Aperture

I could pretend
we are not fractured,
still.
That gauzy memories
fade truth,
and dimness
is the same as
Grace.

I could pretend
my impression
is whole,
framed by
a manageable sorrow.
That my prism
cast true:
a collected, refracted light
against a sepia canvas.

I could pretend
wounds close,
time heals,
Phoenix rise from ash;
the effigy I hold
and behold
will still cradle
my soul.

                          ...or not.


For sometimes
you cast your stone,
shatter my image.
A violent lens
boring down on
smudged edges,
blended hues,
seeping
watercolor memories.

And I must look anew,
widen the fissure;
gape
at another
reflection
and wonder,
what is true?

I could pretend
yours was
the sharper eye;
your palette,
loud with vitality and
crisp borders:
the sole herald.

Yes, I could
pretend
dimness
is the same as
Grace.

                          ...or not.


For sometimes dimness
                                       is Grace.
                                                        Precisely.


Aperture - regulator, opening, hole; exposure of time.

Wry Dignity

Forgive me
For wincing
As I become peripheral.
For groaning
Like breath escaping
A church organ
Bellows.
For not bowing my head
To the last Amen.
For refusing to disappear
Just before I
Disappear. 

Pardon me
That elephant skin
Now surrounds my knees
And elbows,
And neck.
That sometimes when I
Walk
Sit
Stand
Bend over,
I pass gas
Without consent.

Excuse me
For asking you
To repeat what you said
While finally
Telling you what
I think
And feel
And know.
For finally
Becoming
More of me
While
More of me
Becomes less.

Forgive me
For not quietly succumbing
To shame.
For letting my hair
And spirit
Go wild
With the calendar.
For dancing
Barefoot in a muu-muu
And singing
Off tune,
Plunked on a ukulele.
For shouting
At the moon
And laughing
With the gulls
And twirling
In the waves.

Forgive me
For reminding you
Of the
Unforgivable.

I Wondered

I wondered
What it must be like
To never touch bottom.
To grasp with toes fatigued,
Cramped from groping,
Aching for a slice,
A sliver of
Foundation.

To feel the ease
Of a stance
Only to be knocked
Askew,
To be swept away into
A current of undoing.
To take a breath
And hold it
And believe
That somehow
You could become
Buoyant
And that bobbing,
Skimmering across the surface
Would do.
Would do just fine.
Though your belly
Ached
For a tether.

I wondered
What it must be like
To hope,
When the very word
Falls from a language
Your ears don't decipher,
Your tongue can't seem
To touch.
To sense
Hope
As a vapor
Tingling against
Skin
Smelling of faint
Ash.

I wondered
What it must be like
To know the poverty
Of your own
Soul.
To peer into the
Empty bowl
And gape at the
Residue,
The remains of
Something,
Hints
Like rice grains
Stuck to the side.
To pace,
To growl
For beauty,
Insight,
One sweet moment
Of feathered
Peace.

I wondered
These things
As I watched
My neighbor
Pull at her sweater,
A dangling thread
She twisted
Around her finger
And pulled;
Twisted
And pulled;
Twisted
And pulled.  


For those, or their loved ones, who struggle with Post Traumatic Stress or mental health issues.  

Lesion

There is a wound
gaping,
bare.
Lying
over there.

I thought
I covered you;
Smothered you with
salve;
Gauzed you well;
Removed your smell.

You seemed to
scab.
Get crusty brown,
Tight all around
the edges.

You blended in
To skin
Grown thin
With age,
And memories
Too soft
For touching.

But there you are
Lying bare
Over there.
So raw
And red
And moist.

How did
You
Come back
To life?

Lying bare
Over there?

Solicitous Passage

Ease me through
To the other side
Of me.

Carry me softly
Across the current
Of my heart.

But please...
oh please
Let me not drift
Into eddies.

Catch my wilted sail
With your breath;
Tack me against
Your wind.

If I must stand
Lashed to bow;
If gales must be
the compass...

Then take my helm.
Ease me through.
Carry me softly
Across the current
Of my heart.

Oh,
ease me through.

AMEN

Sometimes...
Sometimes I just don't want to be
the gracious woman
anymore.

I want to be
A tantrum-ing
Kicking
Arm-flailing
Screaming
Conniption-fitting
Child.

Sometimes
I weary of
Arm-patting
Hand-holding
Tissue-issuing
Hugging.

Alright...
Once again
I guess I'm supposed
To step aside
To let you move
To where you
need to be.

But this time...
This time
I will be
Noisy
About it.

I will knock over
The planter
Leap on the table
Strip off my clothes
Hold my breath
Stomp through the hall
Cuss
And spit
And yell
To high heaven.

Because sometimes...
Sometimes
That's the purest
Prayer.

A Walking Prayer for Richard Twiss

Walking south to you Grandfather, sweet wind of hope,
my mother the sea
rushes to my side and runs back,
rushes to my side and runs back;
whispers at my feet.

Ask, she says.

I cannot bargain with the Mighty One.

Ask, she says.

Each step a plea,
a drumbeat.
Each step a wail,
a laugh, a dance.
Each step a prayer.

I cannot bargain with the Mighty One.

You can struggle;
You can wrestle,
You can ask.

Each step a plea,
a drumbeat.
Each step a wail,
a laugh, a dance.
Each step a prayer.

Walking south to you Grandfather, sweet wind of hope,
I see a great tree
standing tall like a man
alone on a hill.

Feet still upon the path,
arms reaching to your face,
fingers strumming your sweet wind.
A tall tree,
a graceful tree,
a bold, piercing, laughing tree
standing lone on a hill.

Stretched
Between
Us
And You.

Each step a plea,
a drumbeat.
Each step a wail,
a laugh, a dance.
Each step a prayer.

Walking south to you Grandfather, sweet wind of hope,
I see my heart.
That I am selfish.
That I want his feet upon the path.
That I want to anchor his root.
That I have already forgotten
a tree never dies.

Each step a plea,
a drumbeat.
Each step a wail,
a laugh, a dance.
Each step a prayer.


February 2013: In memory of Richard Twiss -   https://www.facebook.com/RichardTwissLegacy