Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘relationship’


 
 
If Hawaii can move closer to Alaska every year,
and it does, those sunny beaches drifting closer
to aqua blue glaciers, then perhaps, I, too, can move
closer to you in my thoughts, though the gap
between us seems wider than the vast Pacific.
At a rate of 7.5 centimeters a year, there’s little
chance of my black sand and your white peaks
ever sharing a shore. For now it is enough to trust
that great unseen forces might help shift us toward
each other. Even now I am feeling it, the possibility.

Read Full Post »


 
I do not love it, the tension
between us, dark-viscous and thick,
or red-spined and prickly. I don’t
love the way a fat fist forms
in the softness of my belly,
then fossilizes into righteousness,
or unravels into something fetid
and festering. I don’t like when words
feel like sandpaper on my skin,
or worse, when silence feels
like a moat, like a wall, like a sword.
I don’t like feeling like a tree in November
with not a single leaf, barren, stark.
But maybe I love the way meeting tension
eventually teaches me to loosen
my certainty until I am less cement,
more soil. Maybe I love how it
acts like a neon sign that blares
inside me with scarlet all caps:
WHAT YOU THINK MATTERS TO ME.  
Maybe I love the way wrestling with tension
invites me to ask more questions of myself,
of the world. This gift I don’t want to unwrap.
How alive I am then as the fierceness of it
fades, leaving me opened in ways
I didn’t know to explore, and feeling
again into how deep they are, these roots.

Read Full Post »

If you were in Europe and I were in Boston,
it would take eighty days to swim to you.
Sometimes it feels as if you are in England
and I’m standing on the Atlantic’s opposite shore.
Sometimes it’s all I can do to dip my toes in the water.
Sometimes I swim out till I start to fear
what swims with me. Always I turn back.
This time, I want to swim. Want to swim eighty days
if that’s what it takes, regardless how big the waves.
Want to swim eighty days no matter how cold.
Though the waves are big as our country.
Though I am exhausted and afraid of what I might find
on the shores of you. What I long to find: you,
swimming toward me. Want to meet you
at forty days, both of us ungrounded,
both of us vulnerable, both of us ready
to swim toward safety together.

Read Full Post »



In each other, let us see ourselves.
            —Alberto Ríos, “Who Has Need, I Stand with You”


Sometimes when I look in the mirror,
my eyes see only my own reflection.

I forget to see the eyes of my mother,
and her mother, and her mother.

I forget to see the eyes of my sisters
who live in other towns, other countries.

I forget to see the eyes of my brothers
who teach, who fight, who rule, who beg.

I forget how my heart is fueled
by the same electric impulse

that drives every other beating heart.
I forget how my skin is made and remade

from the same carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen
that comprises every other human’s skin.  

Oh, to remember. Not just when I look in the mirror,
but when I walk down the street.

Not just when I feel drawn to another,
but also when I feel defensive, averse.

Oh, to remember the strange and certain math
that seven point seven five three billion people

equal one cohesive expression
of what it means to be alive.

Your hands, my hands. Your breath, my breath.
Your eyes in my eyes. My eyes in your eyes.

This life, ours.

Read Full Post »

 

   inspired by Erik Satie, Gnossienne 1

 

 

same phrases, same sighs,

we’ve said them, sighed them before—

and each time the chance

to find (mid-syllable) a door, a new wildflower,

a raincoat, blue, perhaps a wing

 

 

(to hear the music, click here. This direction is given when the initial theme is repeated)

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

Tonight I will give you yourself.

All those pretty words you spun

into negligee, all those promises

you strung like pearls and then

tightened around my neck, all

those lovely leashes you made

out of praise, I give them back.

 

I have always loved being naked.

I think this is what you loved

most about me, too. Once. No one

is at fault for this strange game

of dress up we’ve been playing.

Perhaps it is what we were taught to do.

I unlearn this game. I want to give

you you. I give you your

own nakedness. Any robes

of hope I put on you, I untie

them. See them slip into soft piles

on the floor. Look at you now.

I see I never saw you before.

 

Out the window, winter is melting.

Everything loses its sheen.

I tried to hate you for the ways

you bound me, though the bounds

were beautiful. Now, all I can feel

is the thrill of this body so bare,

so new. I stare at my feet, my hands

and marvel at how they move.

Is this me? I never knew her.

I know her so intimately.

 

It is almost sweet now, so innocent,

how we tried to dress each other in dreams.

We didn’t know then that even

the softest words become chains.

I give you yourself, your longing

to be loved in the ways you thought

you needed. I give me myself,

I don’t know what that means,

already I am shedding.

 

 

Read Full Post »

Some Never Learn

Don’t think I don’t see you

scampering across my kitchen floor

with that scrap of yarn you’ve stolen

from my old green scarf,

you with your jumpy eyes,

your cold twitchy nose.

Don’t think that I don’t hear you

scratching in my inner walls

with your ever-growing teeth

and your tiny piercing claws.

I still run my fingers

across the thin scars.

And don’t think that just because

I took the cheese out of the trap

that I meant for you to come around.

Don’t think it was on purpose

that I left that piece

of lemon cake beside the bed,

the kind with cream cheese frosting,

the kind you told me once that you like best—

that time when you so sweetly curled

into my hands, your fur as gray as morning light,

I remember, so silken, so soft.

Read Full Post »

What She Really Wants

When she is drought,

be rain, and when

she is rain, be cup.

When she is lost,

let her be her own map,

and when she is wind

be wind. There are trees

in her, no, whole orchards.

Be soil and sunshine and bee.

When she is seed,

be time. When she

is moon, be sea.

Read Full Post »

Love,

Though I am undeniably broken

I come to you with no need to be fixed.

I come to you the way one river

meets another river—not joining

out of thirst but because

there is so much power

and beauty in giving oneself

to another, in moving

through the world together.

I come to you the way the half moon

comes into the yard—I could be more

whole, but in the meantime,

I will bring you everything

I have.

Read Full Post »

Who Am I to You?

please, not the book

about jazz sitting pretty on the shelf—

let me be the hard-swinging

restless improvisation

slipping right off the known scale

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »