Author: poetryfest

My body is a home
Built of words and thoughts
Of joy and pain
To surround my core
And kindle the flame
As the sparks of life begin

To cling so tightly
To the simple notion
Of a life so fleeting
With broken promises
And dreams retreating
You may even judge it sin

But in these four walls
I keep it safely
Propped by studs
To a scaffold of bone
Under a river of blood
Covered by a wall of skin

A cage of flesh
Preserving the hope
Of what remains
Of the heart that cries
And yearns the same
Yet steadily beats within

Wandering the path
I’ve walked many times
And again
Stumbling to find footing.
Such rooted steps on roots
So dense, how could I stumble?

And again,
The leaves trip footprints
The sticks lay underneath
Cold wind moves ashy sand
With dusty shoes
Walking is a dirty venture.

A flowing underpass
I walk passed
On concrete,
Solidified steps
On concrete,
Sanctioned steps,
Rocks lay underneath
Foundations of many
Moons leading layered landings
And starlit movements,
Forward following waves.

No visionary reliance of end
Just memories of recollection
Knowing where to place
Footsteps
And again,
How to stay
Balanced.

I wonder if he heard his mother calling
The same way he heard her voice
The moment her skull hit the car roof
Veronica saying goodbye as he watered his flowers

He used to walk me by his garden
Plucking tomatoes off the vine with my tiny hands
Asking me to test the taste of garlic in his pickle buckets
Painting both a statue of Mary and a U.S.S. Enterprise model at his workbench

He never pictured me pushing him in his chair
Taking him to the bathroom
Fixing him dinner and watching Westerns on TV
Should I feel guilty that I didn’t give him the opportunity to walk me down the aisle?

I hope he knows I loved him
I hope he felt it every time I squeezed his hand
Every time he kissed my cheek
Every time we saw a bird

And I hope Clarice came for him
Extended her reach as he asked the nurse to open the window
That the last though in his brain was love

tenacious echoes articulate my cilia—
a nervous murmur,
like half-forgotten constellations
mapped only once
in the freckles flourishing
across your shoulder blade.

descend with me—
wade through bleeding incense
let your fingers improvise,
please—
something minor, something fractured
on the tired bar piano.

drown the syllables of my departure
echoing beneath the vascular canopy
of meshed douglas fir,
where goodbye hums back—
recursive, unresolved—
in the tense geometry of branches.

My grandmother passed her green thumb on
To my mother, but I fumbled the catch; there’s
A plastic shrub on my nightstand but that’s really the extent of it.
I suppose I was too busy watching them, the way
My grandmother waded through the shallows like a lakebird to
Scoop up algae with her great big net. Or how
My mother would pluck along the edges of the gardenbed.
Digging out weeds, trading forehead sweat for mud
With one swipe of her gentle glove.

I never understood it. How to tell weeds from flowers,
How to pry a plant loose by the roots, tug it up from the dirt.
I’d photosynthesize within the window
And watch as they made up our lives–
Stamped out weeds, ferried mulch
To the front beds. They worked their tired arms
Along the siding of the house, scrubbing off
The shedskins of mayflies who with their dying juices
Had formed a gray coat around the paneling.

And later, ripened by the sun,
They’d come back to water everything inside the protected house

O’ duchess of trees, nibblers of acorns
Trailing a fluffy plume, your flag waving,
You jump from limb to limb, small, majestic hands
Outstretched reaching for life, Hermes seethes
With jealousy at your nimbleness, watching you fly through air.

O’ queen of whiskers, squeakers of squeakers,
Sing the song of the woods, song of suburbia,
song of the public parks, I sing with pain deep in my heart
At witnessing your joy, leaping and jumping
Over your brothers and sisters, your short lives
Filled with joy, Dionysus ripples through your veins
Spilling ecstasy and rage in every twirl, every eye twitch.

O’ lady of boldness, so small and cute,
Teach me how to run with you,
grab my hands and show me how to play,
Fill my small heart with joy you carry
in your mouth like winters hoards of nuts and seeds,
Lend me a snippet of your impulsive charm

There is no word for it the sound
Is null
A glob of water ready to fall
From the edge of a maple leaf
Onto a white table cloth
Hurting the perfection of a tea set
Waiting for mourners
Who will hover together
Eyes down
After the screen door slams
Accidentally
From the kitchen where a child sits
On the floor with marbles
Shooting random rolling orbs
Into corners
Oblivious to the gathering
Of grownups in the garden

She leaves for the south
never to see home again.
The winds are at her back.
Red rock valleys roll and release
into the unfurled fields and flowers
The Great Plains stretch out to define
the sawtooth Appalachian Mountains.
Her message has a mighty meaning.
She signals health and happiness.
Hers is a journey says to all,
Fertile is the future.
She rests on the corn plant.
A chemical rain descends.
Blisters begin on the wings.
The burning knocks her down.
Her flight falls furiously.
Her antenna curl over her eyes.
Tumbling and crashing,
her migration, invisible.

He headed to the north.
leaving a sailor’s life.
His family’s fishing ship.
an empty catch.
Searching for a home,
a white ghost forest watches him walk.
Concerned from the grave
their roots, ocean salted.
On day thirty, his breath shortens.
He lies on the ground.
Sees the burnt butterfly, eye to eye.
He buries the dead monarch.
Dirt over the wings
Blesses her and thinks,
We are all foreign somewhere

I am a rock
She is a kite tied to me
Flying high over solid ground
Graceful and full of wonder
I am her anchor
Keeping her from drifting away
She gives my gravity meaning
I shield her to be free without fear
She helps me to see beyond the ground
To look up and behold wondrous oneness
Shining from the cosmos
My love; diametric half of my sphere

I loved the way you did that almost-smile —
One eyebrow cocked in pretend surprise, or scorn.
You didn’t just have come-to-bed eyes —
you had come-devour-me eyes.
Yet we could not.
Shackled by respect for responsibility,
the affair was just in my head —
Was it in yours too?
I saw the way your eyes traced
the contours of my body,
and lingered in places.

You took up space.
Inhabited it fully.
You were the steady beat of my heart —
a heart-shaped drum.
Your rhythm grounded me,
like djembe hands in ceremony,
like calabash and breath
in ancestral echoes.

I loved your fierce loyalty,
your kindness and your courage,
your honour and your humour —
And yes, your sin too.
I saw I tempted you.
You were strong in your faith,
your moral compass true north.
I was magnetic south,
pulling the tide toward longing,
but we held fast.

You cooked with joy,
you walked like an elder of your own tribe —
rooted and present.
You laughed like home.
You listened like a griot
guarding stories in the bones of your soul.

We danced in silence,
burned in restraint,
and never kissed —
but oh, how my spirit did.

Now when I hear the beat,
steady and soft —
like quiet drums in a village far away —
I know you are still here,
keeping time.