The way

Yes
You can take away my last wrapping

That I am lain unclothed, on that unwilling baptism

Behoven to the whim of mankind’s mercy

Or 

Whether chance shall triumph 

Playing her arched long game in red taffeta

Or

The turn of weather vein encompassed betwixt fate

For surely

It rains where rain is least required

As once verdant lands, feathery and skeletal in need 

Their leathered thirst a distant drum beat

We may rend our chests in trying to reconcile

What seems without mercy

As the seeds dry before they reach

Nourishment

As the sun turns away from its hungered crop

As a girl is dragged off, just for showing the ragged hem of her ankle

We who comprise of water and salt

Sweeten nothing if spent in pursuit of filched agrandisement

Forgetful of those who once were brothers, sisters

Pausing toil to climb the jagged mountain

Sharing water beneath wide branched tree

Who has seen the come and go of little things like ourselves

Heard the speeches and secret vanities whispered into night air on polinated breath

Whose roots alone dwarf our fidgety pretention

All at once magnifying

The worth of an honest man, a kind neighbor

The brilliance of a blue throated starling

As language most timeless can be found in the grateful eyes of a stranger

Taking the long road together, as water shall run

Again in dry river beds

And show us our rightful way

Reawaken

thThe things we hide on the inside

become necklaces

of gilded ears

sharpened by arrow heads

daring to leave the shingle

for swollen mouths of water

big and discolored

the sound of anvils

aching to strike

If I could I would

reach into decoupage

pull out damp envelope 

with large words and self corrected emotions

cutting through paper made of souls

read your varnished secrets

let them roam

beyond lacquered confine

of what is safe and secure

until they pulp our learn

split, break and reawaken

even without wings, chewing ourselves new

we can glide on thin papier-mâché tips

glimmering in linseed oil, to Kashmir and back

if we believe

Being twenty

15541394_10202354632784646_1452891421884110148_nThinking back

being twenty wasn’t as shiny

as bronze coin swallowed by carp

when

I went to eat Chinese and made a wish

to be young again

 

at twenty

I thought my breasts already hung forlorn

much like the oak grandfather clock

my father lifted from a former nunnery

when the nuns were gone and buried with the rhododendrons

the building disarticulated stood empty

beseeching intruders

awaiting renovation into flats for rich city dwellers

whose coins were gold

my father said

it seems a shame to let these apple and plum trees

be torn up and shredded they are mature and have

earned a right

so by night we dug up their rosewood roots

hefting in my grandfather’s wheel barrow down cobbled street

planted them in the little weedy garden out back

where they endured without their crowns

 

much as I endured being twenty

thinking myself imperfect

because of the pressure

burning like a hot wire in my

fizzing young head

like tight roller skates leave indents

my father said the trees never

bore fruit after moving

because once you’re planted

you grow roots only once

 

maybe that’s like being young

you are a tumbleweed and whilst some

take to being a spirit composed of air

there is something reassuring

like a warm fire or

a steaming bath

when you know it doesn’t really matter

all the fanciful dreams you had intended to wear

the way you sucked your stomach in

when he touched you underneath your dress

that tugged uncomfortably at tight seams

because you wanted to be

as gamine as

Audrey Hepburn

Whole

degas-woman-at-the-window-007The loon sang out of season

and she bed her reason

wetting sheets with her angst

for who among the outside world

enfolded her as you had?

