I never expected winter to carry in a friend,
one who said, “I want to know your mind,”
who listened when I spoke softly,
and heard the colors, too. I was cold,
and you showed me warm, built me
a safe place to release – my alone,
my how it feels to be chased by death,
my real. You said, “I get you.”
And you did. Did you get the pieces
you scattered behind when you left?
These tears belong to you.
this building I live in
has been torn by words,
and years of hurricanes
lashing through, battering
its strength with the wind
of not good enough.
buildings hear their weaknesses
and let pieces fall, begin
to believe they may crumble
under harsh weather
and perpetual judgment.
people pass by
older buildings
when the
outsides
crumble.
i live
inside.
empty picnic table
covered in snow
remembers a time
she wasn’t alone
winter tire tracks
long in the night
ending nowhere
endless streetlights
the coldest days
spent white and alone
frozen promises
fill up your home
love between sisters
Icy tree under the fire sky
holds on to her shine, grips
her tender fingers with diamond
drops and defies him to threaten
her with his heat. She is proud,
stands at the top of the rise,
tips back her head and sings.
Her frozen limbs swing to catch
late day light, sparkle and know
she belongs this way, shining
through angry fire. He closes in,
trying to melt her delicate ice,
but she holds it higher, her promise,
until fire has melted, receded,
and all that remains behind
is the blue glow of hope.
crushed, as rock is ground
to sand and washed to sea,
tiny pieces of used to be,
fall away in time, until nothing
solid remains – and emptiness
where I used to be.
The sound of the water travels
through the hills, a melody of bubbles,
rocks, and reasons. Bare December
trees look down on honest, leafy blankets
covering rocky ground. Follow the call
of moving water; it speaks of patience
and travels that never end, only pick up
leaves to carry along the way. Moss
wraps rocks in green warmth, whispers
them secrets of softness and holding on.
And then, the light filters gently, with hope,
kissing the water into swirls and drops,
sounds of you everywhere.
beyond dark trees/
stone peaks of grey/
light finds a way
All night she stayed,
forehead pressed
against the chilly window,
waiting for the rain
to turn to snow.
Pleading eyes watched
the streetlight, as rain
fell down, and wind
chased it sideways.
All she needed
was to see it turn
white, to cover life
outside the window
with tiny pieces of
icy hope.
But morning brought
only dark puddles
outside and on
her face.
I laugh, I cry,
I run in and out
of dark forests
still you stay
I cherish the sun
but weep when
the sea takes her
still you stay
I smile at stars
but wonder
why they leave
still you stay
I sing in colors
but curse darkness
when it scares me
still you stay
I walk the beach
breathe the sea
but must always go
still you stay
I live warmth
but dissolve trembling
when the cold comes
still you stay
still
you stay
still
you
stay
Just because I walk when wind blows strong,
doesn’t mean your words won’t knock me
to the frozen ground. And just because I let
the rain fall over me, through me, soak me
like a thirsty tree, doesn’t mean the looks
that fall upon me go unnoticed; their bitter
wetness seeps in every pore and flows deep.
Just because I hear claps of angry thunder and
don’t flinch, that doesn’t mean that cruelty isn’t
slicing through me, gashing at my peace. And
just because I watch the tide come in, the stars
appear, the sun rise, doesn’t mean you are here.
Just because I am alone and my eyes are dry
doesn’t mean that I don’t weep.
You call me firefly, and that means
I don’t need to be a butterfly, and dress
in bright colors and show off my wings.
In the twilight, my glow makes you smile,
and I glide and hover, drift and reach –
around you – as you cherish my light.
You would never put me in a jar, or ask me
to dim my light. So I land upon your shoulder
to rest, until I am ready to shine again.
What ghosts follow when you track
back so far? Stone foundations,
full of your words, crumble and roll,
and the pine pieces, marked by knots
of pain and despair, age away in
forgetfulness. Is this a blessing,
when the holes appear, let light and cold
pass, allow locked in grievances to leave?
Or does it all remain anyway, underneath
the rusted metal roof – the hurts
that can’t be released, circling around
the structure as time takes it down?
There’s still a place to let it go –
two squares and a circle.
Illumination: Snowflakes
You show me a skull, tell me you scare people,
and you don’t believe in God.
I nod and listen, smile a little, and hold out my hand.
Come with me, let’s walk together. Take my hand –
It’s warm, you say – yours is, too, but I knew it would be.
Let’s walk the shore and you tell me why God can’t exist.
I promise to hear you, if you promise to stop with me,
close your eyes and listen to the way waves
feel as they gather toward shore, and break
their release to the sand in song. And see the shells,
and the driftwood, each one a different sea sailor. Listen;
they will tell you stories of voyages and places you could
never know. Breathe the salt air, know it like home,
like carefree summer days and moonlit nights, it holds you.
Now let the words go and watch as my sun floats to the waiting
sea, his arms outstretched to embrace her. Do you feel the yellow?
I watch you close your eyes, and I wrap my arms around you
as the shades of glow and sincerity wash through you. Quiet.
The sun has gone and sweet blue shines the sand. You turn
around silently to hug me. I feel it. Watching you drive away,
I see you smiling. There is love all around you.
God just followed you home.
If you held my hand,
those angry storms that rush in
like muggers, and knock me from behind,
leaving me broken and breathless
on the ground-they wouldn’t come.
And the cold rain that stays for days
and bleeds its gray through every layer
of me-it would stay away.
And the ice that seizes me and my trees,
so still and frozen we can snap and fall
to pieces-it couldn’t form
if you held my hand,
If you
held
my
hand.
We were so 19
that the world didn’t care if we slept
half the day, went to coffee with the professor
instead of class, and began the evening
just before midnight. The usual crowd
could be counted on to greet us warmly,
as we scrambled off the city sidewalks
swallowed by our college life. Beer, and
conversation, and the same familiar songs,
and we hugged and laughed and knew
19 would always be. But it’s not.
Someone else is borrowing 19 now.
Seek Peace
Remember how I waited
for all the words you didn’t say,
like the gasp the sun makes
just before she dives into the sea,
and yellows and oranges turn deep,
into blue foghorn songs in the dusk.
Now I walk dark streets in silence,
to see if your words hang there,
waiting, a song to be collected,
but block after block is empty,
quiet, no words left for me.
Talking to the Clouds 