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“Take a bite,” the snake says slyly.
“Nibble at it lightly.
It’s rightfully yours; give in to temptation.
You’ll need the energy to birth a generation.”

Then the snake slithers away.
The apple turns to stone.
I’m in the Garden of Eden,
Naked and alone.

My body’s not a temple.
It’s barely a home.
It is made for creation.
(for pleasure and sensation) –
But not all my own.
Broken into and looted and set aflame.
This is a woman’s fate.

“Oh Eve, what have you done?”
Adam asks, squinting toward the sun.
“I leave for a moment; you have your fun.
Now god will never grant me a son.
I guess I’ll have to do it on my own.”

He grabs my breasts and settles on top and kisses my lips and I can’t yell: Stop.
I close my eyes (tightly).
It’s best to suppress moments of distress.
I open them (slightly).
Adam’s possessed. He’s an animal. No – he’s a man.
Am I to be impressed by his might and finesse?
His hands grip my throat as he screams out: “Yes!”
He’s done.
We rest.

“Well, that was fun,” Adam says, reaching for the fruit.
He eats the apple. He chokes. It gets stuck in his throat.
He spits it out but a chunk is still there.
Adam’s Apple – his sin to bear.

The Garden, once thriving, turns bleak and dreary.
We’ve overstayed our welcome.
God, can you hear me?
I have no words left; I’m weak and weary.

We leave the oasis and set out on foot
With apples in hand and my tarnished youth.
I move with endless wisdom and barren dreams,
Adam lives on; the King of Kings.

Get dressed.
Suppress.
Repress.
Keep moving forward.
I must progress.

There’s life inside me and a twinge of loneliness.

my walls have always been painted pink
always as in the last year and two months
and then before my last apartment when I still lived with my dad
my childhood bedroom
childhood as in high school and college
the only bedroom filled with inconsistent consistency
my furniture constantly shifting from corner to side-of-door
to under the window at 3am, no one home to hear
home as in the house we’ve had for 10 years
the only location my life has ever been rooted to
over 28 housing units to call home in 25 short years of life
short as in time spent with him
his presence heavy in the halls like Christmas decorations
hung in a home with no parents
clothing several sizes too big clinging to small frames
bedding stuffed into trunks to preserve the scent of someone no longer around
no longer around as in spending the first week without him
completely redecorating with no time to mourn the way the house looked
for years before
how state of change is constantly in motion
there’s never time to grab what’s currently around long enough
never time as in never enough time to fly down and see us
hosting family members who could barely pick me out of a lineup
stripping my dead father’s bed for guests to sleep in
trashing the grounds of the last coffee he brewed for unloving in-laws
writing an obituary for a man I hugged three days ago
who changed the oil in my truck and admired the sunset with me
sent me $50 for barely helping to paint the old pink walls in my bedroom
the weight of emotion saturated in those walls is enough
for the pink to stay hidden under cool toned greys.
I moved into the basement just to paint my walls pink again.

chronic illness
no good deed
goes unpunished

recompense moon
a black cat and I
catch meteors

hot mess
a pile of something
in every corner

for those
who cannot hold their tongue
slither moon

in other words
I’d rather…
but I won’t

solstice moon
the night sharp
with ego

no one
left to say sorry
shunning of the light

insomnia
angry conversations
with God

in a pouch
on her chest
emotional support tabby

chicken scratch
mom’s secret ingredient
a mystery.

relinquishing
and receiving
two mothers

a new tribe
flowers bloom from
those darkest days

a clatter of starlings
overtake the sky
Gotcha Day!

baby socks
in the dog’s mouth
in the backyard

01
how can one escape
aroma of vindaloo?
New Year’s reunion

02
don’t you have a friend
to watch cherry blossoms with?
grandma’s tea with quips

03
a powder puff sky
puffball of dandelion
I see you, grandma

04
look how they gather
the end of summer, at last
rain-washed canopies

05
cajole like you did
wind chimes hanging from the eaves—
eternal silence

06
linger all night long . . .
wind chimes hanging from a plant
arrangement by you

07
creaks into charpoy
how many corn on the cob
after cornhusking?

