There, in the ellipse of our potential love all of my energies condensed— trailing along the ring of atoms binding us together. And somewhere upon the substrate— my path, an ion tale fading into cobalt blue, went searching. Springing about a web of want, probing for the phantom image of your heart. Then here, electrons splitting through space quantum chaos, and you in the distance, laughing.
as they grow in number in height and worry and space so the prayers grow and the penance for our mistakes.
My daughter comes in and hugs me I cried earlier today But she wasn’t here I wonder what she can sense Then I wonder about her motives We cuddle as I type Her small hand gripping my arm Knee balanced carefully upon my chair “I love you so much, mommy… I dig, what is she harping for? A drink of my iced tea? Permission to bake something? The ‘go-ahead’ to take out her paints? …and I’m listening, I know you think no one is, but I am.” My heart flutters….read more
I smile like the lonely sun You do not know Rays of joy shimmering out Dancing on the waters of your heart And I radiate: reflect me! reflect me! reflect me! Arms outstretched What do you hear? I smile like the lonely sun You do not know I burn to make your cheeks grow bright In the coolness of a lunar glow The vast space of unsaid words the insufferable dark matter of our thoughts I smile like the lonely sun You do not know. For SDW <3/9/2010>
I’m hurting and Im low, so I type, erase, type, erase. Sometimes a status is an outlet, sometimes your undoing. Sometimes there’s no one else to hear you, no one really listening, so you shout it from the rooftops so that you don’t have to jump. Today, I thought of cutters. People who have to slip a blade across their flesh for relief. The way they must feel the pain rising up out of their bodies like a noxious gas, the sigh of release. And this is an age of…read more
The sun climbs near white over the dark brussel of trees casting a pale gold light over the shaded snow. A chill sifts in through the old window pane and I notice for the first time evidence of a breeze. The plastic purple flags from last Eid flutter between the oaks and the glass orbs of holiday lights dangle, frosted, in early mist. Everything is soft even the smoke rising in the distance the cold, cloudless sky the slick steel of the chain link fence black tires on the old…read more
The three of you Splayed out– You and your brother Two little bodies Covers tossed and tangled About you Your hair– Beautiful dark brush Wild staghorn coral Curling and sticking straight up Or out Or everywhere Your long tanned legs The delicate sculpture Of ears, fingers– A wet invisible thumb The roundness of everything And your cat Our dear friend Large, Larger than I remember Curled up, his tiny precious chin Poking out at me– Fur contracting in A steady rhythm With the rise and fall Of his too-vulnerable Gut…read more
I must admit I searched for photographs long before I took a moment to figure how to pronounce your name. I wondered grotesquely what it must look like: a young Indian poet lying parallel to her two-year old son’s body both silent wrists slashed. And having read recently so much of suicide and death having taken it apart dissected it I felt, perhaps, I had some inside knowledge or then, perhaps not and hence– It is a morbid obsession how often images will bring us nearer to horror than mere…read more
My mother tells me of clown suits and lipstick on her cheeks all day dressed as a fool I say mother, though it has always been mom sadness comes I want to cry then I do I do not remember this: birthday parties when she went through everything to make me happy an entire afternoon what can I say? she tells me stories of being a mom and i write them off again and again selfish self-martyring memory I think of the memoir and feel shame she was wonderful once…read more
I have given up the hope You see Or fear, perhaps Of being with-child From our last encounter That is Not for forever As I do hope Expect even That I We will Strange to say But my mother She laughed And said hysterical Perhaps Hysterical But she was full of hope Near certainty Mothers are masters of wishful thinking And it was the many things Skewed with some hope or fear I say or, could be and, I can’t say But for years I’ve felt a child’s quickening echos…read more