not about you

I wear this badge of
motherhood with pride for you.
But that's where it ends.

Do you understand
that my dreams are not through you-
vicarious? Spent?

Do you understand
I am far too strong a wind
to be bottled and

corked and opened when
and only when it suits you-
only for your whims?

Will you be able
to see that I am not here
as your prisoner,

but because for now
I can help you grow... and see?
Do you understand

that I will move on?
That this is not infinite?
That I am myself?

Know, fruit of my loins,
My life is not about you.
Do you hate me now?

A Day at the Beach: Three Views

Waves eat sandcastles.
I'm watching them all fall down,
turrets dragged to sea,

motes of crustacean
sheddings tickling my toes as
the tide tugs them in.

The lobster shells of
howling larvae with buckets
of periwinkles

are pointing at us.
I guess we spoiled their fun
as we found our own-

unable to stop
watching, unable to stop
the waves from crashing.
+++


Waves eat sandcastles.
Antling architects now climb
away from the sea,

leaving the shoreline
smooth and flat. Just the furrows
sucked from our footsteps-

ephemeral lines
scratched and faded, scratched anew
down the beach... these our

temporal shadows,
dim evidence. Away from
shore we dance, giggles

shrinking. Ebb tide nap,
and we wrap ourselves with dreams
of tomorrow's meal.
+++


Waves eat sandcastles.
The golden age has ended-
catastrophe rolls.

Sticky, numbing brine
over burnt skin, pine sap traps
ant-men in amber.

None of them stand tall-
small and nameless and every
one of them the same.

Instead of crumbling
mud masks, this coating on my
skin hardens to glaze.

I long to be part
of the world's thickest mud pie:
Cool. Untouched by sun.
+++

time, suspect, motive

Someone clipped my wings
on the rooftops of Bal'mer
when I was nineteen.

I didn't feel it,
nor did i see it happen;
but after those days

I forgot to fly
when great escapes were called for.
Instead, I go grey,

I gain wrinkles and
time and not a small bit of
tolerance to pain.



I've asked my dear friend
to show me the photographs
from our rooftop days,

to see myself then-
skin smoother with that wild look
in my eyes. Ready.

The whole world below
me, waiting to fall victim
as I make my move.

But I need to search
the pictures for something more.
I need evidence-

some proof to this guess
of mine that I know how it
happened.



I suspect that I'll
see a proud me with one hand
swiftly preening wings,

the other hand white-
knuckled, firmly gripping a
pair of sharpened shears.

The look on my face
should tell me what I'm after.
Why did I do it?

Prayer

Spiral curls pulled taut
to the back of my head- smooth.
Your hands reach my ears,

thumb and finger squeeze
pinching prints into earlobes
between silver posts.

Ambivalence rips
me open, heart aflutter,
red-cheeked as I kneel.

A Stranger in the Other Room

This is how it is-
Sitting in a pale beige room,
wasting away dreams.

Watching time for love
get dipped in dollar signs and
dangled overhead;

Rotten brown carrots.

How little you know me, to
think I'd bite at that.

Morning Ritual

A pair of strong, brown
eyes looks up at his mother,
deep pools of coffee.

Warm, bitter and sharp,
demanding attention with
outstretched arms, he grins.

Caffeinated hugs.


Mug overflowing, her love
for him is endless.

on the island

Bottles wash ashore,
twisted paper inside them.
I decide to read,

and through scanning them
discover that there are arms
waiting to hold me?!

Maddened by the green
glass vessels that beckon my
eyes to their contents,

I grab them one by
one and throttle their wet necks
before I smash them.

They shatter and crack,
my paradise littered with
sharp, hidden edges.

When I least expect
my dancing feet to find them,
my soles are bloodied

and my gait is changed.
I damn those bottles- those dreams-
those arms that let go-

and wander into
the salty tide- fresh, new cuts
pounding with my heart.

if you love something...

I was not a bird
to be set free- to see if
I'd return to you.

I never had wings.
No one taught me how to fly.
And then you left me.

Not once did you see
we were miles above the earth
with the time we shared...

miles above what's an
ordinary sort of love.
We circled the stars

until you let go.
I did not take to the wind,
I dropped like a rock-

fell at terminal
velocity away from
a wonderful thing.

When I hit the ground,
on the ground I stayed, looking
up at you. You flew.

So I don't return-
not because I wasn't yours.

You, simply, weren't mine.

reminder

no matter how strong
or how warm the embrace found
during time well-shared,

life is defined by
slipping out of the arms of
the ones we love most