What if the Universe was trying to get your attention?

What if the universe was actually 

Trying to get your attention?

You know, metonymically speaking,

Where “the universe” is a beat-up van

Driven by a pretty 

unassuming God

And you were one of those garden variety types

unswervingly ignoring

all the signs:

Birds singing

Lovely sunsets

Oddball prophets

Always making the assumption 

Who would want to get in that old thing?

Mistaking stellar lights for cosmic accidents

And personal missives for junk mail screeds

thereby missing

The extraordinary, temporal

Vehicle for undying love

As it slowly passed you by.

The Primitive Streak

What are you doing up so late, little one? 

Awake among the Petri dishes 

No place for children

Where is your mother? Your father?

Do you mean to tell me

These nice-looking men in lab coats

Are the only parents you know 

As your filigree DNA unfolds they peer

Into this sterile womb

Strain to catch a glimpse of 

Your nascent primitive streak

Unwilling to admit it is theirs 

We all fear

Brace yourself

Comfort girl myself

I rifle through the postcards from

The places you have been 

Looking for things you loved

Always people, always broken 

Then strain to hear your voice 

As you tell them about the Luke 13 people

All dead, all tragic until you

direct our eyes into the deep

Pool of Siloam, reflected the tower before it fell?

Did the blind man know it was there before he could

See you standing there

Across the street from all my loneliness

Beckon me come close

Brace yourself, Love

Missing Juan Cazorla

on the day I tell my daughter it is 

mourning dove with a “u”

I remember you are gone

And count the things I used to say

About your father, your brothers

All named the same

(Like all those George Formans)

I still do not 

Know which fight you lost 

Left to

Cut through the jungle path 

To the sea, to the sea serpent country 

where we were young 

all together.

Paper Crowns

Last spring I sheared my own crown, playing both the sheep and the shepherd in a one-woman show about redemption.

The thing is:

You can’t redeem yourself, no matter what lovely poetic last

Name you have been given.

I see the boy you used to be

I see the lost in your eyes

Playing both sheep and shepherd in your own one-man show about…

I will always love you.

Who says that and means it?

Not me.  I am a coward who cannot handle her always

Ten years since he died

And I stand in the dollar store conjuring up themes for a party girl

Bikini contestant party girl

Written in permanent marker

The lost in their eyes, the voice in my head

Man who played both the sheep and the

Shepherd in his own one-man redemption show

Thorns for crowns/ Paper crowns/diadems, tiaras 

For the children we will be

At the wedding feast of the Lamb.