they say it takes just a moment

you can never go back

there, it was that instant

when you rested in my arms

and nothing else mattered

you asked, was it the temper of day

or mood of furnishing night

but it was neither my love

it was the weight of your head

against my rising chest

which had stood dormant and empty

for as long as I breathed stale air

comprising bone fragments dry as old tears

until you came and filled me

with your familiarity and nectar

pollinating wasteland

as if that’s what I had been searching

in my wool socks with holes in

when I squinted out of the kitchen door

unevenly framed with draft leaching in

at birds picking the blossom from peas

tracing their growth, tied in rows

much like humans let themselves become

I saw the russet fox stalk out

proud and wild

he did not require straightening or string

to mold him to his burnished lament

his paws were blackened with coal

leaving indents of darkness in twilight

mocking the sobriety of obedient eyes

cloistered behind their rule books

chalky and calcified

the fox out shone even the gloom

misting the window blue

and first light

ardent and bright

looking something like you

as you turn in sleep

toward me

like a movement of

symmetry

joining emptiness

whole

Gunpowder

reading-tea-leaves-dp2-22-12Dear you

If I sent my heart in a box

one of two things would occur

maybe you would not read it

imagining it paper and ink

crumple it up into a crane

and let it fly away

or you may

devour every word

looking for errors and sidelines

we share the same let-down hope

inhabit each others fears a little

too much

maybe that it why you had

to put gun powder in my tea

light the fuse

and burn me up

before you read the leaves

 

Greater solace

651d3294ace9c6e46b0b18587904b847

There you are

picture yourself

standing in a vacated room

the walls are nondescript

from the window comes a little wan sun

hardly enough for warmth

you pull yourself closer

recalling how as a child

sitting on old iron radiators in winter

they’d say you’d develop hemorrhoids

in those days

the sound of scuffed shoes running for class bell

figuring you had a few moments yet

to stare out at brick and cement

stretch out reverie

a voice inside your head

surely this isn’t all there is?

you made a pact with yourself

to get the hell out

whatever it took

gathering your books

mindful of their ticket

you forgot yourself in dream

walking past the classroom

after all

learning is better in the mind

than grind of chalk on board

some boy kicking you in the back

with sweaty socks

you knew even then

this was but a stepping stone

though if asked you couldn’t say

what of the grim facade urged you most

to escape

 

and now

all these years later

more alone than that day

when covered by childhoods vigor

and the smell of something better

just around the corner

hope has been sore in her visits

silence too often your friend

as we fall one by one out of the egg carton

we are without wings

without safety harnesses

all the others found places

in busy lives, babies, families, jobs

the weave and knot of life

whilst you stood watching out of the window

glimmering

expecting to fly

 

now in shallow rooms

artifice has left her scent

they tell you the last one has passed over

you feel it in the curve of your chest

no more hands to scoop you back

from your leaning motion to find

somewhere to breathe

where trees are ever green

sunlight full on face

obscuring all trace of bleak homes

terraced and hollow

where you can hear the flush of

neighbors loud toilet

piercing cry of another

born into fitful times

where you never understood

your own role

just the fallacy of drowning sorrows

sundays in the bar

knocking back glasses of regret

nothing could spur you faster

toward wide open space where

no trace of sorrowful city remained

 

and wherever you go

there you are

still back against the wall

still with the locked door

school girl tights bunched in your mouth

hearing muffled voices

discussing your inability to speak

how long can you hold your tongue girl?

before the need to scream

unfurled

and in one howl you swallow yourself

all the disappointment

all the lost chances

breaking through cloud

fast diminishing in oboe sky

open the storeroom of your mind

clear out those long stored hurts

preserved in obscura

 

you may feel you have nothing

but in the sundering fall of flight

we find again our urge

never to quite escape

perhaps more a reinterpretation

carrying on no more alone than before

for we are born crying in singular pitch

in each step grow further to our end

it is in the humility of knowing this

we find our greater

solace

Seven years


Seven years I let myself formulate excuses

not to return

and on the eighth

guilt had made her way into my closed heart

laying a light ribbon on the frayed part

 

