Dear you,
whoever you are,
however you got here,
This is exactly where you are supposed to be.
This moment has waited its whole life for you.
This moment is your lover and you are a soldier,
Come home baby, it's over.
You don't need to suffer anymore.
Dear you,
This moment is a surprise party,
You are both hiding in the dark and walking through the door.
This moment is a hallelujah,
This moment is your permission slip
to finally open that love letter
you've been hiding from yourself,
The one you wrote when you were little,
when you danced like a sparkler at dusk,
Do you remember the moment you realized
they were watching?
When you became ashamed
of how much light you were holding?
When you first learned how to un-love yourself?
Dear you,
The word 'today' means 'amen' in every language.
Today we made it,
Today I'm gonna love you
Today the box cutter will rust in the garbage,
Today the noose will forget how to hold you,
Today--
Today--
Dear you--and I have always meant you,
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.
You, who were once as small as a bouquet,
Who could sleep in the laps of strangers,
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.
You, whose voice is someone's favorite voice,
Someone's favorite face to wake up to,
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.
You, the teacher, the priest,
The lantern in the night who offers not a way home
but the courage to travel further in the dark.
You, the lover who worships the taste of her body,
who is the largest tree ring in her heart,
Who does not let fear ration your love.
You, the friend,
The sacred chorus of "how can I help?"
You, who have felt more numb than holy,
More cracked than mosaic,
Who has known the tiles of a bathroom by heart,
Who has forgotten what makes you worth it.
You, the forgiven,
The forgiver,
Who belongs right here in this moment.
You, this clump of cells,
This happy explosion that happened to start breathing,
By the grace of whatever is up there,
You got here,
You made it this whole way.
Through the nights that swallowed you whole,
The mornings that arrived in pieces.
The scabs,
The gravel,
the doubt,
the hurt--
the hurt--
The hurt is over,
Today you made it--
You made it.
You made it.
Today. Amen.
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Mother
I looked at her picture and then I stared at the mirror.
I tried desperately to see her face staring back at me.
Maybe if my nose wasn't so wide and was more pointy.
Maybe if my eyes were smaller and not so dark.
Maybe if my smile was smaller and my gums didn't show so much when I laugh.
I look for her cheekbones and see the roundness in my face that looks nothing like her.
I tried desperately to see her face staring back at me.
Maybe if my nose wasn't so wide and was more pointy.
Maybe if my eyes were smaller and not so dark.
Maybe if my smile was smaller and my gums didn't show so much when I laugh.
I look for her cheekbones and see the roundness in my face that looks nothing like her.
Gone Again
spilling water from my back,
you call and i come.
that exhausted walk to reach you
breathless and no i didn't run
to see you, i've been smoking
too much, same thing.
another awkward hug in the car
as my face smashes your cheek
that i can feel it leaving now
is the saddest, a beautiful eruption
you could have picked it off the tree
and chewed.
but you weren't hungry.
feeling it dying away all day
much worse than the straining
against the leash, another gorgeous
thing that should not have happened,
gone again.
you call and i come.
that exhausted walk to reach you
breathless and no i didn't run
to see you, i've been smoking
too much, same thing.
another awkward hug in the car
as my face smashes your cheek
that i can feel it leaving now
is the saddest, a beautiful eruption
you could have picked it off the tree
and chewed.
but you weren't hungry.
feeling it dying away all day
much worse than the straining
against the leash, another gorgeous
thing that should not have happened,
gone again.
Hunger and Sex
I am always hungry
and wanting to have
sex. This is a fact.
If you get right
down to it the new
unprocessed peanut
butter is no damn
good and you should
buy it in a jar as
always in the
largest supermarket
you know. And
I am an enemy
of change, as
you know. All
the things I
embrace as new
are in
fact old things,
re-released: swimming,
the sensation of
being dirty in
body and mind,
Summer as a time
to do nothing and
make no money.
Prayer as a last
resort. Pleasure
as a means,
and then a
means again
with no ends
in sight. I am
absolutely in opposition
to all kinds of
goals. I have
no desire to know
where this, anything
is getting me.
When the water
boils I get
a cup of tea.
Accidentally I
read all the
works of Proust.
It was Summer.
I was there.
So was she. I
write because
I would like
to be used for
years after
my death. Not
only my body
will be compost
but the thoughts
I left during
my life. During
my life I was
a woman with
brown eyes. Out
the window
is a crooked
silo. Parts
of your
body I think
of as stripes
which I have
learned to
love along. We
swim naked
in ponds and
I write behind
your back. My thoughts
about you are
not exactly
forbidden, but
exalted because
they are useless,
not intended
to get you
because I have
you and you love
me. It's more
like a playground
where I play
with my reflection
of you until
you come back
and into the
real you I
get to sink
my teeth. With
you I know how
to relax. And
so I work behind
your back. Which
is lovely.
