In the murky bedroom
Of her mother’s house
Shadows, decayed,
Fill in the gloom.
Curtains drawn tight
Never reveal
Sunlight or storms.
Day or night.
Keep it all out.
Keep out the breath.
Keep out the vision.
The room so bad
It must be hidden.
Lest light come in
Ever unbidden.
Tacky floor
Sticky walls-
If Light saw this
He’d be appalled.
The filth of neglect-
Of habitual hatred.
The rooms repel.
Denial is naked.
Marriage gone-off
Long ago.
Never even a shop keep
To take it from the shelf.
Lovers attacked and eaten
By the deep living
Long-toothed eel.
Bones sunk to the bottom
Forgotten .
Forgotten.
Beyond recognition,
Cavities a slither
With parasites-
This is life.
This is life?
She believed in her condition,
Which taught the glamour
Of self-destruction.
Smoking and drinking,
Cutting yourself off,
You say yes to the devil.
Cut it off.
Take suffering away-
To fit in.
But what gets cut
That’s up to him.
It might be the pain
In your feet or head.
It could just as well be
Your joy or your bliss,
The memory of a kiss.

When I have given up

The tears have come.

Welcome!

When I have given up,

The breath has fled her cage.

Live!

When I have given up,

The shadow has been brought into light.

Hello!

When I have given up,

The silent, still trembling has finally begun to stretch her legs.

Aaah!

When I have given up,

The rage has settled into grief and I have grown softer.

Mmm.

When I have given up

The space we create has taken a breath of relief.

Breathe!

When I have given up,

I have discovered

I am safe.

When I met you
It was
Another summer

I had lost myself
Already
I didn’t hope
For

Anything that
Happened
Would’ve been

Alright I gave
Myself away
For free
No strings

Attached we
Are still
Together.

I’m afraid.
I’m afraid I made it all up
That it wasn’t real
That I’m fake
That I lied
That I’m exposed
That you’ll hate me
Delete me
Cancel your subscription
Stop buying me
Stop liking me
Stop valuing me
Stop stop stop
Everything will stop.
I’ll be alone
In the big Empty Place
In the middle
Of me
Where I’ve been
Before.
I know my way around.
Now that I’m here,
Looking at it,
I can see
The part of me
Exposed, afraid, feeling fake
Fraudish and hated
Is not me.
Is not alone.
I’m here with her.
I can see she’s lovable and innocent.
The trees did swell and
They whispered,
“It’s okay. It’s really, really okay, Love…”

Sacred is my child’s voice
On the other end of the line
Asking “When will you be home?”
Calling me in-
Time to come home.

Sacred is the woman
Standing at the juncture between
Highway and road
Holding a sign which reads
“Stranded.”

Sacred is the driver
Yelling, “Fuck you!”
As he speeds through the crosswalk
Where you are walking
To the other side of the road.
Leading you to feel the parts
Who have thought
“I don’t even matter!”

Sacred is the
Traumatic birth
Of a child
And the “What’s wrong with her?”
From the doctors
She has held as hers
Forever.

Sacred is the recorded voice
Pleading, “Your help is urgently needed!”

Sacred are the raindrops
That must merge
Selflessly
With other raindrops.

Sacred are the floods and
Sacred is the drought.
Sacred is my health and
Sacred is my ill.

This universe is a container for
Chains of sacred beads
Strung by loving hands.
Each one carrying a message.
Each one
A unique piece of artistic brilliance
Crafted by
The Artist,
We.

At the end of the day
When the children are asleep
Finally still or
Softly stirring

When the house is dim and quiet
And the quiet is in me
In my deep, down below
Of the open, waiting quiet
Of the womb

I take my broom
Breathe up the quiet
An offering to heart and head
And sweep together
From distant, dark cracks and corners
Lint, crumbs, dirt, and
Sometimes a glass marble
Into a pile

So I can know what we made
That we made
Evidence of moments strung together
A fragile necklace

I am one in a line of women
Stretching down through time
All sweeping together the crumbs of a day
A thousand days meeting at one fine point.

I am also the one
Who is the room
The eternal room
That these women sweep and
I feel their brushing and
Their weight and
I hear their songs
And their mutterings
And their crying
I know them
I hold them

They know me too
More than just an inkling
A dream presence
Or premonition
They confide in me
Ask me what I know
We feel the mutual longing
For connection
Feel me
I am here!
How sublime to be among the sweepers
Connected
Eternal
Now

She hid in the bathroom

Every recess

From the time it happened in grade 4

Until she finished high school.

The “it” was the “too ugly”part

When Laura was chosen and

She

She was denied

flatly, matter -of- factly.

As if everyone knew

It had to come to this.

Inevitable.

She was too ugly.

So she hid herself

From herself

And others

For protection.

This after scaring her parents so bad

Crying and crying and crying.

So of course she came to believe

She was a monster.

She didn’t look in the mirrors

Of the bathroom

But stayed in a stall

Pretending.

Pretending she had a  normal reason to be in there.

No one ever noticed

She wasn’t on the playground

Or that she was in the bathroom

All those years.

Except once.

That was the scariest and the sweetest time.

A new girl

A too tall and greasy girl

Came in.

She sang to the hiding girl and the hiding girl knew

It was for her.

Still she stayed frozen in the stall

Her eyes widely streaming

With the sea of herself.

The shame was the greatest and

Was held in love.

And that was her first brush

With grace.

And death.

The part of her that believed

The solitude, the isolation of

Those bathroom stalls were all she could ever have,

Died.

The voice of that lover echoing

Off of glass and tile

Is set free and carries

The weight of her,

The lost one,

Who plays evermore.

I want to belong.
Tell me I belong here
Everyday.
Tell me I have something
Only I can give.
Let me know
By your mouth
And your fingertips
Your palms,
The hang of your head,
And the lift of your chin,
That I matter.
Don’t go on without me.
Pause and stare.
Feel hopelessly lost and stricken.
Totally.
For a moment.
Forever.
Want me!
Want me with your skin
And your heart
And your bones.
Be consumed by me.
Don’t let me die.
Just for a moment.
Keep me alive
Where I belong.

Mine is not religion.

It is not.

Mine is not

Enlightenment.

Mine is weighty-

Like mud.

And flowers

With roots.

Mine is not striving

Or waiting to ascend-

To reach.

Mine is here, now,

Bound-

And free.

Mine is ever unfolding.

And never reaching the middle

Yet feeling the middle

Is here

In every fold.

Mine is not

Mine-

It is

We.