i see you best
through broken edges
you are (w)hole
and I am fence
and together we form
our own boundary
.
.
.
who are you
to break my name
when you’ve never held my hunger
or bled my flame?
who am i
to step on these black borrowed stones
drowning in this pond
of hollow bones?
there’s a space between stars
filled with wing-shaped answers
and the ladder
hangs from clouds
strung by bees
.
.
.
yesterday i cut the tall grasses
cursing and creaking
just the same as every year
all complaints and mess and
blisters
i thought of you as i snipped and gathered
wondering why i bother
with these spreading earth-takers
clucking at the way
their roots
have broken the box i built for them
and thinking perhaps
it’s time to dig them up
plant some dahlias
maybe
but then i remembered
how much i love to listen
to the sound they make in summer
each tiny gust of wind
whispering ten thousand secrets
in a language i don’t understand
i thought of all the times
i’ve used them for shade in late august
pad and pencil recording streams
of words i can’t quite hear
and that day a black striped dragonfly
landed on my knee
with a message i still can’t
decipher
and then i gathered up my tools
and walked inside
no decision but my thirst
to let them stay
.
.
.
is always hiding something
you think it’s the truth
sitting there in the corner
blinding the crowd
with the blunt edge of honesty
and the tall maleficent glare
of guilt
but the real story
is tucked in a fold
packed in a trunk
trampled down
beneath one
wrinkled knee
you tried painting over her once
sky blue skin with purple clouds
yellow elbow and dotted cheek
smoky eyes and faux striped tail
and then you started over
using camouflage and collage
picture frame and paper tchotchke
knitted throw and burnished rug
in the end
your hands
were stained with fiction
one thousand pages
you will never wash off
and you stood naked
in the shadow
of your story
.
.
.
so much living out loud
these days
so much songbird singing
and restless hand wringing
so many rules to swallow and
pills to follow
and offenses taken to
deep down places
so much sleep to lose and
outrage to booze
mirrors to crack
or pick up the slack
erasures and silence
muzzle and roar
whispers to settle
behind locked door
but i say
let them stand
all those words
to be banned
all the phrases
that offer no praises
words are the drones
in the war of lost bones
our last strong shield
in the cracked force field
of tomorrow’s glinting
freedom
.
.
.
.
