I want to melt into the earth
Be the water dripping through your hands
Whispering in your brow
Touching the sky on the horizon
I want to be the blade of grass
Dancing every worship to the wind
I want bees to nestle
Themselves within me
The mistletoe young lovers
Kiss themselves under
I want to be
I want to greet every morning
The first to see the clouds
I want the sun to beat at my back
And wake up every curve
I want the sky to rain down
And frost to whistle and crack and scrape
And hold every inch of the earth
The first time I saw the arch of your back
I had proof the earth was round
She was a church –
I was ‘always late to’
Breakfast in bed
French-toasted-ain’t-no-challah-back-girl
And strawberry wine
This was also an altar
Lazy Sundays and
Cold pressed on ice
Bare feet on wintered marble
We were the only heat in our house.
I’ll recognize you in every lifetime, love.
I’m the finder, you’re you.
You’re the spark, I’m kerosene and dreams.
You’re my firecracker heart
Sleepy eyed with moon dust and stars
Freckle faced and fireflies lead me to you
On every journey you choose to go on
I want to give you smile lines and laugh lines
I celebrate every paradiddle of your heart
You forget yourself?
We go find you.
You’re in music and melody and rhapsody and jazz
You’re in the long pause of the argument where you’re
right
You’re in that cuppa cuppa coffee all night
You’re carnival season, babe.
Blue lightning and Mardi Gras Magic.
I’m just here catching shoes
Waiting on you.
Sometimes I wish that,
I were born a dog,
the breed wouldn’t matter.
I just feel like I would be
treated better by humans.
Dogs are mistreated by people,
but so are other people,
and most often
it’s done at the hand
of so-called loved ones,
or caregivers.
The difference being:
If you’re a dog,
and are beaten,
tortured,
and mentally abused,
when you become defensive,
and bark,
someone might understand,
and try to love you back to life,
at very least you might find yourself
being euthanized,
and the pain would end.
But not when you’re human.
You will be persecuted when you
advocate for yourself.
People will use your justified
emotional responses against you,
so they can continue their neglect.
Neglect is a form of abuse,
and silence is complicity.
One thing is for certain,
you can count on both,
from the human race.
But understanding,
and real love?
That’s something
You won’t get
unless you’re
a dog.
You appeared with a relentless barrage
of meows one Monday, hungry, all fur
and bone peering out from yellow-green eyes.
Your black coat is dusted with flecks of gray,
white, orange on the tiny bridge of your
nose. You love to climb, to perch on my chest,
to play with any object—computer
cords, my necklace, my dangly earrings. You
wrap your slender length around my fragile
desk decor. I am twenty-seven weeks
pregnant with my first child, unsure of my
new role as a mother. With you sleeping
draped across my neck, my daughter kicking
at my ribs, tides of affection surge with-
in me for small, capricious creatures.
Watch me peel the rind for you with bloodied fingernails
Citrus infused with crimson, dribbling down licked wrists
Piercing papery skin and pretending it’s flesh–
Promise me you’ll hold my hair back as seeds
s
p
i
l
l
from my mouth
And collect the pulp with shaking hands for tomorrow’s brunch
That you’ll be late for
Dew weighty in the morning air,
trees sparkle from the overnight deluge,
lit up like Christmas in dawn’s light.
A mirth of chuckling water sparks in the overhanging leaves,
convincesN shadow and sun to freckle the ground
above the cascade.
tiny arrows point upward where the water runs against
blades of rock
splitting and joining like zippered garments,
ripping apart warp and weft,
a veil of silk and rock and water,
in passionate wedlock
I think of snakes shedding skin
and dusk falling on plowed fields,
ridges and canyons of soil
waiting for the storm.
I ate sloppy seconds for breakfast: fresh golden pancakes halved, then again, melted chocolate crisps, blueberries with the gently whipped cream on top, everybody gets a slice, locks like honey, obvious apples glistened in my eye, starved and ravenous, her temptation relief to unbearable travesty, when it’s gone, what’s left but give it all away, uncontrolled reach for anything, blind want and desperation, deadly combination, truck beds encircled, shine high beams on beer pong tables past midnight, country music
anthems, hillbilly delight, not to miss my only opportunity, to know what it’s like, every bright red fruit that flashed in front of my eye I grabbed like money fell out of the sky, boy I felt alive, conspicuous butterflies, ecstatic desire held me within a wonderful dream, don’t earthquake me, so I reached to ensure this igloo’d globe
wouldn’t expose me, each reach lengthened it seemed, dirt I swept like a gold rush, held it tight, firmly believed everyone else had bigger piles, one goal, to have as much as I could hold, no matter the strike to my soul, I’ll settle because that’s my self-belief, desolation around me, the future is now, no guarantee, forever hold bright
red fruit, only to realize the apple never had a shine, but the second I broke free, dropped like a disease, maybe there’s something else for me, then, the sky didn’t seem so bloody, wiped clean free of the blush I never knew I could erase, while everyone else continued the chase.
Mommy and Daddy dressed me up in a white dress.
They’re holding me in front of all of their church friends.
They hand me to the pastor.
He puts something on my forehead and says what I know is a prayer.
A promise to be brought up under the Lord with all his protection.
People cheer.
I smile brightly.
My white dress catching the glimmering stained glass of the church.
I have picked out a white dress to wear today.
Mom and Dad wanted to talk to me.
They sit me down at the table.
Dad hands me a tiny pink box.
There’s a pretty ring inside.
He tells me it’s a promise to God.
To wait.
That there’s a piece of myself that I should only give to my husband.
I put it on my finger, it matches my white dress so beautifully.
I wore a white dress to church today.
I sit in the service, holding a boy’s hand.
