Posted on

Do..or

The kitchen cabinets.

The bathroom upon entering

and exiting.

The dryer. And the washer.

The back door. Closed but unlocked.

Overnight.

Even once, the car door

after retrieving our sleeping baby.

Then there was that time

in the new house

when we christened it loudly.

The bedroom door –

a forgotten necessity.

And our first guest in the living room –

also forgotten.

Cheeks red; body a seated statue.

Maybe he thought we’d done it on purpose?

That’s what I would have thought.

Forgotten doors

left open

on purpose.

You always forgot to close the fucking door!

Always!

And I…I sat with my legs open

then. Still.

Posted on

Middle Aisles

How am I supposed to rid myself

Of this gnawing in my belly?

The lies that sit there

Will surely eat me from the inside out

The gut is a funny place

It does not like to be empty

Refusing to wait on the truths

That grow slowly in our gardens

Overly full of the easily accessible

Packaged lies

All up ‘n down

The middle aisles
I believe I’ll walk on. See what the end will be.

 

Posted on

Daddy’s Toolbox

The one you’ve chosen to spend your life with is an engineer kind of dude.  He likes to build things. But baby, when he met you, you were already a stallion.  An edifice.  And so, he deconstructed you bit by bit…to see what in fact you were made of.  It’s the only way he knew how to love.  The problem is, he tired out.  Too lazy or too preoccupied to put you back together again.  So, here I am doing the work I did years ago.  Building you up…again…as only I know how.  As only I can.

A woman cannot fight a man.  She will never win.  He will hide parts of her in far off lands.  He will place pieces of her soul into glass bottles and drift you off to sea.  And in a fit of rage you can find him breaking the tools required for reconstruction.

This time you need to pay close attention.  I will not be here forever.  Putting a Queen back together is a lost art.  Grab my toolbox – top shelf, right corner.

 

Posted on

The Blood

She is born with a naturally occurring third eye, nestled within the softest place on earth.  If you do it right, it might just wink at you.  Waiting is a cycle.  Stillness is a cycle.  Regeneration and resurrection?  Both are cycles.  She wants no parts of your war – no parts of the blood you spill.  (She often twitches at the day men were allowed into labor rooms.)  The blood she spills is of living water; not of slain innocence and not of combat, campaign, or crusade.  Yes, pay close attention to whom God granted His living water.  It’s been said that it’s just too much.  Too crass, too saturated, too heavy.  Too brand new.  The blood.  Of cyclical possibilities with a scent of untouched earth waiting to be sown (or not).  Rain on the horizon.  Seeds taking root.  Her insides – the great outdoors.  It is her space and mine.  Immense pain and immense pleasure.  What of true life doesn’t birth both?  Charged with the permutation of unadulterated first breaths!  And we let them shame…tax…shun us for it.  A gift.  An offering.  A safe space that everyone has at least once been familiar with.  And we let them shame us for it?  A built in clock synced with the moon, ocean tides…with her who stands with me and for me.  And we let them shame us for it?  Born with everything we need.  To carry life.  And we let them shame us for it?  Phenomenal soil – watering itself from the inside out.  And we let them shame us for it?  Worth bleeding for.  And we let them shame us for…the blood.

Posted on

#WORTHBLEEDINGFOR

A woman will have an estimated 450 menstrual cycles during her lifetime; using upwards of 17,000 sanitary pads or tampons comprehensively.  To the women belonging to countries who incorrectly label feminine supplies such as sanitary napkins as luxuries, 450 is the number of missed opportunities to feel supported, humane, hygienic and dignified.  Wits University, Johannesburg (a South African province) is working to implement policies that impact this way of life in a positive way – one feminine hygiene donation at a time; coupled with initiatives aimed to educate women of childbearing age and their communities alike. Continue reading #WORTHBLEEDINGFOR

Posted on

Of All Creation…

Today I want to create

Today I want white dresses

Painted in blood, in red dirt, in grass stains

In rays of sunshine

…Unwrinkled by the wind and wet heat

Today I want to create

Today I want seeds planted on the inside

(To be a walking ground; a foundation not phased by shifts)

Hands to my chest

So you may feel that the seeds beat too

(Just give ‘em some time)

Today I want to create

Today I want love dripping down my thighs

Until sticky

Until translucent turns flakey

Today I want my screams turned into song

My grip.  Turned into push.

My tears turned into oceans blue

No, into freshwater true

Can you swim?

Are you thirsty?

Would you like me to bathe you?

