Second chance

Not if, WHEN I am well, I will not squander, but should not have needed, a second chance

It will be / It already is / a spiked and harpooned, learning curve

There is humiliation, in not being insightful enough

That it took, being brought to kneel, flayed by horrors, to be grateful enough and find strength

As only when / it’s almost too late / we plead and beg / for one more chance

It is the truer person, who needs no such prompt, but lives rightly, first time around

I am declaring reincarnation and broken-handed, putting myself back together, limb by limb, until even I, do not recognize, the survivor within

She has sore knees from beseeching and a box of unwound screams for keeping

Maybe together, we can shift the albatross, tie on our ice skates, and, leaving bearly visible lines, skate the circumference, to where we last left ourselves, before water absorbed and we sunk, full of the weight of years, undone

Long ago and just now, these worthiest goals lay fallow, ink blots of punctuate

For the urge to live fully, is always most powerful, when denied.

Then, it is up to you, said the rise of each, urgent day

To scatter yourself in those lined troughs, awaiting divine chemistry

To grow once more, whole, when the door is opened and light let in, again

I pray for all, who yearn to begin

One way you can see, throw a penny in a pond, watch ripples cast divination

Fortune can be such a fickle playmate, the one who steals your efforts from your plate or, coin shall surface, catching sunlight, glint, at days ahead, not so dim

And while you wait inside your bird cage, the journey of even those imprisoned, can rise, from the depths of status quo

The lost and lingering who have forgotten how, to float on water

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To be that girl again

I breathe

Listening to the words

In my aching chest of wingless birds

They say

I am afraid

Today I woke and prayed

For a better day

And it didn’t come, though I heard the horses

They were galloping fast, they did not stop

How momma? Do we stay grateful? For every given hour of precious breath?

When scythe of hurt cuts so well and wraps the days away in little vials of hell

How to live in the present, when presently is torture, crushing her toes on pointe?

I try momma, I break the fine bones in my hands in supplicate, my arms making sundials on wanting earth

I ask my toy penguin

He eyes me with the same glass eye he has been using since I was little and he saw me break

And turn to seed and grow back into a girl who recognized he was real

And I know if there were a flood

I’d save before myself, that glass eyed toy

He has seen my days in ways nobody else, could or would

Though he is stuffed and inert, also the witness to each tug of war, his little cloth heart

Beats like a stray moth against my window pane

He tells me to remember

Despair will pass

A bad day is not forever, and so in time we’ll learn to hold, tighter

The unbearable and it may turn, like shaken snow globe, upside-down, white obscuring foul

Some slow imperceptable change of season, a sign, the very beginning starts with one

If he could speak and he does

He’d tell me to be brave and wear my best dress for the clouds cannot and will not persist

Take comfort in those smallest things

It could be one minute in an hours slow turn of hand

It could be one moment out of three weeks broken by tired cries

I am on my knees

I long for peace

And the quiet of memory reminds me

You have been here again and again

You have risen to answer the entreaty of a heart still beating

Longing to be released from her sentence

And if you look closely

There is still

A desire to overcome with the wish of a river to capture rain

Stronger than anything you’ve ever experienced, my penguin knew before myself

He is who I’d save, if the world exploded into flames, curling value to cinder

I am reminded of what I can feel by his capacity to shake, my despair out of her plan

To hang by tree and catch late afternoons air, as dead as last night’s terror

And I stroke his face

Wishing with everything that stuffs and fills to become me

To be free to laugh again

I promise him

To be that girl again

Wellness

I am aware of the acrid taste in my mouth

of months

rolled under yellowed paper and stuffed with dust

I am aware of the dusk and the dawn

as it begins and falls outside of my existence

for the confined are the ones, who most seek the light

held back by the devil on my back, digging his rusty spurs

I dream

of who I was before, and who I may again, become

Restrained in abayence, watching the spin of twitching world

was there a time yet? I did not sicken at the mention

of nutrition and sustainence?

