When I tell you "no" The pumpkin valley replete. A feast of orange When I tell you "no" The sun thaws wood fibers Let the sweet sap flow When I tell you "no" A forgotten bulb erupts like resurrection When I tell you "no" Singing insects harmonize Deep lullaby rest
Seasons of No Pt. 1
When I tell you "no" Mind the autumn bird feeder You empty the seeds When I tell you "no" Six more weeks of harsh winter Icy, treacherous When I tell you "no" Spring rains are far more likely to drown the new blooms When I tell you "no" You spread arctic wildfires Unnatural wind
Stroke
Three days ago you were at my house,
observing the faulty dishwasher,
patiently deducing the cause of the
brown gunk building up inside.
Care-full. Loving. Daddy.
—
Today, I am in the shower
Right hand presses soap suds
down the curve of my waist
“Your mom called. We have to go.”
I still need to put oil on my skin.
—
I sit in the passenger side front seat,
the phone pressed to my head.
495 is faster these days.
Spelling aloud: “N as in Nancy.
V as in Victor,” like you used to do.
—
It’s bitter but my coat is too warm.
Hospitals all over-capacity. The surge.
A black fence bi-sects the apron lawn.
I lean on it and answer a call.
Your brother is crying in Goa.
—
Texts flow like ants at a picnic.
Most of them don’t matter.
I still read them all:
“Mom needs a snack.”
“Where’s the medical directive?”
“Call your senator!”
—
Sick people treated in the hall,
beds outside your room.
The new nurse has long black hair
pulled into a braid, apple cheeks.
Her smile is warm behind the mask.
—
You are asleep. I need a bed.
Mom’s car is unfamiliar
I drive without headlights.
No cars on the road at midnight.
This time, we dodged the bullet.
Divine’s Dream
The sun never rises, never sets. We turn away, towards, close our eyes, then open, forget, then remember genuflect, stand erect and bend back, wander away, test the tether, then retreat, and think it is the sun who has moved. True. She moves, like a child at a carnival, holding her parent's hand, chasing her siblings, gasping at the wonder and terror of this colossal playground. And when, at the end of time, her body heavy, her eyes unseeing, she is lifted up into the arms of her makers, rocked gently but firmly, and wrapped with care, we are no more and no less than the fragments, flares, and fractals that flash in her minds' eye in the moments before sleep. I am content to be a Divine's dream.
Dedicated to bell hooks in her time of transition.
Hope
On 7th street North of the school By the pharmacy And takeout Chinese A tar-paved vacant corner lot Fenced-in By wired diamonds An ordinary garden shed White doors and steeple roof Is enlightenment’s enclosure.
The working priest Deftly unlocks Handyman’s doors Rings the bell, Lights incense, Awakens The sleeping idol.
Does the Buddha know me?
Just outside the lot Prostrated Chicken bones On mottled concrete A flurry of rumpled Plastic bags Tiny pyres Of cigarette butts Dried dog shit Under a sickly tree
I am no less Than these Blessed seekers.
I hope
Choir
They are exalted kisses reaching up into the heavens.
They are clarion oxygen invisibly bound to an iron core.
They are treetops rooted, reaching – wings’ resting-place.
They are magma veins pulsing beneath, between, and beyond.
—-
Synchronous harmony.
Emulsified spectrum of visible light.
No one piece exists in isolation.
They are the whole damned choir.
Dis. Connected.
Testing, testing, one…
three. Can you…
I have something…
…share. Something to…
——
What? No, you’re…
I missed…again?
Hold on, hold on…
Ok. Now. Try again.
——
I’m… lost you.
I lost. You. Lost.
…try to re…?
…still be here?
——
Where is here?
No where. No air.
No breaths. Nobody.
No bodies here.
——
Ghosts in a graveyard.
The sounds of an ocean
In the curve of an empty shell.
thin place
Night ghasts dance salaciously to the beat of heart songs. Death roams silent streets and I remember birds. A lust for freedom binds me to greed and self-love. The fires of hell lick my feet. Angel wings caress my cheek. In this thin place From head to toe I burn.
Enough
In this moment I am... heart and mind receiving words on a page. wife pillowing sleeping husband's head in my lap. ears attached to soul soaking in sound and singing along. woman with aching hips finding ease on the couch. mother kissing daughter who is wearing my old dress. human caressing canine-friend nuzzling my thigh. enough.
Cancelled
Undo. Unfollow. Unsubscribe. Cancel. Delete. Erase. We don't like you anymore. We don't want to know who, what, why you are. We will no longer feed you with time, attention, or money. We do not acknowledge your existence, past, present or future. We are not now, and will never be you. You are the mistake we will never make again. Because if we do, we will be cancelled too.
american incarnations 