the places it will warm

wasteland?
wonderland
peppered with wasted
worn and withered things
that once lived
and burned so brightly the eyes
wore halos

as the fire eviscerates
in order to reincarnate
and ashes, corpses, wilted wishes
become fertilizer
essential for new life
sprouts and sprigs
squeezing through the gray crumbled
piles

so there will never be
a part of me
untouched
by everything you are...
                                      ...were

each step taken
grinds in the disintegrated
unabated touch
sends it deep into the living soil veins
so that where there seems to be
nothing
seeds stream their roots
deep below the line
of site sending
a different kind of
fire

there is passion here yet
a spark that fights for
furious fire, full and
generous
in the places it will warm

a giant forest fire
a viscous lava flow
leaving behind
lush lands
potassium rich swirls
of iron
adding life to lifeless things
like the fire of hands
on skin on lips
on hips and the heat
of ursine
desire invisible
leaving a misty shadow beside
the one
rocking
alone so that
in silhouette
at least
there are still
two

unclear understanding...vague shadow pictures

the shadows
of my prayer flags
fumble large against the
white picket fence
across the street

my babies rest soft
one hand upon another's head
while I stand guard amongst the cats

our home is made
strong
by the momentary mention
of temporary need.

Is "need" in the moment
made large
by the manifestation
of multiple small people
and a dream of a world
where we never need
a sign
ofanything?

perhaps it is weakness?
Perhaps need?
loss?
confusion?
misappropriation?
perhaps it is a vision of strength

there is wonder in shining
moments of sparkling magic
connection
and hope in the pretense
of

too much

I know who you are
watching over me
a shadow that follows me
that is with me forever
yet never touches

and illumination
makes you crumble
fall back and float
immutable moments
of lonely lack of communication

mocking
hiding
closing each opening,
sparkles falling
upon broken wings
full of cursed and crumbled love

fire light in midnight moments
magical
spattered in mud
curled bodies cuddling
with not one
single
word
and silent, magical tuck-ins
too full of moments
you cannot
go back to.

Like when my wings
were stolen, when you died
leaving me wishing
surrounded by nothing
but soft moment
silent snowflakes

that which is severed
cannot be secured
that which has been blessed
will never be torn
asunder.

swimming potatoes, time, and peaceful protest

Sometimes, it seems the necessary lessons
come from small, seemingly inconsequential
things
Like playing spider solitaire

it's a game I find quite challenging
and tonight
I walked away
because dinner was ready

Baked potatoes and salad from the food bank
frozen turkey burgers
from the last shopping trip
bread, again, from the food bank

One of three finally ate
and liked!
potatoes!

We discussed Gandhi
peaceful protest
the energy content of potatoes
and their historical connection
to the Irish

and when I came back to my game
that seemed
unwinable

I won.

Perhaps it is distance
time
good food
gratitude
stimulating conversation
family and connection
that create understanding

of things unconnected

I still carry a conundrum:
how do I distance myself
from what I am neck deep in?

I fall back on the advice
from a cartoon fish
that has carried me through
from that day to this:

Just
Keep
Swimming.

Perhaps, if I do
there will be something
like a win
in my future

short and not so sweet

It feels like someone leveled me up when I wasn't looking.  To be honest, sometimes I stare at the t.v. without seeing anything, repeating silently "I hate everything.  I hate this.  I hate it all."  I am as ashamed of that as I am of almost anything.

Shame is an odd emotion.  I understand that I am doing my best.  I know, too, that I make mistakes and poor choices.  But I want to do my best.  I know I am trying.  I don't really feel like I am failing, I just feel numb?  burnt?  worn?  Perhaps scabbed is a better word.

If your wound is scabbing over, it is usually still sore, itchy, but getting stronger. 

I just wish I had a fast forward button because all of this...it's big...and it's damned hard.

second and third

there was a baby
who wouldn't crawl
and when he moved
he rolled
eventually, he crawled,
but wouldn't walk.
Instead, on hands and knees
he bounced
his hair an electric crown
preventing hugs with zaps and sparks
full of giggles
with more air between knees and bed
than you would guess

His tiny forehead torn open
with a black round spring
strapped to a board for stitches
before he knew what "bored" without
video games was like

I held his head while the needle threaded him
His eyes shared only a tear or two

There were moments when I confused him
with my own limbs
feeling broken in foreign ways
when he was not close enough
to reach out and touch

the evil took his father
and I watch him grow
into a sensitive ball of effort
Effort to fix things
effort to help
effort for effort's sake
which does no good and only
twists him
into anxious balls
and teary trembling desire

This phantom we miss
he is part of everything
I will never be the same
because of him
this small person would not exist
if not for him

today
he didn't walk
he bounced
and not on knees

He stood and saluted
and counted out ten tricks, bouncing
focused, twisting and flipping
Then ran as fast as possible
to hit to surfaces
holding his core tight
pointing his toes
reaching
stretching
landing.

I missed it all
but helped to make it
possible.

We move and try
and bounce from one to the next
our hands often empty
our hearts with holes
but the blood in us
runs like the air through a woven
trampoline bed
whooshing and springing up
down
strong enough to send you to space
and leave waffle blood marks
on your chin

We are like those woven beds
whole and strong in our brokenness
full of holes and springs that can cut
but still call us
to bounce

Accepting isn't the same as giving up...or as ending.

I miss things so small
Saying how much I love my kids
Knowing someone is watching
Behind the curtains
Feeling it all just as much
I look right to see the complimentary smile
And find only an empty rocking chair.
The nights are so damn long
Quiet
Strange
Soft in all the wrong places
Missing moments of hard and
Times of touching a togetherness that
Only couples have

I watch you, who do not know what you have
And ache
Because no words will work
To explain the empty
That could be
Around every corner
That awaits us all
In every moment
Whether our not our eyes are open
We all come here...

I just miss your face splitting smile
Your almost squeaking laugh
Side splitting squeezing tears out
Because you always knew
The value of a laugh

But the train calls and the cars pass
We have an incredible amount of crickets
The deck is almost finished
My hand clasps on nothing
I have no shoulder to rest my head on

I have moved somehow beyond mad
And made a home near empty.

Message

The message
Isn't that the left side
Of my bed is cold

The message is that at one time
It was warm

What right have I to
Any moment of sorrow
That feels endless
Sorrow, yes
But ending in
A memory

A silent film moment of
Squinting eyes in a photograph
Looking deeper than the ocean depths
Seeing fears and fat and flawless imperfection

Yes
My eyes burn
As does my heart
But I have a message

I have the marks a mind makes
On you when you are loved
I am not who
I was
Nor will I ever be

And the holes left here
Are not the barren chasms
Of mine field battles

They are acid burns
From tears shed inside
Connection. Salt unkissed
Can burn as surely as sun rays
Licking uncovered arms and nose and cheeks

I will wear my holes and burns
Badges of battles won
Through loss
And dance down dirt pathways
On bare and filthy feet

Forget a hand to hold. I know these
Moves myself.

And will always reach out
For your ethereal invisible essential
Self that floats
Forever
Beside me.

My message is
I may sleep alone
But I will never dance
Without you.