or energy enough to power through, whatever ailed me

now the vampire drains me of enough, I can only watch

in flickering shadows, a dance of memories across my jaundice

so much has come and gone in this short time, where a day

feels eternal

where an hour of pain is like

a life time without

as if cruelty stretched it out

until you could hardly see

where it began and where it stopped

or maybe it did not

end and instead

drags out, again and again, as if set on repeat

wake up, sicken, do the same until all you see

is the specter of yourself, treading lost time

and the taunt of health, is always a little too far to reach

yet you must try girl

yet you must seek

wellness

Vibration


The teacher

Her grey hair thick and spilling

Chanted Om in quiet room

Filling with vibration

The beat of our efforts

Twisting, turning against, Winter’s pinch

She places her wide palm

On my pain

We say nothing

The movement is our language

I see my thin arms

Draw in unknown strength

Holding me up, though I would lapse

I remember being seven

A year since my mother was gone

The door still too heavy to open on my own

Practicing in a room of adults

One lady had a long back and narrow waist

Another, cast her shoulders against

Cold draft of late arrivals

I was relieved to be 

A child

Not yet held to standard, free to swap error 

Watching others

Pile obligations on their shoulders like camels

Bending low to earth

Forgetful of the impulse

To stare into the sun

There is a place

There is a place, to quench your thirst

It lies

Further than you can reach

And 

Nearer than losing hope

For if you fall short

And beseach the void

With nothing more than the scars of your trial

There will be no reply

From the dieties we cut out of paper and hang from the sky

There will be no response

From those Gods of the underworld, intent on war

And even calling upon Gia

She will cast a long weekend storm 

Drowning your faith in rain

Too easy to retrace and see again

The drizzle of despair, mocking courage

Only do not linger there on your knees

Carrying terror along a shiver of bone, knives on sleet

For haunted corridors have no permanent harness 

No freedom to defy, unless permission is granted

Only do not linger there in terror’s savage maw

Past fears may mount campaigns, but you

Sailed away on a blue midnight train

Wreathed in pale smoke and all unspoken dreams

For as long as you listen for fear, the record will remain

Stuck on a slow dance without willing partner

Choose your new shoes, write your own song

Frequent heartburn doesn’t hurt when you transfer to thirst

And drink deeply, for within the spring hope is refound

And God’s? They live not in clouds but within us

Lending the strength to never ever give up

Out of time (2)


I’ll save you a place

On those days

Where waking it takes all

To muster gratitude

Yet we do

You and l

Find the fox path through thicket and dence bramble

Where light footed children before us ran

Soft in tow, elongated against shadow

Spilling their amusement like hay seeds

And stubborn burr, clinging to wool coat

Just in case it should grow cold

Then from our tree house

We’d forage for kindling

And brighten the alcoves of elm and foxglove

Just like when you were gone

Sealed in a room like you’d boarded a ship and steamed

Through hectered expanse, combed wild with distance

So far I could no longer hear your metronome

When windows flung like outstretched hands, you played Eric Satie

Able to conjur emotion without perfumed love letter

When all I had was a supple back and trained muscles

Dry with chalk, head bowed, waiting to mount and vault

Gymnast or star catcher, seems likely both

Such peacefulness in throwing out fears

With a twist of wrist, a spring and leap

When you do not hold back, that’s when you see

This world’s underpinning like a great silk train

All the seasons following in ivy headdress

Who knows the mood, a temperature of pick pockets

Punished or saved, sometimes hard to tell

We are like an indigo building storm

When weather is calm you can never tell

Invisibly, out of sight, burgeoning swell

Blowing cracked cheeks, gathering momento

If you keen into white noise, leapfrogging over din

Whispers on wind, gentle turns to fierce

We are so like our Creator, twisting at whim

Or by design

Either has the thickness of a stranger’s hide

Not our timid hearts, cowering at first lighting strike

Out of time, urging forward despite ourselves

The unhealed

image1-3-1-e1453751898625

If you opened me up

maybe with a zip or a crow bar

it is my belief inside I would be

eighty percent water from the sea

and twenty percent ghosts

who upon being freed

would walk away and let me be

so when I look longingly

at your scalpel or your blade

it is not because I wish to meet my maker

not yet anyway

but the irresistible urge to be freed

of these ghosts who pinch and knead

even if you fitted a zip dear sir

or inserted a pipe to let the smoke pour

anything would be preferable to this canker

an ulcer of lament forming malcontent

they weigh a lot for emotions past tense

no matter how hard I try they gain the upper hand

that’s what happens when your body is a grave yard

for souls who ripped you apart

you carry your history like a series of scars

nobody can see, they think you’re doing well

underneath your sequins it’s a bloody hell

sometimes I wish you could see how I feel

the cavernous maw of the unhealed

they don’t let go of my throat with their squeeze

when people jump I’m not surprised

who can live with such unease?

the ghosts inside us, reminding we’re never free

until we vanquish their poison

so give me some mercy

let them out

I would like to fly

but I have lost the ability to float