Indie Author

Finding & Creating Beauty in Unlikely Places

Month: November 2016

Poem: Catherine

There’s a reason
I took to you
You were the girl
crouch-kneed
in the corner
I was the ghost
on the moor
You arranged dolls
gym class popularity
order on the bathroom
floor I loved him
for what I saw
We both clung
to silence as
to an absent father
sometimes pressed so
spirit bone deep we’d
feel the need to rattle
pots break glass scream
our voiceboxes hoarse
in starless storms where
he was nowhere to be found
You and I know the
Greek myth purgatory of
grieving the loss of the
living having failed him
already though the home
of his body was within reach
you knew the only thing
to do was hum lullabies
in salt-soaked clothing and
let your eyes swell shut
that surrender to the inevitable
the only two good choices
this false hope-held breath
or false pretense of healing
every lowering rock or
grey sky a mockingbird
every cave you let your
legs bend inward a
reminder
that if you let yourself
be honest about
how much you miss him
you’d let sulfur streams
surround you let the
roof fall snuff out that
impostor pinhole of light
and let the cave
swallow you.

Poem: Wavering

I stood in front
of a mirror today
just staring the
wounded animal behind
her eyes brought tears
to mine I find the woman
I was most sure of
wavering
I’ve often
wondered what it’s
like to reach the point
where I’d have to
search to find her
we only ever see from
inward out but I am not
so cleverly disguised
as to fool those eyes
I knew stepping on
the unmarked path
to you meant
getting lost along
the way but I forsook
the breadcrumbs fallen
blind at the last crimson
sunrise did not know it
was my inner peace
dropping sweetness I
took for truth in the
imprint of my footsteps
It was easier when
I hoped for nothing
easier when nothing
was all I had to lose

Haiku: Silence

Your silence is a

Daily death each time a piece

Of me dies with it

Poem: Aria

I know…two poems in a week! Sometimes life demands it.

I dedicate this poem to anyone who’s ever wished that people with closed minds came with closed mouths, and that we didn’t always have to assume the worst of our fellow man (and woman).

My mouth is an Ariel
weary of arias
the only
notes I’ve known for weeks
are sour fruit
my tongue
would rather pen praises
my soul no longer has
liberty to sing those
affections that never feel
less potent truths I can’t
escape from and
don’t want to
I’ve boxed them up
pushed them into
cobweb corners their
pointed corners push
against fresh places
in fresh heart wounds
I’ll keep them for you
it’s sad that those
words meant to be
a nightlight
and pure
frighten blind children
who feast on lies they
tell like bedtime stories
when their happy endings
turned to tarnished tales
impossible to put faith in
they see what they want to see
the hymns they sing lyricize
love with sticky breaths
stolen tongues moonless
nights soiled sheets the
only thing they can conceive
is that the only way
I could take bullets for you
is if I used you
the only way
I could invite you to be
part of my home is through
the back door that for me to
acknowledge your beauty
so intrinsic it blinds to
look at you sometimes
is plausible
only
if I matched it with currant-colored
intentions
and criminal designs
I am death-weary
of them all
say let the lies turn back
on them like forked-tongue
plagues
let them choke on their
selfsame suspicions
that have little to do
with you
or me
and everything to do
with what’s wrong
with their own hearts
their own sour fruit
their bitter-noted
arias.

Poem: The Swimming Pool

You are the girl
I would have looked up to
in high school
Vintage tees and broomstick
skirts smell of the man who sold
them, the one that was with you
last night
old enough to be your father
and maybe recommended
by him
like good weed
a fix that keeps on giving
Your friend dragged you from
the swimming pool last night
where you–like Echo–unwound
gauze layers like peeling away
their pain when their eyes lick
your skin their charred fingers
raised poisons kept you afloat
a face-down Ophelia with hair
in seaweed tendrils
She would feel the heavy
carelessness of your
confidence that someone would
love you enough
to pull you out of it
It’s that dancing that keeps your
ears clear of the symphonies
of phonies you’re not trying to
hear
keep swinging
poll center
heart center
spread
dip
roll
find your center
warm chests you press to
it’s not so different to close
your eyes under the lights
and feel the love
while they stick another dollar
bill in your g-string
anymore than it was to
free fall into that endless
ocean blue the chlorinated
hue of forgetting
that once
there was a little girl
with dreams of fairy princes
whose white horses
took a detour in middle school
when they realized it was girls
who’d get on their knees
for a hell of a lot less than
diamonds
and you
already knew
the feel of those carpeted
brush-burns
the education they sought
came from you
a fearlessness that was
a comfort to the rest of us
trying so hard to playact at
what we thought we had to be
our feelings fragile as loose
feathers the pluck and bleed
and all our hollowed-out insides
that growing up too fast demanded
you were a phoenix
and we prayed to be like you
even as we called you
slut
whore
home-wrecker
behind your back
our green tongues powdered with
secret love
we never saw the empty rooms
you went home to
or the used needles in the kitchen sink
or your panties mixed in with stranger’s
clothing
or the diary you kept that said whether
or not today you want to live
all we saw were the rainbows the scarves
the beaded curtain framing your face
the wild abandon of your laugh
we ignored the urgency
with which you threw yourself
into that swimming pool.

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