Jill

She sees the path up the hill,
Brown and smooth
Where her feet have killed the grass
And knocked pebbles loose.

Her skin is sticky with summer heat,
Sweat collecting above her collar bone
And dripping between her breasts

She can hear children's laughter up ahead
She places her hand over her eyes
And licks the last drops of honey tea
From the corner of her mouth.

Body half bent
And leg muscles tightening,
She continues upwards.

Her boots are solid around her feet,
The hem of her dress catching shins and calves
In the wind.

She pauses to pull wet strands of hair
Off of her neck and back into a ponytail.
Her heart beats in her ears.

A breath in--honeysuckle on the breeze.
She remembers glorious childhood fantasies of love.

I exhale and keep climbing the hill.

July

Stranded by summer doldrums,

the pinwheel stands aimlessly

beside the front door.

Waiting for practicum

Anxiety,

is picking at my eyebrow,

making lists,

seeking some sort of rigid structure or plan

for the unknown,

the impossible.

It's darting eyes

and quivering feet

and wiggling toes.

Talking quickly--

is this a high or a low

and can I tell?

My face is hot and red

and I'm aware

pretty soon I'm getting

a yes or no

that may resonate to the center

of how I'm identifying today.

Hill, Part I

She sees the path up the hill,

Brown and smooth

Where her feet have killed the grass and knocked pebbles loose.

Her skin is sticky with summer heat,

Sweat collecting above her collar bone and dripping between her breasts.

She hears children's laughter up ahead.

She places her hand over her eyes and licks the last drops of honey tea from the corner of her mouth.

Body half bent and leg muscles tightening, she continues upwards.

Her boots are solid around her feet.

The hem of her dress catching shins and calves in the wind.

She pauses to pull the wet strands of hair off her neck and back into a pony tail.

Her heart beats in her ears.

A breath in--honeysuckle on the breeze--remembering glorious childhood fantasies of love.

Reminisce

To examine each word singly

To take it second by second.

A luxury.

A necessity.

And I,

With that time of youth behind me

Am desperate

To find it again.

A yearning

Inside chest,

Inside head

And through fingers

Halting words

Hoping to brush alongside

Those moments,

To connect again

With falling cherry blossoms

And snowy mountains,

And simple thoughts.

Second by second.

Yosemite fireside

The flames are inconsistent,

here then gone

then back again shining yellow.

Embers sparkling

and molten gold,

The reward of a day well lived.

And the warmth of hands,

of touching

Reflected incompletely.

Promises renewed as heat gives way to flame.

A silent observer

of no and every

consequence.

early morning

He sprinkles sunshine just by being
and I'm summer grass growing thick:
softness, strength and water.

after a shower

water drips down my hair
onto my arm
and it feels like crying.

Train to Brugge

A little boy's lower back
reminds me of you,
and I think about child pornography.
I know it's wrong
to still think of you
after all this time,
but I do and can't help it.

night driving

The road into Charleston smells sour
marshes of sweat from the back of a man who needs a shower,
blueberries left to rot on the bush.
As soon as skin touches air a film forms
damp and sticky
after sex feeling
blowing into my car window.

Yesternight

My throat was bubbly
and now my paper's yellow
and it doesn't make much sense
(or cents, come to think of it...)
"It was written by an ex-prostitute,"
makes me want to look into it
and "she was kind of stupid" makes me want to stand up and leave.
You have to, sometimes, when you feel these ways.
I think I have to go home.

new semester

mean green fighting machine
what are you if not where you have been
we play tough but we're bound to break in
now come on in and call me a friend.