MAKING A SPACE IN MYSELF

making a space in myself.

not a whole room but a portion

that’s ready. a place I can go

to rest or remember no matter

where I find my body went.

a stillness that could hold something

if something came along

that I wanted to hold.

I could fill it now with wine

or magazine articles I read once

that told me how to be some other way.

and I know one or another of my worries

would happily pay the rent

even month-to-month

but I think I’ll wait.

RIGHT NOW

the rhythm of a manual transmission.

the cat drinking long and hard from the fishtank.

the sun sanitizing the kitchen through an open door.

beeswax spilling through a crack in the tabletop.

hands weathered and dry from the constant washing.

waking from a dream, slipping in again to find something.

coming back to stand in love instead of falling.

SHUSH

we leave the city looking

for silence

but the hum grows louder

step-wise, sideways, in intervals.

I have played music but this

is different.

everything is alive and trying to sing.

five thousand feet

from sea level and countless miles

we’ve come looking.

torn between calling out

to announce our arrival

and slinking in on soft feet

to see what happens

when we’re not expected.

EAST UNIT

the chart says he keeps yelling

for Mama & Ray

only it sounds more like Roy when I hear it,

as in “Roooooy! bring me a knife!”

his goal is to buy some tools

and wood for the winter

and I can’t blame him,

it’s freezing in here.

I can’t stop shivering

and tugging on my sleeves.

when we arrived everyone was barefoot

so we spent the first hour finding

non-skid socks and pulling them over

handfuls of yellow cross-eyed toes

while they did or didn’t eat breakfast.

someone else wanted to see

a seabird so I took her to the window

but it was too foggy to see

past the parking lot.

BEACON HILL

chain-link fences and clean-cut lawns,

brick ramblers, an old woman

squatting in the driveway

hand-paving the last patch with a spatula,

a reservoir of concrete in a frying pan and

her straw hat broad to block out the sun.

carloads of men are casing the neighborhood,

throwing a brick through the kid's window

and stealing grandpa’s stopwatch,

making the whole family cry.

around the corner from the Vietnamese karaoke bar

that doesn’t carry gin, there’s a man who lies

in bed all day watching porn and dreaming of starting

a pumpkin patch in the empty lot behind the house.

a line of high-powered electrical wires weaves along the top

lighting us up at night, the buzzing always audible.

HANDY

if idle hands are

the devil’s playground

then my hands are

always busy reaching

for something slippery

which itself can be

another kind of hell

but to merely hold on

for safe keeping?

I’m afraid the devil might see

my fingers as a jungle gym

my palm his merry-go-round

the line of my knuckles like a slide

A HIDING PLACE AS BIG AS TEXAS

low and behold

I got mixed up

in another darkness

and this time it’s me.

I wanted to waltz in,

wave my long arm

and finally witness some magic,

not be crowned queen

of the underworld,

the secret kept in a portal

between selves.

in my defense

the solstice was coming.

the ocean was calling.

we were catapulting

through time and space

and you were rolling my name

over your tongue

again and again

getting accustomed

to the way I am.

like a lullaby

the shadow was there

when I felt shy.

HOME

“We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.” – Carson McCullers

mom’s body as a house

mom’s house as a body

I want to leave and come back

leave and come back

leave and come back

one thousand times

but even that

wouldn’t be enough

my house is my body and

my body is my house and

I can’t bear to be away

long enough to get

anywhere I want to go

in the morning I stumble

down the steps

past the wisteria vine

which came back

to life after 5 years dead

the kind of miracle we pray

and pray for

knowing full well

we’ll never get it

I’m in the chicken coop

sloshing tea on woodchips

smearing poop

on my nightgown

as ten chicks totter out

from beneath their mom

her wings a literal wall

her whole body their house

meanwhile my mother

is a powder in a plastic bag

resting on a chest of drawers

inside my house

my mom’s house as my house

my house as my mom’s house

yellow now, not blue,

mine now, not hers

and then there’s our bodies

my body wants to be a house

with sturdy wooden walls

a base to leave from

and return to

a place to sleep deeper

than you’ve ever slept

and to wake up

NOT LOVE

we signed up sloppy

in the dark

without asking

and we go on

looping low like hyenas

across the prairie

in search of something,

like cursive letters

in a practice booklet

that don’t even spell real words

we keep trying

to get it right

ODE TO THREE-YEAR-OLD BOY

little white male

building things up

then tearing them down

with a wild grin

for now I’ll let you

stick your hands down your pants

and pretend you’re stronger than me

when we build a fort

but I know later you’ll come

whimpering for a snack

wanting to sit on my lap

and read a story

CALLING BACK

I get stage fright on the phone.

everything turns to ashes

before it escapes my mouth.

I’m trying to blow out flames

but they keep increasing,

licking my lips, my whole body

a fire waiting to be put out.

something about the tightness

is familiar, I feel held

like in a cocoon

not ready to burst.

case in point –

I still giggle more

than a grown woman should,

it’s the only sound I’ve made

that gets out unscathed .

WALKING TO SUNSET PARK

for C

 

fingernail moon hanging from the west

a lemon meringue layer-cake spreading

across the southern sky

and you make me laugh.

I cackle across the sound

clear to the mountains

and everyone turns to look.

you make my heart sore

from the pleasure of beating,

walking and telling the tale.

my smile has changed so many times

since I met you and we’re not even done yet.

the air turns crisp in our mouths as we talk.

my cheeks hurt from waxing and waning across my teeth.

I don’t know who or how

I’d be without you.

something strong and still

to rise and fall against

like a mountain for the sun.

EUROPEAN

he undresses like a European

without modesty on the beach

in downtown Ft. Lauderdale

then again so do I

and I was born here on this very ocean

so I have no excuse I just

wanted to feel the salt water on my body

before he kissed me

he told me I look European

and I knew he meant it

as a compliment by the way

the corners of his mouth twisted

when he said it

New Years Day

I resolve to stop trying

to be better

instead I vow to be

a brand new woman

the one I feel rising

when I wake at dawn

and soothe myself back to sleep

not yet ready

but if not today then when

I was born into this

sick and empty

craving and regretting

reaching and eating

I’m saying this will be the year

to look for love in all the right places

and call it lucky