Today I want to create

Today I want to be loved

Into creation

…To loudly whisper love back into

You

Posted on

Rest and Shine

 

She lie on the bed; belly down and naked from head to toe.  An ear to the mattress.  And an ear to the wind from an open window.  Her backside adorned with earned stripes – lightening strikes, winding Redwood roots, umbilical cords etched to her hips.  And to his eyes.  He dared not guess if the sun was setting or rising.  But he knew…that it’s rays were finally learning how to illuminate themselves. Continue reading Rest and Shine

Posted on

If Tomorrow I Die by Talin Likha

If tomorrow I die,

Would you come to say goodbye?

Would you come to see my face,

for one last time?

Would you then at last realize,

the love I had was true,

that even at my death-bed,

I’m still thinking of you.

 

If tomorrow I die,

without saying goodbye.

Would you miss me when I’m dead?

Please do miss me and be sad.

 

I’m being selfish, yes I know,

but it’ll give meaning to my goals.

It was to ‘Love’ you.

Just to love you, with my all.

Posted on

One Moment by Cree Salvai

One moment

That moment

The moment

When you realize

Things aren’t over between the two of you

 

There’s still a bit of a story left

But do you really want the story to go on?

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

 

You fell for him once

Surprise, surprise

He broke you,

Not just your heart

You.

 

Have things changed?

Probably not.

Have you changed?

I think so.

Has he changed?

Not sure.

But probably not.

 

Maybe this isn’t the moment

Maybe this is closure

You know,

The closure you were looking for,

Waiting for,

That never happened?

 

Maybe there was no moment after all

And all this happened in your head.

 

Either way,

You’re both going to go back to the way things were yesterday,

Tomorrow.

Forget what just happened,

And move on.

 

God knows he already did.

Posted on

Fight or Flight by Jessi Harrison

(for Dana…)

My first reaction is to run.

There is no fight. But I can fly.

 

For this, I am sorry.

 

You fought.

You built boxing rings

out of test results. Bowed

gracefully before each match.

Showed your opponent no mercy –

but made sure each hit was clean.

 

Me? I took a box of matches

to the mats the morning I woke

to permanent emptiness. I made the hospital

dance in gasolined blue/orange flames against

the grayest November sky ever etched

from Eden’s rough draft.

 

Hey God – you fucking missing a blueprint?!

 

I took your trophies out of the case

& bet it all on forgiveness.

 

Almost doesn’t count.

Almost is so close to complete.

Almost – is fucked.

 

Like – you almost had it beat a third time.

Like – you almost found happiness.

Like you almost won.

 

Like you almost knew how much you were loved.

Like we almost made it clear.

Like you almost stood a chance.

Like it was almost alright.

Like I almost said goodbye.

Like I’ll almost see you tomorrow.

Like it almost doesn’t hurt.

 

Like you are almost still here.

Posted on

The Pleasure of Pain by Cree Salvai

I don’t know what hurts more.

The knife slicing my hips

Or the fact I won’t see you tomorrow.

We only had but hours to meet.

 

I don’t know why I feel like this.

I really thought I was okay.

I guess I still just don’t know

How to be sad.

 

I’m in pain all the time.

But it’s not a sharp pain

like the knife.

It’s a dull,

Lasting pain

A pain you think will

Last forever

 

Sometimes I question

Why I don’t just try a little harder

To move on.

But then I think to myself:

 

I’d rather be in pain everyday

Loving you

Than feel nothing at all.

Posted on

The World Ain’t Fair by Talin Likha

“The World ain’t fair, my child.”

A father to his discouraged girl.

 

That shattered the father’s heart into prickly pieces for he never imagined a day would come where he had to reveal the horrors of reality to his beloved girl when He first held her as a baby.

He wanted to protect her

 

but

 

He could no longer be her knight in shining armor against this unfair World.

Posted on

June Naps in the Town Cemetery by Jessi Harrison

A cricket follows

you into the house.

                               You do not

                               know this at first.

 

But the echoed chirping of trapped

desperation haunts its way

into your dreams.

 

                                 Funny, on how a bad

night, your bed sheets become a blade.

Your sweat becomes the guillotine. And

your dreams become an awakening

into the afterlife.

 

You watch the way

                                 I breathe.

Like an exoskeleton picking

out and rearranging each rib

bone with every rise of the chest.

 

In your sleep – you speak to me

in riddles. Like you can’t afford

tongues. Like the devil

has been cleansed from inside

you. Like you gave up

poison years ago.

 

                                 Yet here we lie.

Dirtying things that do not deserve

stains. Carving our names

into the trunks of trees just to prove

physicality. Knocking over grave

markers in the cemetery like the

answer to every secret

is in the haunting,

                                 not in the ghost.