Trees

My back

is strong

like a piece of bark

it has its edges

but it is stable,

it stands tall–

it is stillness

and silence

and me.

 

These elements

of control

have never been

my friend.

 

Illusive fears

of loosing

a self

that I had forged

by lack of force

the word loss–

I could write odes

to loss

and sonnets

to loss

and haikus

to loss

and I would still

remained

lost

in the same sentiment

 

Who am I?

 

Where do these attachments

leave me?

Where did I acquire them?

 

Did death bring up something

deep inside of me

that always needed healing?

 

An unknowingness of stability,

the entrance of doubt?

 

I am here, writing,

wondering,

thinking back to trees with hearts

written in their sides.

 

October 8, 2016

Loss

I’ve been thinking about loss, lately.

 

How forcibly it comes and takes away–

so difficult it is to let go.

 

People are my backbone

and thoughts of being uncomfortable around them

simply verifies this fact.

 

Yet I know my life,

life,

is full

and there are no “buts.”

 

I will let go;

I’ve already started.

 

August 21, 2015

Losing a Friend

There was never

A more beautiful place

To lose a friend.

 

The tide pulls and pushes

My heart strings back

And forth,

Reminding me of the times

I could laugh at her smile

And run down a white line

Screaming, “Follow!”

 

There’s never a good time

To lose a friend.

 

They can be sitting right next to you

On a colored blanket,

Sullen,

Feeling three thousand miles away

 

And still moving.

 

There was love here,

A no judge, no hate

Type of love that was, perhaps,

An invisible mist–

Like Malibu air singing to the waves,

The ocean breathing back.

 

It’s a love that defends itself

Against heartbreak

Until it questions its existence

To begin with.

 

It all started here…

On an ocean cliff where I knew

That I was falling

So she caught me, with that special

Kind of I-understand-how-you’re

Flowing-

Needing-only-a-minute-in-the-car

Windows-open-singshouting-a-song

Moment to know

That we would be connected

For a long while.

 

Even a long while ends–

Like the water reaching my rock

It knows when to steer back

It is only natural.

 

Then why do my thoughts

Leave a suppressed sigh knowing

That she could have done more,

Knowing that she could be more

Knowing that I still love our past,

 

But that I cannot see a future

 

Full of bitchy side comments

And over-indulged spending;

She can buy whatever she wants

But she most certainly can’t buy

My heart

 

It’s flying free,

A journey in mind

That this pain could break if it had bones–

Right now there’s only water

 

Drifting me back to now,

To me,

To friends that support the highs

And lows of my shore,

A cascade moon pulling

The water inwards,

 

Promising a new tomorrow.

 

April 1, 2015

Kitchen Sink

My brain is like a faucet

flow the memories

down:

what good, half-full moment

do you encounter down the stair,

past the front door–

away from me–

you creek towards a polaroid camera,

an album soon to be extinct

 

I want my mind to be only mine

to see,

only mine to use– to use it at will

to do well, to be real

honesty

can never be the complete story

when you enter a courtroom and swear

to God to say the truth, and nothing but

 

“The truth will set you free,”

so let it–

remember me

in fireflies over Aunt Mary’s backyard

and watching Uncle Richie with his cigar,

playing catch

and licking dinner off Thanksgiving plates.

 

As for now, I’ll walk you towards the door

and find the kitchen sink:

I’ll turn on the faucet, feel the cold,

and start cleaning.

 

February 24, 2015

Picture

But I cannot hold 

a memory in two hands,

like your face

against my white palms–

how am I expected 

to keep what I cannot hold true?

 

A task once termed remarkable

for a storyteller,

for a young mother documenting

their baby’s first crawl,

their first step, their first fall

 

I cannot fall in love

with but a picture of your face–

even when you are my cousin,

part of the family I fell for

when still in the womb

 

I can only whisper your name

to the wind, hoping

that some spirit captures you

and

releases. 

 

April 16, 2014

Thought Flow

I think I want

to be a Buddhist.

My doctor called,

said it would be good

for my health;

My shrink thinks

I’ve got nothing to lose.

My friends are all

looking like hippies now

anyway, so no harm done;

My yoga mat calls me

more than my crush

across the street.

It’s true–

what have I got to lose?

In fact, it’s quite simple:

everything.

What makes me tick;

What puts me to sleep.

What I bake with;

How I hold a date.

My morning coffee

turned to tea,

and clearly somethings wrong

with me to want to give up

(or, perhaps, give in)

to not knowing

what flowers I want to hold

on my wedding day,

or what sandwich I want

to eat for breakfast.

But I’m telling you–

whatever thought

comes through first today,

I want my Buddha standing there,

strong.

July 9, 2014