Spring's Touch
Spring's sweet song whispers in my ear
Yet he is far, far away.
Spring's warm fingers run through my hair
Then he vanishes, making me wait.
Spring's soft lips brush against mine
But he pulls back, afraid to move too fast.
Spring's comforting arms envelope me
Then he throws me back to the lonely cold.
Spring tells me he'll be here soon
And innocently I believe that he will.
Autumn Trees
The weeping willow hangs his head in despair,
Beauty
The delicate lure of a flower, Daniel
I watch you,
September 11th, 2001 Ashes hanging thick
Untitled
Staring through the crack
Windowsill
Windowsill
An inch to my left--
An inch to my right--
Library of Ghosts
Library of ghosts Primavera Me
Chipped cherry toenails
Not Here
I don't want to be here
Pheasants Hidden in Fog
fog
alarming pheasants' cries
pheasants hidden in fog
and though still unseen
beyond the forest i know
torn now from the woods Storm
Lightening darts through the black sky.
Return to Childhood
For one afternoon,
On the Outside
The silver sliver of a moon
this is my DEPRESSION, my INSANITY, my LOVE, my FAITH...
"I can feel autumn in the air.
Soon will come the chill and the frost of the fall
That surely will mean death for us all."
"Not so," says the maple, in her sweet,
Flowing drawl,
"I, for one, look forward to fall.
When else can I glow in orange, gold, and red?
So don't weep, my friend, and lift up your head."
"Thank you, sweet maple, you've opened my eyes.
I can hardly wait 'til silver snow flies!"
(published in Habitat, Volume 11 Number 10, September-October, 1999.)
The magical shimmer of fireworks
As they are dying to the night and the moon...
They burn themselves into my mind
And haunt me with what I could never have--
Beauty.
The watercolor whisper of a rainbow,
The first green leaf in the spring
At the fingertip of a wise, gnarled tree...
They paralyze me with silence and awe,
Fueling my unassuming twisted obsession--
Beauty.
(Published in "The Roaring Muse," Fall 2001)
Sillhoetted at a stoplight,
Soft white smoke
Curling from your mouth.
Then the light changes,
Bidding us to fly.
So again I follow you
Through the wind of the deepening night.
In the lungs of a bewildered nation
As we choke over our words,
Searching for explination.
Between the curled shade and the frame,
Lace neatly drapes around this escape,
A world of pink at my back.
I gaze into the sub-zero black
Waiting for the lights of my savior,
Silently detesting the commercial faith
Blinking on neighbors' rooftops.
Below a cold window.
Dust untouched.
Why do flies
Always die in the corners?
Four foot drop
To the cold hard floor
Of a back stairwell
Echoing with emptiness.
Two and a half story drop
To a dirty parking lot
Brutally exposed
By a receeding snowline.
(Published in "The Roaring Muse," Fall 2001)
Lit by the orange evening sun
In lengthening splashes
Across the stains on the littered tile floor.
Signs still guide
To genres on the wall
And the clock still keeps time,
But if a clock spins
And only ghosts are there to see it,
Does time really pass at all?
(Published in "The Roaring Muse," Fall 2001)
Newly naked in the breeze
Drinking in the sunlight
And a fresh breath of freedom.
Strawberries on my shirt
Beg for you to taste me--
I'm sweet, sour, juicy
Running down your lips.
As my neighbor dies in the street
Cherries flashing through the blinds.
I don't want your pain,
Don't want your mortality in my room--
Die quietly like you're supposed to.
wraps me safely in its embrace
all night billowing shadows
grow near streams,
under trees
and i hold my breath
ring savagely in deep woods
and shallow groves,
telling dreams
a world not known beyond trees.
lie dark and calm almost
visible.
the wood's line and shadow compromise
along the horizon
clouded by fairy dust
beyond trees.
the woods cradle the dust.
their boughs sway cautiously
as the dust peacefully lands.
lies pastel-painted dreams
that fairies' and pheasants' eyes have seen.
sky and land become
the same entity,
exists where time exists no more.
by the cold and dark
i part,
mindful of fairies now sleeping--
a whisper not noticed
in the forest
of dreams.
(Published in "The Roaring Muse," Fall 2000.)
Moments later, thunder crashes louder than the blood pulsing through my veins.
The winds claws at my thin skirt.
Trees now cower and huddle near the ground.
I pull furiously at the doors, but they turn me away.
Sheet after blinding sheet of rain swoops down from the west and dissapears in the east as the next sheet hits.
Soon it seems that even my bones are wet.
I find a small corner to hide in just as the tornado siren begins to warn the empty world with its painful wail.
Tears begin to intermingle with the raindrops running down my face.
My knuckles are sore and stiff from holding down my skirt, although there is no one for miles to see if I let go.
I feel almost sick from shivering beneath my dripping clothes.
I lean in closer to the cold brick wall for comfort.
Never have I felt so alone in my short and sheltered life.
Now knowing what else to do, I start to sing.
An hour ago, I wouldn't have been able to recite the words, but suddenly "Rock of Ages" is flowing out of my soul and into the storm.
First I barely sing above a whisper, but soon I am singing as loudly as I can.
Hiding myself in the Rock of Ages, I am not so
afraid anymore.
Make believe
That life is perfect.
Roll in the grass.
Run through cold lake water
Without rolling pu your pants.
Hide in a tube slide
And spin on a tire swing.
Laugh.
Even if it's forced
Through clenched teeth,
Let everyone hear you laugh.
Run, jump, climb
While fiery pain tears through you.
Pretend
That every step you take
Doesn't bring you closer to your knees,
And pray that children's laughter
Will drown your sobs.
Lock away reality
Like dreams in a plastic diary
That's easily broken into
When the afternoon has ended.
Burns holes in clouds
That swirl above me.
A pinprick star
Appears in the inky ashes of a cloud,
But is enveloped again
Before I can wish away my pain,
Wish away the hole he has burned in me.
A tear falls down my face
And off the edge of the deck.
It evaporates before it hits
The pavement below.
Inside the warm room
My friends are smiling,
Playing games.
They have forgotten that I am here.
But I cannot go in,
Cannot knock weakly at the door,
Shivering with tear-streaked cheeks,
Waiting for them to help me.
So I lie on the deck
And wait for another star.
