I believe in the soft, distracted smile turning my way and the girl who draws vines on her white Keds in permanent marker. I believe in stately trees and turning pages beneath their boughs with searching hands. The adept hand signing, “hello” when there are no words to be heard or knitting colorful yarns on telephone poles. I believe in…
Tag: hope
us, mirror
The way of a mind like a seedon the wind floats up instead of with the windsomehow, or people bornwedged in sidewalk cracks deep away from the sunknow where happiness resides tumbling upon its arrival:in this I feel almost a lucky misfit. Even a self divided is scattered like pageslost within the house with no binding. I see windows in…
When the War Ended
It’s a sad story, the drowning man in a cloud of fists the first thing in morning woken thinking of yesterday and swinging wide like a boxer finds the finish when he splays on the mat, hair absurd and wet for just a fight in his memories of fire and rush of the way the sun shocked when he woke…
~how to grace
I have lived surrendered in hopetied loose like the truthin my mouth is loose or a startled face is composedloosely as a cloud siftsthe light of the day/ it was Mary’s sorrow uponthe backs of ladybugs; thatis a story people told to explain the marof black. to become echoes painting poppies on darkspace of nowhere andnobody, just the brightest poppy…
i.
Become a mouth-breaking exclamation, a sigh sorting memories into the box of photographs the turn of a projector or maybe a suspicion of beauty in others, like a freckle tucked away beneath makeup: how suffering so often is a lone subject/ a whale song caught in caves of ice or upon the lips of sleepy bears filling with weary resolve…
Who We Are
There are too many versions of self lost from many iterations/ I seeping in tender aggression over it/ I, containing all echoes resounds and thinks in-between such things where associations flow without influence: I wonder if the truth is there same like a stem makes a leaf makes a tree in infinitum ‘the way of the way:’ waves rising out…
Fear of Abandonment
I tried to remember back thenwhen she left for a new worldcalling me a woman-childwe like two tonguestied in our two-headedness when she saw violence in little girlshaving no universe excepta naked root in the sunand too many endings like her father’s plinth of madness;my mother sat upon his thorned heart and any crack, she shone me in the dark…
