late winter dream

at the ocean's edge, on the sand, in a bluish daylight,
i held a camera in one hand and a red string in the other

at the end of the string was a small white paper bird. i tried
in vain to organize a photograph such that my paper bird would
appear to fly in the sky above the sea. this took more hand coordination
than i was prepared to give.

i fumbled with the camera, my hands moist from the ocean air,
wind blowing about, hair in my face.

all of the sudden i found myself many yards back and high in the air,
atop a sort of cliff. from underneath me came a rage of black horses
charging out into the ocean, spreading east and west as they went,
accompanied by soldiers. each figure was solid and dark against the blue-white
swirls of wave, sand, clouds, sky.

in a flash i wondered where they would go--the sea would surely
swallow them. and just as i wondered, i witnessed a magnificent thing--
each horse, each soldier, transformed into a black bird, and took to the sky.

i managed to capture one single photograph of this moment.

Terminal 2

What royalty is this?
Asleep atop his throne all
wood and edges and corners.
Golden curls worthy of a fairy tale,
tumbling down an alabaster face,
askew in slumber atop
a soft chest, spilling over
a rounded belly, held up
by a most rigid and stable seat.

oh, The slumber of the satisfied,
the satiated, content
And the restful peace of the fulfilled,
impervious to the busy din
of bustling footsteps all around,
eager to please in their swiftness.

Of a sudden, a shadow crosses before
his highness-- the square shape of a man
hovers over...
One eye opens, then another, then a spritely jump
from cascading throne.
Jerking muscles, and one question--two words,
looking upwards now at the shadow's visage, with a wide open grin:
Shoe shine?

morning

a man strode through the highest branches

of winter’s charcoal trees, slapped haphazardly

against an orange sky, and i

kicked clouds down the hallway.

they were in my way

and they were primed for flight.

with the gusto of a symphony conductor, i

yank the blinds open and flood my throat

toes

eyes with light.

i’ve got to be me- ti- cu- lous at the windowsill—

each dust-flake of sun i consume will save

my

life.

i birthed an epiphany last night and it glowed

white under the blankets.

in the morning, it had gone

and there i was soaking in a puddle,

with a backache, and the sweetest hangover, alone.

scratch

This evening I sat on the bathroom floor against the locked door. It was a moment of having lost myself. I stared ahead at the bathtub and saw me in it, standing, naked. Scratched all over, hair a wild mess: a tiger in a woman’s body. I saw myself terrified, displaced, taken hostage, unaccustomed to the slippery porcelain, out of my element. I paced back and forth in the bathtub, disoriented. They tried to talk me out of it and I lashed out, roaring, arms and legs flying. I spun in circles, head chasing tail, unable to make sense of my surroundings or my circumstance. Terror turned to anger, and anger begot self-destruction. I tore at my own body, looking inwards for a way out. This was fear and rage, colliding.

  

Tonight I came home from class and, how appropriate—the light bulb inside the lamp next to my bed had gone out. I have no replacement in the apartment. My single safe place, now enveloped in unavoidable darkness—the very thing causing my crazies. The universe has a terrific sense of humour.

in the dark

I put some puzzle pieces together. I’m going through the crazies, lately. When the things my eyes see and the things my mind thinks don’t match up. When I scream and yell and throw things. When I fall on the ground because my legs give out. When I cry super hard at night and laugh uncontrollably—on a super duper high—during the day. When I have panic attacks in the grocery store and spend so long burying my tears in the raisin display in order to appear uncrazy that I ruin my cover and get sidelong glances from store staff. When I spend long periods watching my hands. When I love and hate the same people at the same time. When things fall apart. When I become extra afraid of the dark. When I spend hours in the bathtub, staring at the wall.

I found a name for this. This thing is in my blood but the dark sky wakes it up. Every year around this time I fall into crazy. In college, when I lost control and slammed cupboards and screamed at people and cried endlessly and ended up spending hours with the therapist—that was late Fall. In Virginia when things were so horrible and I came home from work every day and went to sleep immediately, when I thought about killing myself, when I hated everything and everyone—that was late Fall. The year before last when I begged you not to leave the apartment and watched you go from my knees on the sheepskin rug and then cried on the floor for hours—that was late Fall. There’s a name for this—the internet told me so. I’m glad it has a name, that means I can put it in a box but, more importantly, it means it has an end. It will pass, like your sarcasm. It means I don’t need to go to the doctor because I can’t breathe and the world is—no really, it is—ending. It means the intensity of my need to control everything that happens--and the strain on my shoulders and neck and stomach when things aren't exactly in place and don't go according to plan...it means it's ok, and I'll loosen up eventually.

summer eve

lately i've been feeling like my home is more in the treetops than the streets
and i've been feeling like truth spills more readily from the mouths of birds than the mouths of men.
lately i've been feeling like no one can be counted on the way a rock can be counted on,
so i brought a rock into my home. i brought four, and stacked them tall, to mark my path
and remind me that i'm on it, that i'm somewhere between beginning and destination.

midnight butter

today

today i drove. that is not the point.

today i was driving. but let's start before then.

today i was walking through the market, admiring 

kale, hard-neck garlic, july tomatoes, with a lump in my throat.

something was not right. something was difficult to know,

and wouldn't make itself known to me, just then.

it wasn't until i was driving, like i said before, i was driving.

and i began to cry, without knowing for what reason.

these are some of the most intriguing cries--spontaneous, 

without apparent cause. they can be most frightening to witness.

but for the crier it's quite miraculous. emotions having their way with my body, no permission asked.

it's like witnessing a plant grow, unfurling from the depths of my stomach,

the coiled stem unfolding slowly, 

climbing up through my rib cage, creeping higher

into the throat. blossoms bursting from behind my eyes,

and tendrils springing from my mouth, great wet leaves

spreading across my tongue--and the tears begin to fall. and before

you know it, a great thing has happened. it hurt, yes, but

this is a necessary pain--it's the pain of letting go and release--blessings for my journey.

through the windshield the light parted, curtains of sun gave way

to an even brighter truth. the air in front of me split, cracked, and opened

i understood in a flash what had pushed those tears out. i could name the fear.

and the funny thing? the funniest thing. i was afraid--really scared--of things being okay.

i was clinging to all things gone awry, all things unfair, incomprehensible, impossible, and understood the clinging

as a security blanket. to step into a place where everything is okay, no matter what happens--now that is really frightening.

if nothing is wrong, what will i hold on to? what keeps me bound

to this life? it's the challenges to be worked on that i tie myself to, that i wrap myself around.

and if there are no challenges, no problems, nothing to be overcome… well then i'm free.

and what is more disturbing than freedom? nothing comes to mind.

if everything is already ok, then i don't need to be. i don't need to exist. i have no purpose.

and is that liberating? or frightening? or both? and,

if everything is ok, and i don't need to worry, well…what will i do with my time?

what will guide me? anyway the moment closed up again, and i came upon my 

destination, and i closed the top of my box up and peeped through the eye-holes so i could play pretend

with the sales clerks. and i thought of you, and i needed you, as i will need you

in ten thousand ways between sunsets for the rest of my life.