Nature
is out of control
you tell me and
that's what's so
good about
it. I'm immoderately
in love with you,
knocked out by
all your new
white hair.
Why shouldn't
something
I have always
known be the
very best there
is. I love you
from my
childhood,
starting back
there when
one day was
just like the
rest, random
growth and
breezes, constant
love, a sandwich
in the middle of
the day,
a tiny step
in the vastly
conventional
path of
the Sun. I
squint. I
wink. I
take the
ride.
and wanting to have
sex. This is a fact.
If you get right
down to it the new
unprocessed peanut
butter is no damn
good and you should
buy it in a jar as
always in the
largest supermarket
you know. And
I am an enemy
of change, as
you know. All
the things I
embrace as new
are in
fact old things,
re-released: swimming,
the sensation of
being dirty in
body and mind,
Summer as a time
to do nothing and
make no money.
Prayer as a last
resort. Pleasure
as a means,
and then a
means again
with no ends
in sight. I am
absolutely in opposition
to all kinds of
goals. I have
no desire to know
where this, anything
is getting me.
When the water
boils I get
a cup of tea.
Accidentally I
read all the
works of Proust.
It was Summer.
I was there.
So was she. I
write because
I would like
to be used for
years after
my death. Not
only my body
will be compost
but the thoughts
I left during
my life. During
my life I was
a woman with
brown eyes. Out
the window
is a crooked
silo. Parts
of your
body I think
of as stripes
which I have
learned to
love along. We
swim naked
in ponds and
I write behind
your back. My thoughts
about you are
not exactly
forbidden, but
exalted because
they are useless,
not intended
to get you
because I have
you and you love
me. It's more
like a playground
where I play
with my reflection
of you until
you come back
and into the
real you I
get to sink
my teeth. With
you I know how
to relax. And
so I work behind
your back. Which
is lovely.
Nature
is out of control
you tell me and
that's what's so
good about
it. I'm immoderately
in love with you,
knocked out by
all your new
white hair.
Why shouldn't
something
I have always
known be the
very best there
is. I love you
from my
childhood,
starting back
there when
one day was
just like the
rest, random
growth and
breezes, constant
love, a sandwich
in the middle of
the day,
a tiny step
in the vastly
conventional
path of
the Sun. I
squint. I
wink. I
take the
ride.
Shifts
the day shifts, we talk to each other the way
we talk to each other, the luster fades, our
bodies fill with sap, there is a shift, joy
reappears before another personal narrative
burns to a heap of citations, continuing in
complicated machinery, becoming blood knots
in space, both the living and dead surround
the present has been. I open my eyes in the
full force of fear and hesitation, frozen in
passing passageways with endless
permutations, subjected to violence, stupidity,
and love.
we talk to each other, the luster fades, our
bodies fill with sap, there is a shift, joy
reappears before another personal narrative
burns to a heap of citations, continuing in
complicated machinery, becoming blood knots
in space, both the living and dead surround
the present has been. I open my eyes in the
full force of fear and hesitation, frozen in
passing passageways with endless
permutations, subjected to violence, stupidity,
and love.
The Veil
It's as if behind the veil
of it all awaits a hungry
blackness,
biding time for a tear,
a pierce, to open up
on the stretched-too-thin canvas of this life.
So it can pour its inky,
grasping presence into time. And yet,
Cohen says, and I agree,
'Cracks let in the light',
but perhaps the shards
from a shattering, like this,
scatter the light into seeming leering
faces, cold and barren,
sterile and sunken. And yet,
I ask for light.
--
"Now," say the leering faces,
"(S)he simply is Not, and neither will you Be."
Perhaps this is true, perhaps this is not
the point, which is that each of us carries
a birthright permission to live, to care, to grow
old and eventually let go.
Even the ripest seed is incomplete
without water and light.
of it all awaits a hungry
blackness,
biding time for a tear,
a pierce, to open up
on the stretched-too-thin canvas of this life.
So it can pour its inky,
grasping presence into time. And yet,
Cohen says, and I agree,
'Cracks let in the light',
but perhaps the shards
from a shattering, like this,
scatter the light into seeming leering
faces, cold and barren,
sterile and sunken. And yet,
I ask for light.
--
"Now," say the leering faces,
"(S)he simply is Not, and neither will you Be."
Perhaps this is true, perhaps this is not
the point, which is that each of us carries
a birthright permission to live, to care, to grow
old and eventually let go.
Even the ripest seed is incomplete
without water and light.
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