birth and death of a mimosa tree

It’s the seed he planted
demanding attention
a vantage point mentioned
by one who’s a friend
yet I still can’t tell the end from the in
the beginning
was sinning
yet now we’re alive
bending and mending
each other’s insides
Finding a stride over gravel and grass
separating our pasts
as we forge new ground
rolling around
down hills alone
searching for home
between two oak trees
back and forth swinging
with your friends all singing
ancient Egyptian blues
encrypting clues
for me to find
my sallow green light
approaching the night
inside my mind
with a pocket knife
to saw off the time
that it took
to think something up
that could sizzle
and cook
mixed up in the rhyme
at the glances I steal
your rod and your reel
playing the flip game in my rear-view-mirror
the far side of the bridge
getting nearer
and clearer
queer somehow
since hours before
it played the score
of a 50’s musical
unusual how
the stars became snow
dashing to and fro
inside their globe
falling down
celestial glow
and the glint in your eyes
like you know something
when you blow, tingling up
an explosion
erosion of walls
through sleeping bag stalls
with kisses and misses
synapses glimpsing
our words filling lapses
perhaps patching holes
in our sew back together souls
Explaining how I feel whole
when I come.
I know then you’re not numb
to the sense
of wonder I get
when I speak words
I finally comprehend
so lend me a piece of your notebook paper
while I enjoy the taste
your lips make
mixed with stream water
Don’t bother with understanding
the demanding
way my mind works.
The quirks all come from the peace I can’t find
so wind me up in this blanket of being
warming me
freeing me
until I am seeing that seed unsprout
until I’m tearing it out
defeating my doubt without words.

me too

It’s tough
you know
sometimes
to show you
the two on my knee
and the things I see
sitting next to you
with my eyes closed.
We’ve been posed
face to face
here in this place
the most space
for personal growth
we’ve ever had together
The weather couldn’t be
better
for staring at the stars
driving cars
racing speed
around the curves
the verbs
four letters
tethered to chains
rearranged
to describe the day
bounce ball, hit, play
a different way
of looking at the king of kings
everything
between peace and war
the corner and the store
What’s the score?
42 to your 1 billion
a million stars glinting
as far as my reply can see
All the way
through the trees
the leaves
our sleeves rolled up
rolling down the hill
smiling still as if it were sand.

the ghost on the hill

Young boy with a crown of thorns
lanky like you
lean and aloof
white skull glaring out
closer and closer
he walked
like a ghost
Can it be you?
Big brother to the bewildered
and the blushing
Verifier of Verse
Protector of Prose
Emperor of Imagery
King of keeping the door
Locked and Toweled
How is it, my friend, that you
reappear
Ready to ride into the wind
My imagination cutting the bush
Out of our way!
Move aside ye Beasts of Below
Brendan is coming through!
Where do you come from sir?
Your swagger and sway when my mind is at peace?
Did you float in from Connecticut
on the diamond dish of the moon?
Or flap from far away
flashing your awkward smile at the breeze.

At ease soldier
Take your leave
For it is deceiving
to appear
as if back on the front lines
buying wine
and soaking in it
bread for skin
changing purple
in the night sky.
You and I
parted ways
but you haunt all my days still.

wheels that won’t turn

license plates
blind dates
constantly rising interest rates
rebates
mail-in
five
one-hundred
nine
ten
doing everything over again
lack of silence
violence on the news
heavy shoes
the blues
not believing
deceiving
perceiving you in the wrong light
sleeping alone at night
fear
the tear that comes
trying to say I love you
being above you
seeing through liars
fires too hot for skin
not knowing how it feels
to be in someone
Film reels
cigarette burns
tobacco fields
left-hand turns
Red ribbon
Robins
Reading just to learn
Caterpillars
when they’re yellow
marshmallows
plastic handled teakettles
without water
Being someone’s daughter.
sorta.

and the fallen tree

Over his head?
That’s what he said
Analogies, logic
Brain wave patterns
that clatter when I let them out
I wonder how he feels the breeze
the rain
the grass
is it all the same
inside of someone else’s body?
Trying to figure it
a geometric barrier
I can’t work through
I would need a tutor for that.
It makes no sense when you say nothing
I like it still
Still
still
still
a quiet glass pool
reflecting
reversing
the stalactites
growing them out of the ground
like the flowers you smile at
Sometimes I don’t think I grow like that.
Is it wrong to be happy at peace
no pushes out onto the stage?
But I still want someone to clap
Can you do that without understanding?

