inside a barbed wire hug

i can see the errors in my grammar
and bite my tongue to avoid mistakes
before i speak.

chopsticks balanced crumbs
stabbed my lips,
splintered your thumbs.

when my angel died,
it was still about your splinters.
empathy was out to lunch.

your paranoia dragged my bones down marble staircases
shattered my teeth against the curb
and demanded I smile pretty for the public.

put the puzzle together
inside a barbed wire hug
and love,
unconditionally.

untitled, one

as our fingers tango down our spines
there is fire in my veins

now,
we are new

i see through closed eyes
and memorize the shape of you in my arms
and place the moment in the top right drawer of my brain
beside the finest bottle of merlot and the voice of nina simone

we were not made to be owned
so transparency yields authenticity
and freedom yields evolution

if nipples radiate through this cotton top,
the world won't stop
and we will stare in awe at the clouds above,
regardless.

beauty will always expose itself,
forever please pay attention with me.

i have known you for centuries
today is one more day.

Autumn

The clouds are changing with the leaves,

punching new shape and color in the sky

and death is beautifully unfolding with grace.

That October a hurricane killed electricity

and brought us together at the crossroads of our living.

You found me surviving,

I found you dying.

Chewing oxygen and steroids

we drank coffee and danced a heartbreaking waltz.

You wrapped your hands around my wrists and whispered:

“leave, you are strong enough to leave.”

Your words echoed for two long years

while my courage cooked slow and narrow in tiny corners.

Mother, where is the Rottweiler you watched me raise?

My mouth can’t form her name without the taste of vomit.

Leaving has left my heart dirty,  

but staying made my soul stiff.

I hate rules and rigidity that weaken my handshake.

When you leapt, did you feel the same?

Monarchs in milkweed stir an Autumn fever

and I ache to migrate beyond my current self. 

Single

I can write now 

in the middle of the night 

I can hum notes to the moon

decide my bedtime

and I can leave the room

without permission.

I can crave human touch

and feel the ache of loneliness alone, 

not tethered.

I can leave the window open

leave the volume at an odd number

and love my past without being scorned.

I can talk to strangers

I can talk to my sisters

I can live without fear of uncontrolled anger.

I can forgive without explanation.

I can grieve, weep, laugh, love, empathize

without justification.

I can remember screaming, crying, jealousy, isolation.

I can remember pleas for solace.

I can remember the day solace was claimed.

I can avoid the righteous,

I can walk with the wanderers.

I can accept what would not change,

I can regret not accepting that sooner.

I can give compassion to whomever is in need.

I can accept compassion whenever I am in need.

I can promise myself to 

take the time to heal

take the time to find the corners of being alone 

take the time to depend solely on my spirit for peace.

I can be the woman I aspire to be

outside the box,

outside doubt, 

outside hate,

outside false accusation,

outside society's expectation.

I can realize most of my life I was afraid of losing those I love.

I can choose to face that fear, 

and eat it daily for breakfast til it's gone.

I can believe that no one belongs to anyone,

and I can believe we all long for each other.

I can work as much as I need

to pay my bills

to fulfill my soul

to never depend on the generosity of anyone who would hold it against me.

I can embrace every form of love

and let each exist on its own

without competition, comparison, or conceit.

ghost dog

tug toward the squirrel
tug toward the stranger
tug toward this scent
that scent
every sniffed scent of danger

i miss the jangle of a chain
your puppy soaked chew
your slobber soaked kisses
how saying 'walk' woo-hoo'd you

the powered up panting
the picking up poo
the pitter pattered of paws
the head titled you

time with you furry friend
is better than days with most
i walk you in my dreams
i walk with your ghost.

i walk with your ghost.

seasick

today I am seasick.

my anchor snapped, 

slipped to the sea

two years ago.

it was a Thursday.

today it is a Saturday.

what will it be in 2043?

will I be?

I remember 

feeding you ice

placing the plastic spoon between your lips

letting the chips drip onto your tongue

while hope hung to soothe you

the morphine droplets hung like bullets

making my hands shake

and my heart splinter.

Grief still rattles in my ribs.

I remember 

picking cereal with you

pretending we were foreign

among the Cheerios and Fruit Loops

fake words, fake dialect

no ears (not even our own) could understand

yet when our eyes met

I understood: Raisin Bran.

I'd give this up

to have you push me in a cart

and watch you choose toilet paper.

'please pick something soft, Mom.'

memories arrive at random.

I prefer it so.

I like when you sneak up on me 

in the shower, in the car, in the kitchen, in my dreams.

but today

(and every today 'til)

I am seasick without you.

Time Bomb

Ticking ticking 

Tocking boom

My my my

How you run the room

Open the door

Smile on face

Tap a tiger's paw

Watch his ego race 

Lubing with lips

Salty surface sauce

Reverbing verbs

Less voice, more loss

Pin the truth down

Watch your lies

Pin a woman down

Watch her rise

Ticking ticking 

Tocking boom

My my my

How I run the room