going back was like being reborn

as yourself and not yourself at all

I walked familiar streets, spoke similar words

accent hardly altered

as if no time had passed

and so they said

you look exactly the same

though they were changed and I were changed

all altered irrevocably with time worn stain

as if glass no longer could be relied upon

to give accurately our real prescription

even friends were foreign handed

or I no longer of that land

left behind when things were too sad

I sealed the bottle and set adrift

seven years of absence builds

many barnacles to anyone’s vision

when the damned see the truth

the liars remove their seaweed masks

curtsy finely and pronounce

we did our part

exit stage left

standing on warm boards of the theater of pretend

where dance and energy has dissipated

into cloven wings

hear me now

shadows of my past

the girl with the big smile

her perfect fine figured mouth

and matching dragon tooth skirt

as if we dressed together in the darkness

of one another

except she is a mother and

I have a cut-out womb ebbing in formaldyade

don’t worry I feel no pain now

some of us are bearly hanging on

what good would a child of weakness

bring the sorrow further inland?

I miss her

like I write letters in wax to myself

those over easy days we knew who we were

or felt … some approximation of reality

good enough for then

when she looked at me

unequal teeth smiling and needing

how did the splinter drive that deeply?

wedge like sword between this time and before?

we know nothing of the other

as a blue bottle

cast on green and yellow water

will wait

seven years

to reach shore

when I climbed out and dusted myself off

she was gone

her footprints erased from the sand

nobody recognized me

only the echoes of an angry sea

calling me back to exile

whispering

you do not belong here 

and the white cliffs looked relieved

when I flew overhead

my heart aching with loss

the cheer of relief

like a season

changing from golden red to

brown

Echoing back

 

40ce96627e2a59381507324cc14e8c38She has gone down with the light

into deepest water

where frozen the eyes denied

see murkily through specter

she has gone down because you deemed her

unforgiven

and all your entreaties and kindnesses

were sunken lies

all the time you waited

like the brown recluse

sits watchful

beneath porch steps

for the unwise

she has gone down because you needed her capsize

to stick the thorn deep and watch her bleed

for those who dare to live inspite of you must pay the price

we are nothing if not accurate

in our thread and release

the arrow

a light airy sound

blistering cloud

cutting through

pierces its mark

and she must sink beneath the waves of your wrath

to ensure justice in an unjust world

that is your closure

as you put away

the disturbance of her

and feel relief

to rid yourself of your reflection

echoing back through the trees

Emptied of darkness

amani-alshaali_hope-dwells-in-the-darkness_2015

Among the weary mangle

such love resides

here where refuge once

took up space without solace

for so long anger held her brand

high and unceasing like a hundred fires

burning to the ground those memories

hateful to recover

as land grew flat with stomp and grind

as earth renascent ways forward blind

as people covered over their crippled hearts

bearing children in the dunking pond with

no soothe to weary start

here you go, running away again

thirsting to escape the penalty of your heritage

loathing in fearsome stride the color of your brand

without yourself you have no-one

you lose yourself the further away you stand

staring at the debris of rage

smoldering over former cages

now husks on the hill

statues of ill thought

black birds pecking wet eyes from

anything that dare speak truth

better you claim yourself

the saline sorrow of your history

and with it, the marrow and

the yield

as gasping you reach fulcrum

turning to plough much used earth

fertile again

sew hope

transform wayward regret

bring it out in another form

lend it wings to evaporate

bending with your pain you lose the ache

buried within you for so long like

a long chain dragged from the depths

is colder than the hottest fire burns

we are free when we let go

gather the wool of our people

clasping against savage times

defending those you love takes all

in that shadow play lies the surprise

you were stronger than you thought

forgiveness a reflecting moon

translating on still water

life too brief for fury

bring me the ripples of my divination

murders in hesitant re-creation

whom we once named enemy

now grey and fragile

becomes our salvation

as feelings warm through coldness

once enveloping our soul

ushering light

like a mother

watchful over sleeping child

bends to extinguish selfishness

in the arms of her wealth

she who knew nothing but self

stands like thirsting falcon

savage may the land become

soothed surely by our seeking arms

wrapped around the ones

we call home to stand

shining by the hearth of us

turning this way and that

by our regard we protect

from poison with

full hearts emptied of

darkness