My batteries ran out on the top of the mountain
I’m tumbling down crazy
a dizzy daisy
finding comfort
as the granite bashes open my head
Blood red
touch
of land
something we both command
the pulse of my heart.
It’s a start.

any other flower

Purple and blue
my toes
wriggling
giggling
begging the feeling back into my body
Knotty backs giving way
under strong, misplaced hands
Rubber bands stretch and release
tying my hair back in place
out of my hands
off of your face
their dark shadows no longer
covering the space between our eyes
Fireflies flicker instead
racing through the trees
Running away from becoming iridescent spots
on someone’s windshield
Is that where I am?
My glow exploded into a million pieces
Fading faster,
spread too thin
trying to find myself again
inside this jumble of
philosophical bullshit.
But with thoughts too big for even
English language to ponder
my mind wanders to
meaningless things:
cell phone rings
blueberries
baseball bats
the Bible
and suddenly I’m back where I started
chewing my way through the textbook called
life
Never satisfied with the answers no one has
The mysteries
the mayhem
page 96 of your history book
take another look
do you recognize the name?
“Have you ever heard of Marcus Garvey?”
Well I can’t believe no one ever told you.
as you take hits from him
will the irony seep through
or will you wrap yourself up
in what they told you?
“Have you ever heard of Marcus Garvey?”
No.
he’s black and proud
rebellious and loud
likely to stand up
even against you
as the white smoke collects
will you see your own place?
just a face
my face
a see of middle-class Jewish kids
all looking to be the next Premier of Russia
My words,
the wrong color
the wrong sounds
the wrong reasons for preaching the truth
But have you sat on a porch
no one around
contemplating the Golden Eternity
collapsing into a nap
take my word for it
you are nothing
everything is nothing
you are my everything
the logic proceeds
that nothing is everything
and that feels right
tight like your hands on my neck
breath on my breasts
silence in my ears as I press
them into the pillow
arms like a willow
unable to do anything but weep
And sleep.
Because that’s the best solution
when all the words are
speechless.

rain-painted escape

It’s not easy to think
the gnats flying around
each a different thought
circling, never landing
How can I stand on my own two feet
when I don’t know what I’m standing for?
I stopped by the road to move a turtle
His name was Mortimer,
I didn’t ask,
He told me.
Later in the rain
I saw a swallowtail
frozen with her wings
still flapping
each was a chalky print
dots in a grid,
a matrix for nature to duplicate.
As the rain pooled where my fingers had been
I wondered how peaceful her sleep could be
in the grass by the roadside
along with the Wendy’s trash
mile-markers back to
“civilization”
Yet here,
where worms and woods
matter more
than money and ego
I have to disagree.
There is nothing civilized about
a great big blacktop
or chrome
or smoke pouring into the sky from columns.
There is nothing civilized about
food from a fryer
that makes your stomach churn
Congress and democracy
where no voices are heard
houses
where there is no love at all
and the little boy cries
for an egg.
There’s something about the trees that wards off the need for technology
And something in the water that washes away the need to consume
Yes,
after four days in the woods
you smell
you smell human
Yes,
you chafe
you blister
you freeze
you sweat
you feel
you feel alive
It isn’t something you get from five minutes
or something that comes from pretending
It takes days
it takes feeling the sweat fall from your face
and welcoming it
it takes walking in a creek with no shoes on
and leaving them off when you get to dry land
it takes fire, friends, frustration, appreciation and time
relaxation, a watchful eye, the will to try to find your way
when it’s dark and you’ve lost your flashlight
it takes grass stains and the rain falling
down across your shoulders
into your mouth as you lean your head back
to catch it
like the glint of sun off of the water
instead of a sea of glass
towers of wood
instead of concrete
feeling peaceful
instead of lonely
I stood today and watched two sticks floating down
on top of the water
like kings
one took the easy path through the deepest parts
the second chose the harder road
through turns and spins
the rocks became waterslides

the second stick had more fun.

Today I sat and looked at myself
standing in the creek deciding
which path to take
only to realize
I’ve lost my map
from years of misuse
I guess I’ll have to go on instinct,
which isn’t so bad
when you realize,
Instinct is just your heart’s battle cry.