I love I hate losing control.

Everything balanced on your palms. You are the composed one,

After all. Stand so cool make me fall like a mad woman.

Graze my lips with fingertips between white rusted gates.

Time dulls memory blades, dillutes rum, dries dark blood,

A yellow bike rusts in the rain.

i am repulsed by all her femininity
her breasts, her wide hips, her sturdy thighs
all that gives her substance and dimension
all the ways in which she occupies space
and all her parts are painfully familiar
this is because i live trapped inside
all of these painfully familiar parts
but they feel foreign, i don’t own them
i refuse to own or accept them as my own
i don’t love them or trust them
the way a person should love and trust
the vessel that houses their soul
I look in the mirror and all I see is
the thick trunk that supports my tree tall frame
sometimes i try to find the beauty and
pretend my size means strength, pretend
that i am a descendant of the Amazons…

a faded home video causes time to stop
a child is waiting with her infant sister
she turns to the camera with apple round
cheeks from her uncontainable smile
she’s going to meet mickey mouse
but as she gets closer her smile turns
and she nervously looks at the person
standing behind the camera, imploring help
it’s her turn and she starts to shake her head
the cap is put back over the lense but
you can still hear a stern voice saying
“don’t be silly, we’ve waited in line for an hour”
and a much smaller voice starts to cry and says
“don’t make me go alone”

I wish I was a popsicle

that could (drip) melt

(drop) and evaporate

(drip) into nothing

(drip drip)

but a cherry (drip)

pink (drop)

stain (drip)

granted
the past few days
have been strange
thinking about how a year ago…
well, a year ago was different
that’s all
but I was thinking of something else
something, someone completely different
and then I thought of you
and my chest started to ache a little
and I don’t really know why

Maybe it’s because of all the damn boxes
boxes everywhere so that no matter what
everything will look cluttered
until I finally unpack it all
even though I don’t see much of a point
I’ll just pack it up again
more boxes

Maybe it’s because I already feel like I’m losing
things, friends, parts of myself

Maybe it’s just because I’m looking for reasons to be sad

We made our way downtown today

To the Vietnam memorial on Wabash

To listen to the VVAW and the IVAW

Things I didn’t even know existed yesterday

But now…now

NOW

everything is different

Elise searches for peace rallies and poetry readings

I’ve started to have opinions about things

(finally)

and everything is different

My bones are cement and my muscles are bags of sand

My body pushes against my mattress and the mattress pushes back

I am sinking into this bed because everything is too heavy to move

my limbs are infected with a weighty, crushing sort of sleep

and consider the consequences of never leaving my ocean of sheets

I think about how I forgot to set the alarm

and decide that i don’t really care.

There is something terrifying

About these uncharted seas

Tumultuous, unpredictable

The waves oscillate and mimic

The rising flutter in my chest

Mixed with excitement and

Mixed with adventure

Its depths spark my curiosity

I let myself fall into the water

And hold my breath

And wait…

Something inside me tore

Not a break or a snap

But a ripping of seams

Not suddenly but slowly over time

Gossamer fibers separated from too much tension

Each day more divided and vulnerable

Each day further frayed

We beings learn of our fragility

Far too late to protect ourselves

That was before

Now, the scent of dead leaves

Fills the halls and permeates our skin

So even in the midst of healing

The odor still lingers as a reminder

And as the threat of the horizon draws near

There will be a new tear

An external ripping that

Helps repair the tear beneath the surface

Four hundred voices rise to signify

Both an end and a beginning

And shiny black birds take wingless flight

Into the tepid spring air

The sun sets and the city,

Ceaselessly in motion, is shaded blue

There is a triangle shaped park

Where trees protect the sacred ground

From the speed of the pavement world

In the darkness you have to strain

To see the resting ones on benches,

And others in clusters, talking, seeking warmth

They are shadows in the deep blue calm,

Who go unnoticed by the wakeful night life

If perceived, they are avoided

They say “Stay away from the park at dusk”,

Because people fear the unknown

And in the busy D.C. madness

Few have time to know anything but routine

But if, by chance, one finds the time

Or if, by choice, they make the time

Perhaps the scales would fall from their eyes

So they would not see looming shadows,

But rather Steve, Whistle-man, and Angel Perry

They come from all over

Different regions of the city, of the nation

Some are victims of gambling and drugs

Some have simply had more than their share

Of misfortune and tragedy

They have lost luck and money,

They have lost homes and loved ones,

They have been abused and dehumanized

But they understand the things

That others are too distracted to see

Michael escaped the social trap

From which few break free

But when the sun sinks into the blue shadows

He returns to his brethren in the park

To say hello, or just sit a while