He’s replaced the ring I had, with one of his own.
I know what will happen after church.
We’ll go get ice cream as we so often did.
I hold his hand in the car.
But this isn’t the ice cream shop.
This is an apartment.
Not his.
Someone else’s.
He brings me into a room.
He pushes me down to the floor.
I don’t want to do this.
I made a promise to God.
I want to keep it.
But I’m not strong enough.
I kneel there, fighting as much as I can, but it’s no use.
He finally finishes.
I go to the bathroom.
Suddenly my white dress isn’t so white.
I haven’t looked at that dress in years.
That damn white dress.
I hid it, stuffed it away in an old box.
I refuse to look at it.
Refuse to remind myself of the choice that was stolen from me.
That dress was supposed to mean something.
I even tried to wear it again after the incidents.
Only once.
I got looks from men.
Told I was “so beautiful.”
Until it was clear that they didn’t really care about the dress.
Only about how good it would feel to take it off of me.
I despise that damn dress.
Mom is zipping me into a white dress.
One I don’t deserve to wear.
It’s the nicest dress I’ll ever own.
“A one of a kind” they said at the store we got it from.
The man this dress is for, he gave it to me.
My old one was stained.
Tarnished by another man’s decisions.
But he gave me a new one.
He gave me a new life, a safe life.
I take one last look at myself.
And show the man I love, the dress he made.
I’m standing in a store, holding a tiny white dress.
A dress that my baby girl will soon wear.
I will hold her in front of the church, and pray for God’s protection over her.
Protection from men like the one I knew.
The one her father healed me from.
She will never know what it is to feel unwelcome in your own skin.
She will never try to hide her life away.
And I will make sure.
That no man ever tarnishes her pure, white, dress.
Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe the reason I’m scared of throwing up is the same reason I don’t say
what’s really on my mind, you know? You have an idea of what’s coming out, but you’re still not
ready for what it is. Maybe, it’s because I would be sharing an ugly part of myself, in a way at
least… Better yet, maybe it’s because when I start, I won’t be able to stop, right? I won’t be able to catch my breath and even if I feel somewhat relief, I’m also left feeling empty and shaken.
Shaken by what came out or shaken by the fact that I actually let it and now I’m seen in a
different light… But, yep. I’m emetophobic. That’s why I’m afraid of getting drunk, or pregnant,
or both. If I’m dumb enough to, that is. But anyways, I fear for my life when I get nauseous.
When I see others even gag, I move to evacuate…Speaking of which, I think I had a bit of a
breakthrough, huh? I should, uh…I should probably, you know… Same time next week?
There’s a monster in the closet,
he’s been there seven years.
He sits there in the darkness
feeding on his fears.
He’s never coming out.
He’s never seen the sun.
He tries to draw me in
so he’s not the only one.
I lay in bed at night.
I think I feel his breath,
his cool and smelly sigh
that makes me think of death.
I turn over at the smell,
I’m frightened to my core,
but there is nothing there,
just the silent closet door.
So I turn back over
and try to go to sleep,
thinking all is fine because
I do not hear a peep.
“Timmy, Timmy, Timmy,”
whispers across the room.
My heart speeds up so quick
I think it will go boom.
“You wanna come into the closet
when everything is black?
I promise if you do,
you never will look back.
I’ll hold you tight and keep you safe
with my heavy, hairy paws
and if you want, I’ll sing you something
through my jolly, giant jaws”
The monster is so lonely,
that much is very clear.
So I say, “Mr. Monster
why don’t you come out here?”
I do not feel his breath,
I do not hear his voice.
The monster had to ponder
this intimidating choice.
“I’ve never been outside
these quiet, closet doors.
I’ve never seen a face
that isn’t mine or yours.
What if the world is spooky,
spookier than me?
It’s all that I can think about
since you were only three.”
“Well now, Mr. Monster,
that’s no way to be.
There’s a world outside of there
that’s beautiful and pretty.
There’s a mountain and a forest
and an ocean and a city!
I sit up in my bed now
and say with lots of pride,
“You’ll never know what’s out of there
unless you step outside.”
From the glimmer of the moon
that shined through on the door,
I see the monster’s tentacle
step out on the floor.
He peeked his head outside.
The monster was not scary,
albeit he was big and tall
and very, very hairy.
But I saw a bit of nervousness
that twinkled in his eyes.
They looked like they were waiting
for a terrible surprise,
something from a corner
of my bedroom to arise.
My room is very safe,
so after all is scanned,
I head over to my closet
and I hold out my hand.
He puts his paw in mine.
I tell him he is fine.
He really isn’t fearsome,
in fact he is divine.
I walk across the carpet
to go outside my room.
He looks back at the closet
where he sat with all his gloom.
We’re walking through the house
and now we’re at the door.
He asks me what is out there,
so I tell him what’s in store.
“There tons of stuff out there,
some is good, some is bad.
At least that’s what I’m told
by my mommy and my dad.”
His eyes are filled with wonder
and a little bit of dread,
but I open up the door
and I kiss him on his head.
“Have a fun adventure!
Please come back again
and tell me what you see.
I’ll think of you till then.”
He steps down from the porch,
he’s made it to the walk.
He’s looking at a daisy
I drew there with some chalk.
He lifts his head up,
sniffs around,
sighs out, and I swear,
the monster is amazed
at the coolness of the air.
I wave goodbye
and watch him slither
gaily toward the street.
He smiles at the moon
and it’s really kinda sweet.
He disappeared into the black.
I knew he wasn’t coming back
because he felt release.
I smile when I think of him.
The world is often very grim,
and still he found some peace.
I lay in my room
without a peep,
close my eyes,
and fall asleep.
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