…and at six years old I wanted
to be a Balanchine ballerina
(how cliché)
given these wide hips
and heavy breasts I too soon
knew it was pipe dream
ah, born to birth
without the temperament
to follow through…
So at six, when she passionately
proclaims that she’s going to be an
Artist
(more prolific than
I’ve ever been at anything)
I tell her “no you’re not -
you already are.”
taut fishing line
teetering flock swoops -
museum air like a
drug through my
nostrils
lungs full of days
gone by
of paint
and extra
time on my hands
flapping with no wings
better than the real thing
as you fly above the head
of a shriveled artist
and alas
there is no fear of
poop.
.
written for: http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
Your roommate opened the door
to my thin black dress &
bare oiled legs
(I’d have sweat in pantyhose
if I knew it’d mean that much)
You smelled like
delicious you and we
drove to Westhampton
soaked in the gravel
of Soul Coughing
Hot from all the heat
you barely cracked the window -
you could see I put a lot
of thought into
my hair
Now dancing with our
offspring in our jointly-made haven,
your glint in our daughter’s eye
my chub in our son’s
cheek
I share the music -
(actually they dance, while I bask)
our soundtrack from the
first of many important rides in
your little red car.
Crusted shell
of summer orange
sweltering swirl all
gaseous and fire
break heat hard on
my white bones
and scald me
berry
while I sweat in
sweet sleep dreaming
of drinking
from your
cradle of the
softest blue.
We went to the party to
be polite – to let her know
there were no hard feelings.
She smirked,
made fun,
and our cool
was lost to
outrage.
He came so close to
getting really hurt
(like bloody emergency
room surgery life-scars
close)
but he didn’t
so I gave her nothing
but room to apologize
instead, like a child,
she bowed out -
punishing her own children
by taking mine away.
re
dun
dant.
tshtt
re
dun
dant.
tshtt
re
dun
dant.
tshtt
re
dun
dant.
tshtt
re
dun
dant.
tshtt
(please)
rest a quarter
on my skull -
and let me
play on.
Web of brain
honed edges soft &
hugely harmless
after wash
of reuptake
inhibitor that
clung clawed raped
and
kept me dull
hands still while
legs shook violently
teeth clenched
dreaming deep
in mere winks
of sleep
with all that was
suppressed.
neurotransmission
all fucked up &
life is less
complex
but
with a dry pen,
why live it?
Like the cup of a nail
curving to my fingerflesh
licked briney -
bouncing sun from
rough of sand
you cower among
your sisters, longing
to be left
I eye you
scoop, rinse and
pocket
from here on out
shelf-bound
and company
to only my dust.
.
Written for: http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
Climbing sans resistance
and I still feel nineteen
until I see nineteen
and then the years
flipfastclickingflipping
clicking
higher
higher
higher
shadowing my five-
foot-three frame
to where I crouch -
worrisome
can my back bear
such weight?
would your curl to my hip
tip me over?
would I embarrassshockbe
ignoranttoallthatisyouthful?
So, with forehead ever-creased
healthyhealthyhealthy, my motto
Blindfolded with naive love
I’m going to cling to
feeling nineteen.
blooming shock of
wordful fragments
wrestled petals
litter my way with
silken bits -
then struggling to take all
the flowery flood that
is bursting at my seams
since ridding myself
of such a handy dam.
missed spring saddens me so
but your bristle of an embrace
widens my mind
and makes it all so
much more than
fine.
