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Super Bag Lady

baby girl…

dump all of that shit out of all of those bags

line those empty bags on the bed of which you sleep

on the bed that you make love on

on the bed you kneel before to pray

undo the seams

whether you choose to cut or tear them is completely up to you

take that golden thread from grandmother’s old sewing box

and arrange a quilt from the pieces of each bag – edge to edge…

end to end

(so many bags!  holding so much shit!)

on really bad days, the quilt will double as your cape

and on cold days, it will warm and soothe you

from the outside in.  from the inside out.

as you make your rounds…  bag-free and fuckin’ shit up

remember that we are made of rare, ancestral cloth and golden seams

…forgo the paper and the plastic

 

It is not so easy…being golden thread

When everyone expects everything to be so entirely seamless…

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Checkmate

There was a time when checkmate was her future.
Then, she pushed a pawn, he advanced a knight.
They meddled with the squares,
black and white before them,
compounding into a lovely shade of gray.
He predicted her moves well in advance.
He may capture her queen, but she’s a goddess still,
taking his bishop deep within her game,
moving towards the grid that’ll change her name,
that makes her cherish the place they collided,
the end they strive to attain, with her on top,
in his face, in the place, on the board,
where even if he leaves her tied up in a corner,
with no moves, insane, she won just the same.

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Destruction & Deceit

on rare days

when I end the eclipsing

of my own humanity

with that that is not

or maybe is less

and is similar

to a generous allowance

of too much peace

a semblance of deconstruction

brick by brick

discarded mortar

dissipated dissatisfaction

I will make even

the most blessed

regret his presence

through realm warping shrieks

awakening disjointed logic

of failures and truth

carried through

deoxyribonucleic acid

proving fallacies

of greatness

relayed through eons

of oral tales

that were mumbled

carried like rushing water

tides of blood lines

wrought of disappointments

 

find shelter

do not risk

your presence here

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Physics of the Abstract

On Monday, August 21st ,2017, much of the United States looked at the sky. We gazed high above us at the wonder we call the sun. It shined down on us kissing us with a celestial rarity…an eclipse. Many planned excursions, parties, ,and some even mapped out their doomsday. I stood outside with colleagues. I also gazed up, holding my breath as the clouds rolled over the orange beguiling orb. I shaded my brow and looked away to only see spots. In an instant my mind wandered to you.

My mind tried to piece together your day. My mind tried to meld with yours as the hour drew closer to the lunar and solar overlap. My heart valves opened and closed like many times before, but now the rhythm was in triple time. My mind cast an image of us looking at the Heavens clasping hands. My hand ghosted the air close by. I am wake. I am alone. The moon now imperfectly lays itself across the sun. Clouds enveloped it like a shroud. My eyes squint. I pull out my phone and rattle off a few notes to your dedicated number. The moment has passed. Society lets out a collective sigh. We all pile back into buildings and back into cars.

For moments we were all together and in unison. I looked down at my phone, “Miss you.” That message usurps a thousand eclipses.

xoxo

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Holy Water

Him: Babe. Does water thirst?
Her: Sure. Of course. Water thirsts. Everything thirsts.
Him: I don’t think so. I think that it is attracted to dry things. That it gravitates toward areas of drought. But thirst and gravitation are not the same. Only porous entities thirst.
Her: An intact vessel. Water thirsts…for holy grails with no holes. Trust me on this one.

 

When he speaks

My vagina spills, pours, gives

Sacred water

When he speaks

I never spill

In vain

Woman? The vessel?

No.  You are mistaken

The woman is the living waters

Thirsting for

Her one true holy grail

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The Purity Movement: A Criticism

The Channel 4 documentary on “The Virgin Daughters
widely preaches the misconception of
tallying the level of respectability a girl is owed
against the personal choice of indulging in (a) sexual partner(s)
alongside religious dogma prior to matrimony.

Personally triggered by the lack of openness
within patriarchal families of the Bible Belt in the United States
and blind sided by devout faith-
the opening scene of the documentary
focuses on a father- daughter purity ball
wherein girls as young as aged 5
vow into a premarital life of chastity.

Though the idea of protecting their daughters
against the presumptuous notion of a wretched world
seems rather noble in theory-
Born into a household that robs these young girls
of the liberty of individual thought
while subsequently conditioning them to seek validation
and consent
is a slippery slope into a naive coma
that is parasitical on a heterosexist movement such as this.

The rather concerning double standard
regarding boys and a lacking opprobrium
for not having a defined chastity oath
to suppress their carnal desires
never surfaces the meticulously articulate documentary.

The concept leaves a vast ocean of misogyny
running thick, through intricate families
that build their foundation
on the fragile emotions of young girls.

-Nicole Ruth
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Let Her Fall

Just maybe when you fall.  This time.

There will be beds of cloud-like linens.

A sea of infinite warm goodness.

Maybe this time.  When you fall.  Softness awaits.

And the cross you bear will be of Balsam Popular.

And sticky sweet molasses.

Instead of Ironwood and nails.

Maybe.  This time.

 

Photography by Clarke Sanders

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Plump Orange With Undertones Of Apple

I come in and drop my bags. We arrived. 2 cats and our little lady for a month long excursion in the city. Neither of us is really seeking to complete this, however, it has to be done. I come with low expectations-as lowering my expectations was a strategy I used to sustain what is left of a 20-year long relationship. Lower and lower expectations went to find a level which was feasible to hold a semblance of balance.

I find myself tidying up the place while the baby is out my teen- our teen, actually, but mostly “my” day to day teen over the last 17 years. My day to day baby-as in the youngest vs immature- day to day youngest child.

I pick up clothing spilling out of bags and luggage. I place dirty dishes in the sink in prep for the dishwasher. I toss a load into the washing machine-set boneless chicken in the fridge to defrost for dinner. Log onto my computer to work from home; I cannot help but to bring my multi tasking habits with me. I sure meant to, however, I know an argument will ensue if I do not appear to be above the high expectations still expected of me as a mom, a partner, a house guest. An Apple living in an Oranges home for the next 4 weeks.

Sitting underneath the lamp at a side table located adjacent to the 50” screen flat screen is a book I have used a resource to building healthy relationships, “5 Love Languages”. Quizzically, I review the book -is it real? I am considering this because my partner clearly is missing the point of the book to know one’s own love language in an effort to leverage that strength-that language- to actively engage in a meaningful manner with your partner.

Receiving gifts

Acts of service

Physical touch

Quality time

Words of affirmation

My #1 is Quality Time and #5 is Receiving Gifts. The exact opposite of my partner; per the book this combination is the hardest because the 2 people need to travel the farthest to get to a place of balance.

My possession of this knowledge has permitted me to give a pragmatic method to build strategies to have a semi-viable relationship.

Naïve at the time.

The book is not meant to be read alone; the challenges do not go away if only one person is the sole owner of the premise behind the 5 love languages.

My partnership has taken me to the point of desiccation where I have limited trust or reliability in this person. Where I now see this person and expect so little of him that a sur name and this last baby is what we share.

I have often thought that Gary Chapman needs to write a book titled, ‘Now that you are mature enough to be in a relationship- and have broken it-what can you do to get to center.’ Or a book called, ‘Were you ever at a center?’,  because I suspect that is where I am at now; a desiccated Apple partnered with a plump Orange w/ hints of Apple undertones.