daughter

if an angel were with skin, this is the skin she’d be in

and it gladdens my heart that he was there

with his red plaid falling in love with you

when you were tired of running

you thought we’d be abandoned

but, look at us dear, we’re still standing

I admire your spirit, your laughter

your view on this entire situation gone mad

the way you send prayers to stop me feeling sad

so sad, which confirms my thinking

that if an angel were with skin

it’s your skin she’d be in

mannequin

she was like a moodier jennifer lawrence,

so many freckles i couldn’t even tell her tone,

but i liked her face.

never saw her flip a smile but noticed

her gasping every once in a while,

and she never moved, even when that

fly landed right on her eye.

she was skilled at wearing her tattoo

as a watch. mastered walking in stilettos

near the water on the rocks.

she had cheekbones that would make your

ancestors drool green

and

she lit up the page with a gaze,

eyes cold and mean.

interlude

this must be what the seas of Greece look like, 

so blue it looks white 

the water so deceiving 

this must be what normal feels like, 

so chill it’s like sleep

the peace I hear it leaving 

this must be what perfection tastes like, 

so fake it seems real 

the day it leaves me grieving  

privy

Over a year old, but still relevant. It explains the beginning of our journey.

The Tape House

She told me in confidence that she thought she gave birth to a beast. She looked around the room to make sure that we were alone. Her eyes darted down and she whispered it, “a monster. The odd thing is that his birth had been so peaceful that January evening with the air so quiet you could hear the falling snow. In the peaceful, dim-lit room with hushed voices late at night, he just slipped out. He just slipped out.  

She told me that when he was born he looked like a little alien. He hardly slept for 2 years and his hunger was insatiable. When he cried her heart would race, and her eardrums would go numb. She would catch him staring in his crib at things she could not see. Stare so long, his eyes would drip water like a faucet. But he would twirl…

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l’oiseau

after it tempted me with its stalky teasers

showing me its many scarlet hats

I saw her camouflaged behind the leaves

dull brown hiding her ruddy brown

with her head looking down

I heard her call out a song to distract me

then watched her fly away

broke my heart she didn’t want to stay

led

brown tipped moth led the way 

past the swamp, the marsh, the murk.

away from the swarm of ink

waiting to envelop me.

it led the way past the squished 

garnet worms beneath my 

cardboard sneakers, me 

whispering sorry

past the house with the 

flamingos in their pool, 

past the party, the envy, the fools. 

brown tipped moth led the way 

and I followed, inhaling its dust 

past the chatter, the damage, the lies. 

away from this flock of fear 

and

away from thinking there

must be better than here. 

uncomfortably

I felt the friction like a cat’s tongue

hesitating to taste what’s on my finger 

cooed sweet baby words in its ear 

to get him to linger 

drove under the dopey gray clouds

so tired from the day 

and told big happy lies to myself 

begging the sunshine to stay 

water

her skirt blowing in the wind,

next to the cliff, next to the ocean

her gnarled foot making the rocks,

the sand trickle down

flashbacks of her ballet time

her foot against the edge

and

the crows flew sideways that day

she looking out with eyes closed

wondering if tomorrow she’d be so brave

flashbacks of her walking away