With life

She is nude

Dearticulate

Her nipples graze the passage of her downfall

Blood is dry and hennaed between her thighs

Who stand witness

To aborted possibility cut short

Held glistening above her in crucifixed parody

She will never bear life

It is not her weft and the thick choker around her neck

Tightens as reminder

If she grows swollen it will be from loss not gain

No feeling of a child pushing its way out

Only the deadening cold taste of metal on her skin

A doctor’s “tut, tut” and rough handling, his voice a graze

Staining her inevitable socially affixed shame

She stares out of a small window

Paint pealing like tears on the empty sill

Where a bird sits sheltering from rain

She thinks of him cutting his way into her with flint eyes

Hands around her throat, pulling her apart

A flashlight douses darkness, shining on blood and her hand

Reaching out

She is empty now

Passion snuffed, an ember no longer close to surface

She is an arroyo dried and crusted over

She is a gourd grown without seed

Disappointment is her meal, she is a featherless bird on wire

Dried empty by sun and rinsed of music

Before this, her watermelon body swayed in water-sprinklers

Feasting on her abundance and possibility

All that would be, all that would be

Is laid waste

Tumbleweed and Joshua tree

Punishment and consequence

The rapist will return at night to his wife and

Three blonde children

She will recover from her tears and cuts

Even the shame of feeling his soil enveloping her

But she will never

Never

Forget what he took in miscarried act

What would happen if we swapped vision?

The fridgidity of growth or a certain constraint

Because if you split my casing I would possess less chance

My surround would envelop your shadows and night cross twice

For women have a shorter life and a longer one

Small boned with narrow shoulders and deep set eyes

Stretching barren like a long road through desert

If she could turn the knife around

Press it gently against his steady pulse

Cut out the evil as he removed her chance

To fill her arms

With life

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Fortune cookie

A girl who used to look forward to dinner and a movie

The simple pleasure of walking hand in hand with stillness and a harvest moon

was handed a poisoned fortune cookie

caught a virus, and that virus crawled into her stomach, like a ray gun

it changed the waves until, her stomach like arrythmia of the heart

was fitful and lurched

she was instantly sickened, from a person of health she turned

green

her body shut down and said

no, I don’t want to eat

dimly she remembered the days

she would lust and long for food

her appetite completely gone, the acidic growl of her stomach

held all dominion

she was slave to nausea 24/7

like a merciless dictator it left her no peace

even in the lingering hours of night

she woke bathed in sweat

her stomach somersaulting in wicked mirth

such a terrible feeling of imbalance and sickness

her hands gripped the sides of the toilet

she prayed until her head ached

for nothing could have prepared her

nothing assuaged the constant torture

every day of every day

she began to imagine

her death

fondly like a fantasy

and then when she realized what she was doing

she would cry until the crying

made her sicker and she had to stop

bottle all the anquish up

but there was nowhere to throw it, or store it or let it free

it built higher like a fortress

locking her out of life

days, weeks, months went by

she was captured between glass

unable to eat or drink without throwing up

or wishing she never had to try to chew, force food in green bilious mouth

perhaps it was punishment for a former life

where she was greedy and ate too much

or tormented the Fates with the heal of her shoe

it seemed definitely karmic punishment

just as her will to live, ran thin and irregular

sometimes imperceptable

like arrythmia pulses below the surface

that would not quiet or return to normal

disturbing former calm we take for granted

a girl who used to look forward to dinner

sits at a quayside cafe, drinking empty glasses

eating plates without food

staring at turbulent water rise and fall

waves crashing without sequence, into wet wood

holding back or pushing forward, who knows?

one day either the sea will admit defeat, or erode everything

and that is how I will be free, she says

to carefree birds overhead, yet to be struck down

they know not their good fortune

Let her out


The wax in your wane

Needle on smooth track

A song from twenty years back

When you didn’t have

The holes you have now

Crocheting skin with doubt

When you just threw yourself open

Dancing in a crowd with long wick

Breasts high, chin tight, feet on tiptoe

The candle lasted all through night 

And we spilled, like red polinated seeds

Out into dark city streets

Bra straps, cyclist legs, powdered glee

It’s not the bravado of youth 

But the absence of ghosts

Keeps us free

***

I am you 

I am the flicker of past who asks

What did you do with your true self?

Packaged up in trepidation so soft

Lulled yourself to sleepwalking 

Years passed like finger on fast forward

Before you know 

Almost

On the cusp of memory

A girl with an open smile

Running towards you

Gone, not lost

Unpick the confine

Let her out

That she may find again

Herself

The borderlands of your mind

christian-schloe-94There’s a look in her eye

it says I am strong and I do not know

yet how deep this goes

to join with protective arm in the moist earth those who stand before and after

except there will be no after

my child lies sleeping eternal sleep, my womb will no more facsimile

it ends with me

I stand alone when you pass and I remain when you are gone

It is the sorrow you always saw in my eyes

I knew

the price of freedom is to be alone at the last hurdle

a strange familiar pain, turned to in twisted recognition

strength usually accompanied numbers, other families look on

you can hear them with their dismay

she is the poor one who inherits isolation

and what I have learned, is the truth of this and the lie

you may share a name, a legacy, a generation or a string around your finger

and still within you

nobody

nobody thinks to inquire in a room-full of noise

you may be speaking loudly, no-one will listen

captivated by their carousel of cacophony

so when you said I was formed of my choices

you were right

and what you missed, was your own price

for we all believe ourselves immortal to obscurity

it is my fate to understand this

it is your torment to chase

the dragon you seek and avoid

he will never let you catch him

you will never discover why

the borderlands of your mind

make enemies of love so well

New door

ab332e761de8e5a56511dfaa85aa5c8aDisease of heart grows rancorous sore

What we hold closest we teach them to fear

When good people do not stir we hear plaintive call

 

Moving not to change their fates in acted chore

Disturbing freedom of those we keep too near

Standing still without moving, perhaps worst sore

 

Entreating fate to stir our oracle toward peace

given to all beginning their walk beneath light

Else we bequeath only lamenting ashes of war

 

Radiantly our faith shall support our walk

creating hopeful worlds within own might

Whom among us can we know to be sure?

 

gathering what we learn within our reach

fleeing old echoes we go into raptured night

If we leave it open slightly we protect the door

 

Those who have come far-reaching distant shore

The gravity of will, the impossibility of might

Whom among us can with certain heart be sure?

another shall perhaps close, offering new door

Her will

She is her own past and future

her knees bent behind her

muscles fattened with lethargy

why do I want her? his voice in the distance

why would I want those breasts that sling

slow about her bones like sorrow

those eyes that look as if they have cried

once too often

she is imperfect

she is not new and clean

nor ready for your molding

she is broken and fused and broken and fused

some of her will never knit back together

where gaps form there are questions

how did it come to this?

what made you think you could?

and she defies him with her knees

bent beneath

her proud back

arched taut, ready for arrow

he may think he is in control

he knows

nothing of her will

Dust

loureedraven9Fingers

outline the space

removed

by you

straining to see

that circle completing

us

it stays beyond your

loosening

a scattering of time and memory

ash as fire

once burned

now shapes are

all we have left

in dust