08
where does the wind chime
in a dream within a dream?
withered weeping fern

*****

01
New Year season word, kigo 季語: New Year’s reunion, saikai 再会、再会
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: fragrance, aroma, scent, ka, kaori 香り
*****

02
Late spring season word, kigo 季語: friend to watch cherry blossoms with, hana no tomo 花の友
(はなのとも)
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: grandmother, grandma, obāsan お祖母さん, お祖母さん
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: tea, cha 茶
*****

03
All spring season word, kigo 季語: dandelion, tanpopo 蒲公英 (たんぽぽ)
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: sky, sora or ten 空, 天
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: grandmother, grandma, obāsan お祖母さん, お祖母さん
*****

04
Late summer season word, kigo 季語: end of summer, at last, natsu no hate 夏の果 (なつのはて)
*****

05
All summer season word, kigo 季語: wind chimes hanging from the eaves, noki shinobu 軒しの
ぶ (のきしのぶ)
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: silence, stillness, calmness, shizukesa 静けさ
*****

06
All summer season word, kigo 季語: wind chimes hanging from a plant arrangement, tsuri shinobu 釣忍 (つりしのぶ)
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: all night long, all through the night, throughout the night, yo mo sugara 夜もすがら. *A phrase used in the old poetry books, like the Manyo-Shu Poetry collection.
*****

07
Mid-autumn season word, kigo 季語: corn, koon コーン
North America saijiki all autumn season word, kigo 季語: cornhusking, corn shucking
*****

08
All winter season word, kigo 季語: withered weeping fern, kareshinobu, kare shinobu 枯忍 (かれ しのぶ)
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: wind, breeze, kaze 風
Seasonless topic, muki 無季: a dream within a dream, yume no mata yume, 夢のまた夢
*yume no mata yume, this is a Japanese expression for something quite improbable.
*****

The World Kigo Database by Dr. Gabi Greve, Daruma Museum, Japan, is my primary almanac
(saijiki) for season words (kigo), seasonless topics (muki), footnotes about kigo and muki, and for translation of kigo and muki into English.
*****

Sailing the West Indies
on a sea smooth as shark skin,
blue as a peacock’s eye,
we drop anchor
in Oppenheimer Cay.

Iguana eyes gleam,
gold as plutonium,
from tangles of sea grape branches.
Lessons of Trinity, Hiroshima,
Nagasaki haunt memory.

A molasses sun drizzles into
ripening nutmeg drupes.
Palm fronds in the wind
are maracas and flamenco skirts.
Angelfish, lionfish, sea fans are
nature’s calypso dancers.

At dusk, we dive off the bow
into a nexus of bioluminescence.
The father of the atom bomb
escaped here, to this safety
of island paradise,
far removed from humankind.

I conjure mushroom clouds,
while we whisper
about mushroom tea
and full moon parties at Bomba’s.

A man-o’-war drifts in trade winds.
Weapons lurk below.
The moon rises above
plumes of smokey evening clouds
that detonate and dissipate,
like octopus ink.

I still hear that roar of dust
Rolling beneath my shoe
When I lugged my foot over the paved floor
Something was there which didn’t permit my shoe to touch the floor
And that something was created out of extreme ecstasy and fascination
It encompasses parts from you as well as from me
I know it was hard for you to hold on
But still you tried your best only for me….and I am so grateful for that
Dust beneath my shoe is not any ordinary dust….it has got its own vitality and
Potency to give rise to a million thoughts and ideas
In the empty minds and blank canvases
Of poets and painters…!

a leaf folds and bends
to the pressure of rain drops
finding their way home

The butterfly lands
on a lily bloomed out of ground,
left a kiss at last.

Fret not my love
for I shall return a third
time to your bed.

Jamie MacPherson,
Just twenty-five years,
Swung from the gallows
And died in the winds.

The market of Banff,
Sadly forgotten,
Was busy and full,
A great den of sins.

Son of a tinker
Son of the great Laird
Son of the Clansmen
From Invereshie

Wond’ring the highlands
Stalking great stags.
Wading the rivers
Baiting the fishie.

The shoreline of Banff,
Was blue and golden,
The great rocky cliffs,
Were great cliffs of sin.

Jamie MacPherson,
Just twenty-five years,
Swung from the gallows
And died in the winds.

Jamie the freeboot;
Jamie the riever.
Jamie the Gypsy:
The charge that would stick.

Farewell yon dungeons
The dark and the strong
Farewell my brothers,
The dead and the quick.

The hillsides of Banff,
Sat there in silence
Delicate witness,
To sad village sins.

Jamie MacPherson,
Just twenty-five years,
Swung from the gallows
And died in the winds.

Out stealing horses
Out riding the clouds
Bowing his fiddle
And singing his songs.

No one could touch it
His fiddle was his
No one would play it
To punish their wrongs.

For the town of Banff
A brand new lament;
A brand new lament
For our fallen friend.

Jamie MacPherson,
Just twenty-five years,
Swung from the gallows
And died in the wind.

In marched young Jamie
With piper and crew,
Waving his rifle,
Rattling his sabre.

He was but a boy
Lost and forsaken
By Lord MacPherson
Who knew no labor.

Good Sheriff Dunbar
Sentenced the hanging;
Trapped in a blanket;
Duff witness and grinned.

Jamie MacPherson,
Just twenty-five years,
Swung from the gallows
And died in the wind.