there’s always something creeping
through the cracks and crevasses
peeking out, peering in
whispering instruction
camouflage can only take you
so far into the forest
stillness is a temporary reprieve
your scent will always reveal
the truth of who you are
you can run and hide
bolt and fall
get up again and stare down
your predator
scream at the sun
for daring to shine
if you are wild enough
your strength will save you
a multitude of days
add up to make a life
you’ll never know about
you might see edges
and corners
shiny bits
held up to the sun
(reflecting parts you
thought you’d hidden)
or the flip of a skirt
might reveal
a flash of skin
you’d gone
to great lengths
to cover
but in the deep dark
dead of reality
we can’t see
each other
cannot travel
light years
to meet
in the middle
of a universe
always able to add
expand
hold
one more
beginning
bones buried
scrubbed cleaned
polished
on the shores
of gravity’s
existence
this place is crowded
standing room only
and they just keep coming
d
o
w
n
that one way ladder
forcing everyone to slither
sideways to make more room
some people slink along
slow and quiet and try to
melt away into the crowd
others come kicking and
screaming gathering handfuls
of splinters as they go
and some even take a
flying leap assuming
someone else will break
their fall
(i’ve seen that and it ain’t
pretty) while
i stand just left
of the bottom rung
handing out flyers
all prettied up and
professionally designed
saying
welcome to utopia
we’ve got 397
flavors and
they’re all called
vanilla
you got the moves
and she rolled her eyes
then closed them
raised her arms high
above her head to
sway like pink cosmos
in a hot
summer breeze
and he thought
invitation
when all she really
wanted
was enough decoration
to disguise the fact that
she was already
dancing
with her favorite
partner
yesterday
i broke a mirror
and i cringed because
you know what they say
seven
years bad luck and all
and then i remembered
that i broke another
mirror a few years
back
seven years
more or less and
how much bad luck
can one person have
and perhaps
this means i
broke the spell
of that first
mirror
and anyway
isn’t it time
for new reflections
or at least a
different view
and i’ve heard that
your body
renews itself from
the inside out every
seven years
and seven is my lucky number
and i read recently
that a woman goes through
seven
7-year cycles
of growth in her life
which made me wonder
what happens when you
turn 50
and now i’m
about to
find out
i broke a mirror
yesterday
and so began
the year of words
scattering themselves
like autumn leaves
on every page she
turned and all the
commas periods and
semi colons
were left holding tight
to white space and
ideology and she
couldn’t hear herself
think
for all the echoes
but those words they
crawled on her skin
like ants of fire
burning itching demanding
to be set free
til she screamed and ran
for cover finally jumping
into the pool despite
her inability to swim
and those words
well
they joined hands to form
a raft that pulled her
back to the surface
floated her home
laughed at her a little and
whispered secrets
behind flat palmed hands
passing her story around
and around until it
evolved into
an entirely different
poem
.
.
.
.
i am always alone always together
always held in the grip of this life
this amalgam of a long line of
choices i thought i never made
a tea brewed from fifty years
of love tears existence and
breathing in letting go holding
simple tools and learning how to
forge my way down this path
filled with weeds vines growth
finding my way sending out feelers
but i have always been blind and
those tiny bits of light that make
their way through guide me closer
to home deliver me from evil a
periphery of vision i have simply
discarded i can’t see i can’t
see i am lost always lost but
if you stand before me and ask
for directions i can tell you
the best way to get there
.
.
.
.
she lived in
a small house
in a small town
in a very small
postage stamp
version
of reality
at night
stars crept
under doors
and into cracks
to make certain
she was not
expanding
.
.
.
.
of course it all depends
on how you pronounce it
this word that means
both ill and null and void
this word that creeps up on you
even when you lie there
perfectly still hoping
against hope that
what you are is
something other than
not important
something other
than terminal or
debilitated or even
just plain sick
but this word
it just keeps
creeping and you can look
away if you want
pretend
it’s not there in the
room with you but
this is a word
you cannot
run from
.
.
.
.
bitter is a bell
that rings true
at midnight
sings loudest
in the heart
of the insomniac
who cannot
look away
look away
from the depths
of disillusion
reverberation
echoes hollow
molds melody
from habit
finds comfort
in decision
.
.
.
.
