For My Aunt

For years, all the way until at least my twenties, i fully believed that highway 99W ran in one direction, and highway 99E was just driving the opposite direction on the same road. After my mom stopped laughing, she was able to set me straight. I still believe nonsense naming like this is what led to my ongoing difficulty comprehending cardinal directions. 

I write elsewhere, too

For non-poetry, I write over at littlegreykitten and I’d love for you to stop by. Because I love attention.

confusion

Written 9.21.2010 I haven’t written haiku in years, probably because I don’t like the strictures. However this thought didn’t fit in any other form.

I glance in our room,
rumpled covers on our bed.
he’s not there. I wish.

Ouch

Written 4.11.2010 sometimes drama happens

It hurts. I hurt so deep I don’t know where
I imagine and retch
it’s not even that tragic
friends would scoff
to me and to you this is the world.

The world that has now ended,
trust lost, sanctity lost, on and on into infinity
red wine in my glass loosens my tongue and fingers
although the tongue might be metaphorical since I’m writing not speaking
oh, well. Whatever. It still hurts.

And you’re as wounded as I,
but you didn’t tell me on your own
and you would have let it slide away
and I would have never known

God, I feel like a fool.

Talitha

Written for a dear friend who was having life-troubles. Started 1.2009, finished 12.2009

Oh, little girl what do you do?

do you even know?

I’m watching and waiting, writhing and suppressing
my urge to help you, protect you, keep you safe from
yourself and the life you are creating.

And you speak to me,
telling me truth from your lips, lips I love for their look of sweetness
and I wonder if your lips are sweet
like mermaids, sweetly lethal.
Do you believe these things you tell me?

You did not, in the past.

your words today are so different from the ones you used to speak

Darling child, my sister, my daughter, I have begun to doubt you. I wish I didn’t.
I wonder if you tell me what you think or if you hide your mind from me?

You, who I love, are miserable in your life.
I can’t say how it hurts to see.
I see you my sweet,
I weep tears of blood for you
your hurt is my hurt and
I would pray for you, my soft-pawed kitten,
but I doubt the comfort it would bring you.

All i can see to do is

let you go.

I missed you

Written 4.19.2009  He slept on the floor of my room because his car battery was dead.

Nights are worse than days,
when in the day I’ve held you:
in the morningtime, the yawning dawn
I find my way into your arms
your mouth is sleep sweet, sleep soft.
Those rare mornings are stolen bliss,
a delicious torment – what I can’t have yet –
like a time capsule from the future
flashes and glimpses of a simple happiness.

Those nights follow those days:
nights when I walk through the door of my maiden house –
make my lone way – to my narrow bed –
and no one can soothe me with a meaning
why this is.
all answers are hollow
echoing within themselves.
there is no answer for me,

for – my searching eyes
and – my aching arms
and – my yearning heart
and – my untried body

in so many ways
I am empty without you
and now I try to sleep.

The Kelpie’s Song

Written March 12, 2009

Appearing of a sudden
mane waving in the breeze like seaweed
caught in the current
flowing , twisting, furling and unfurling
dripping wetness on your fingertips
flipping droplets onto your cheek

Climb upon my greyseal back,
me, the fey-horse,
and I will bear you to faery lands unknown, untold.

My slippery skin grips your calves,
kelpen mane loops your wrists,
never fear – they keep you safely astride

I will show you my sodden home
and you show me passion in your wild eyes
and straining mouth, your hooked fingers,
arching spine,
legs that spasm and twitch –
your writhing body struggles, a futile fight with self-control
and you concede.
eyes drift, half-lidded
arms, legs lax and still
you sway to and fro
peaceful at last

Ah – – I think you are my favourite houseguest,
the others are so quiet
in their corner, in their ivory tumble.
Yes, you are my favourite.
I will love you always.

Do you hear?
Someone walks past my home.
Perhaps they want a pony ride.

Perfect is a strong word

I suppose I’m in the mood for odes. This one is for Nikolai. Written 2.21.2009

He’s strong enough to pick me up – and he does.
And then he spins me around until I can’t find gravity anymore.

Then he sets me down carefully and we giggle together, confused and dizzy.

He wakes me up from a nap with strawberry ice cream on my lips and then feeds me the last bite from the bowl.

He wraps me up when I’m cold, with his arms or blankets.

He lets me steal food from his plate (and that’s no mean feat) and he lets me feed him from mine, even if the food looks weird.
He trusts me.
He tells me stories from his life and what he feels.
He is honest with me.

He kisses me to be silly, he kisses me to show me he loves me, he kisses me to wake me up, he kisses me hello, he kisses me goodbye.  He kisses me to show me his heart. And I love it all.

He was my Buddie

I know it seems a little ridiculous to write an ode to my dog, but he was a member of the family, you know? Written 1.30.2009. The day Buddie died.

 

Four paws, lolling tongue and a tail like a bludgeon
I remember you a thousand ways.
Digging for clams at the beach with me
diving in the lake to bring back that rock
bounding through a field, sproinging high above the grass
barking at 2 am because you found an opossum in the backyard.

You were so annoying.

Leaning into a person’s leg to get attention,
knocking them over in your determination
whining and grumbling if anyone hugged and you didn’t get one.
You used to do tricks for me, sitting up, rolling over
until you got lazy and just turned in a circle
hoping I wouldn’t notice your deceit and feed you anyway.

you were so crazy.

You would protect us from yellow jackets, eating them if they came in the house.
You would spit out your vitamins when you thought I wasn’t looking
and you’d get into the garbage so often we had to hide it.
Whenever someone came to the door,
you acted like the world was ending
and each Fourth of July you’d hide wherever you could
usually under a bed.

You were so weird.

But you were a good dog
and we all loved you.
And we’re going to miss you.
Goodbye puppy.

Red

There is blood on my hands, though I wash them clean:
blood of men dead by my silence,
shame I hid for his sake, for hers.

And now the shattering has begun
I stand in a still place and I wonder,
did I do right by my closed lips?
Or did I think only to protect myself,
and hide behind supposed innoncence?

Did I create for myself righteousness
so I could stand back and judge
implicated by association,
  blameless by my own accounting?

Be it all as it may, blood is shed
and it housed a life now gone
a life that can be laid at my feet
on my head
staining my hands
Blood is red
guilt is heavy
shame is endless.
I am tired.

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