Unbreakable

The riot

Began on a quiet night

She slipped out of her skin

Swam in silver

Becoming a thing without need of heat or pulse

And blooming beneath the waves

Briefly recalled

The lost heartbeat and its mercurial wont

To fall in love, to feel and dance

Sweating and electric

Swaying like sea creature become used to land

The breathless longing and great pain

For if, you cast off your humanity

You may lose more than the disturbance of life

The very knocking against your chest

A thunder, a pain, a joy

That supplicate and clenched urge

Sometimes silently played out on the watchful flicker

Of hands casting over and over

Some semblance of longing, unbreakable

Those fierce moments in between

The day will come

THE DAY WILL COME

when you fall and feel you cannot get up

and when that day comes and feels like it’s won

you will pull yourself

inch by inch, of broken spine

cry by cry, scream by scream

until you stand

TALL AGAIN

and when that day comes

you will think on this and know

belief is half the battle

faith the other part

there is no room for query or supposition

let not the terrors a place at the table

the pure hearted know

healing comes from the soul

I tell myself this

at 4am over the toilet bowl

exhausted before I have woken

I tell myself this

when panic grips my chest like a thunder bolt

and whispers in my ear, it’s been six months

I tell myself this

when the person I was, is not the person I have become

but a whisper of what was

BECAUSE

we have a choice in our fight

to take it, to face it, or to back down

and though I wanted to give up, though I tried to let go

I’m still carrying the smallest candle of hope

it is in the stains of your disaffection

the hideous recollection of your breakage

when you see through the ugliness that doesn’t quit

and pain needling you like it learned to knit

those fierce moments in between

they are yours

and the day will come

full and bright and brilliant

when you shall, reclaim yourself

Little wretch

Tell me, little wretch

Hast thou sufficient umbrage, daring to rend me void of powder?

As if a keg of dynamite were to unloosen its tongue

Lashing your sides with the fury of its imprisonment

Tell me little wretch

Do you really believe you have won?

That buoyant world

1d763efcda321356fee424333900e93a--sunrise-and-sunset-golden-hourYou are afraid to shut the front door

it is an unblinking eye to the living

you are attached to a virus, like a fly

stuck firm in ointment, will

be claimed slow and sure

by its urge to escape, it shall

sink deeper and knowing this, you

refuse to close away the day, but

by standing against urging cold air

feeling labored breath of all those

who maintain and climb their days into years

by the touch of their effort, and the rise and fall

of that buoyant world

you shall rejoin the wheel as it arcs and spins

counting down our mortal pieces

such as we are, labored by knowing

how fragile the shimmer of life

yet, not yet, yet

we are still

afloat

Walked with angels

You are the wonder of the world
a red man come from desert

you saved this girl from drowning in sand

pricked her lips with cacti juice

told her of the stars in your mouth

collapsing mountains

summoning sleeping giants to lie beneath us.

With cicadas, you wove me a blanket of safety

though you had nothing

you gave me all.

From the empty handed

comes the greatest gift

unfolding like paper water lillies

leaving stigmatas in my palm

the shape of echoing stars.

Never apologize 

Dearest

for being poor or empty handed

when your feathers are full and sunset lifts you high

the circumference of your heart

longer than a sincere word

taught me humility

and how to know 

the tenderness of kindness comes often 

from those who receive no thanks

for they are not rich

nor need those things to sustain their souls

walking with angels.

You are a man of your ancestors

truth in the words

as the bell chimed, you took me to be yours

pouring salvation into candles 

lighting my way to freedom.

So many years I had been caught by the neck

twisting in the wind unable to escape

the trap of circumstance

and in one pull 

you gathered me close and saved me

a hunter turned tender 

for the fluttering of his people

bestowing goodness like late harvest.

From the empty handed

comes the greatest gift

before we reach heaven

we may have still

walked with angels.

Voyager

I woke up and I wasn’t, me anymore

I had the emaciated body of someone starving on a full belly

Of a broken promise, shaped like a hennaed woman

I took off my wig, spectacles, teeth

And the skin child stood empied beneath quizzical stares

Tested for her taint

The diagnosis throttled me

Nymphs in weeds

The uncertainty held me down

Poisoning in vogue

The loss sat like a stuffed bear

Snarling without glee

The smell of bonfire on my skirt

Mud beneath my eyelids caking sight

So many labels, sticky to the touch

Like toffee left to run, patching over who I would have become

If warm nightmares hadn’t stirred

An unease as vigilant as a curse

Wondering, whether to unlearn

Bravery, a tarnished metal band

Playing for the hard of hearing 

How to train a slack horse

To regain the urge to bolt from his stall

As sleek as otter, sweat steaming in fridgid air

Beseachment riding, her violin back

From small things can come great change

Tamarind stains mandala, winking in the earth’s center

Bend to listen, hear the wet hoofs thunder and grind to dust

Those somber things of past

Where tensed against expectation

Rain poured like a singular thought

Blotting out sound with puckered mouth

In carousel prayers, lie the warm seed with violet heart

Whosoever nurtures patience, may again discover

As from frost comes first flower, urging from dormant

The spring of hope, pure and boyant as you recalled

Returning home after passage through hell

See the signs and wonder, when before you missed out

From nothing comes Renewal, staining her skirts in dew

Unafraid of the unknown, a journey we grow into

Chasing nothing but the feeling of sun, filigree elm branches

Now free of the weight of snow, rosey buds unfurled and supplicate

As we divine beneath, with grateful hearts

Voyager of ourselves and the might of stars

Only then

Thinking about strength

What will it take

To change out the crumpled suit

You’ve worn almost to death

Though not yet

It isn’t death you should fear

But not living

Being incapsulated

In redundant urge

Truth is waiting 

Like a small round shouldered girl

Watching herself reflect in cold river

If she jumps she may drown

But staying still is often worse

Easy to ignore when new to the dance

Easy to neglect when all is going well

We learn in adversity

We become more of our stalagmite

Or something transformed

It’s the decisions keeping us from knowledge

A rare moment, often painful, offers the shove

Over a cliff, out of comfort

On our knees begging for Mercy

But she is no God

We carve identity and battle from our own leather

Skinned of illusions

We stand dripping and terrified without defense

Only when it’s all stripped down, pared to the thinnest slice

Believing we cannot survive

That moment

We learn again

To truly fly

For Rick.