friday

the beach was littered with red that night

near the end of September

the sun was mourning the end of its reign

the fact that he’s so blazing here year-round

was little consolation

he gave himself a pity party

I just remained and enjoyed the constellations

miss

been so long sometimes I forget the color of your hair

miss the way you meandered through our home

much like those ghosts with tambourines around

their ankles and faraway thoughts in the air

 

been so long sometimes I forget the way you cared

miss the vision of you with gold around your neck

much like those spirits with the sun at their backs

their warmth and faraway peace in their prayers

 

 

 

bond

woke up and there was doom, so much

it was like I was drinking it from a cup

perhaps it’s because I dreamt of those black

ribbons that like to get tangled in my hair

that damned pretentious silk

I feel them now but I have to forage for

those twisted inky feminine cords

don’t you see them

you have to see them I swear

but

you insist they aren’t even there

and

I know I must give up my lost search

not question this pain on earth

long to walk without a step

breathe but not take a breath

just be and not let go yet

play

those red butterflies take me back to the time when

those annoying crickets lulled me to sleep

dreamt I was barefoot on the gravel

running to that abandoned church

where those lost souls would be baptized

stood up high to pretend to speak

but I knew I wasn’t worthy

running back to the little, green house

the gravel biting at my soles

I whimpered and looked back –

you ran and didn’t even feel the rocks

you came laughing back,

your feet untouched

elicit

top of the palm hunched like a spent witch

fallen over her broom, its thick green

hair barely tossed by the wind.

her brown limbs lacking oxygen,

left her tattered luggage stuck in the mud.

that abandonment makes me think of

all those stories of hate you wrote

thinking it would make me want to

turn the page, but I tossed your book into

the water. and it makes me wonder

how spoiled creatures can hold so much

ugly and suffering, yet leave it

displayed out for the offering.

makes me want to cut the witch down,

rid my sight of vile palms that

make me think of so much pain.

makes me wish I never followed you

down this beguiling path of eternal

sunshine and hidden rains.

makes me wish you knew me before this.

 

 

 

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.

choice

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