

aging is a mother-loving blessing
and every morning is a milestone.

at 17 i didn't think i'd live past 35
and told Alec this when i was 27.

i died no doubt.
buried sadness,
made more room,
and let a kidney resurrect a better me.

i've always been a hugger,
but now i hold on longer
because no one is counting
and touch is my memory shaper.

in these five years
i've touched the cliffs in Ireland
i've touched the toes of new born babies
i've touched the lips of women i love
i've touched the walls of a homemade prison and said goodbye
i've touched the fur of my pups
i've touched scars and cancer, breasts and hips
i've touched the strings of chords in songs i dreamed of writing
i've touched pages of novels that ignited my brain
i've touched the wool in weavings spun by a woman i adore
i've touched skin that gave me goosebumps
i've touched the peridot stone on my left ring finger
i touched the fading pulse of my dying mother.

when she gave me her kidney,
she cleaned out the garbage
and taught me the depth of love.

(before my blood was clean
i was convinced love meant struggle
so i embraced some bruises
and i cried silently in corners.)

when she gave me her kidney,
she cleaned out the garbage
and taught me the depth of my life.

i pause for flowers in fields, i pause for cloud shapes in the sky,
i pause for strangers on the sidewalk, i pause for kissing goodbye
i pause for memories in the making, and i pause to write down these words.

if you give me a kidney, i'll give you reflections on what it means to be alive
every year
until i die.

Thursday, August 3, 2017


(the eggplant couldn't wait
so i held it between my fingers and bit it
while i walked beside her.
the tall man born in the Netherlands said,
"peripatetic eggplant'
so i promised him poetry for breakfast.)

sit seven secure women at a table
and i drift and dream of matriarchy in the white house.

i will smell last night forever
and request a lifetime of conversations that crawl toward midnight
   with fever, cocktails, and Paul
(the tall Netherlands man.)

i don't believe sweat has color
so throw away what's pink and blue
and just pay me for every drop of salt on my forehead.

i want men who look me in the eye,
who balance respect with admiration on their tongue,
who share unfamiliar words, encourage risk,
and trust my body is connected to my brain.

i want women who drive women into independence,
who seek solution over opinion,
who hold each other in darkness
and let go when sunlight calls,
  because there is a world to run.

i am peripatetic
i cherish women
  and Paul.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Father's Day, 2017

Last night loneliness crept beside me
wrapped my wrists in its claws and whispered,
  'You are alone.'

I am a grown woman
but felt like an adolescent girl
who can't find a friend in the cafeteria.

My father and my mother are dead
and last night I could not feel any sense of them.

Is it dramatic to feel like I wanted to die?

I fell asleep only to dream of my mother,
who no longer wanted to be around me.
My best friend didn't want to be my best friend. 
I suppose Heaven is better than any best friend.

Is it still too dramatic to feel like I wanted to die?

It's these holidays.
There is a global design to find the perfect gift for dad, 
and the sales stab my sad gut. 
All the ties, the books, the cards  
  everything hurts on Father's Day.

My brother just sent me a picture of the sky above my parents grave.
  'My view as I lay here with mom and dad.'

I don't really want to die.
I just want my parents back.

We are all young children, 
lost in the super-market,
trying to find our parents.