That comet dust would make me
Think of you
All dazzle-y and luminous
Because of wandering
Light
your eyes
hold all the
Cities of the world
And their lashes
Each borrowed
From distant ashes
Come from burning infinite
Suns
Of heaven will be fierce
With the smudgy lines of
Zinc oxide slashed across their faces
War paint angels
Colorful
is that food coloring?
No. But it is washable
After play time
After recess
After our snack of apples cut in even slices
Rich in a new color–
colors
Vivid
Will be my new name
When I get there
I will use the injunction you taught me (joy)
C’mon, let’s go play
Some days I almost forget it is there
Protruding as it does
Through my sternum
La-la-la I think
For about, um, 30 seconds…
Then it all comes back
When you say oh, I don’t do that anymore
Like it was a hobby you grew out of
Or…oh, the movie was fun
Like you are at summer camp with your pals
I must breathe
Which hurts the freaking sword
In-my-chest
When you..
When you..
Oh that is right
You don’t remember
I stay up too late. I am looking for meaning. I feel like an old woman rummaging through her things, longing for the people attached to them–
Tom’s chair
Ruby’s dress
The people I want back are mostly living. I want them to be braver or more honorable, kinder or stronger.
But they are not. So I rummage
For meaning
For hope
For the person I once was
This is my nightly vigil
My grief.
Last Sunday night I went to church. Nice church. Comfortable. Friendly. Relaxed atmosphere. Even stayed in the sanctuary for half the sermon. The rest of the time I hung out with the under 5 set in a very nice foyer. It was my best church experience in a long time.
A nice man said they had childcare. There was a moment when I thought about spilling my story.
I don’t leave my kids much because….
Because…
Well, once you realize you trusted a wolf in sheep’s clothing you realize you are a bad detector of sheep costumes
Everyone is except the other wolves.
There is a point in the cycle of loss when people come up for air. The tragedy at the heart of the universe is still there but there is the small hope that words may matter, when so much has been lost.
I tell one child to look up reactive attachment disorder and describe to the other the symptoms of borderline personality disorder.
I am leery of words. How do you describe the damage to a baby or a child of rootlessness and hunger and a world of cold loneliness punctuated by chaos and violence?
I hate what he did to the point of wishing with all my heart that I could unspool his childhood to the day he was born and undo the damage, hold and feed the wee baby to prevent the hours and days and years of pain he will inflict on others.
He has inflicted on us.
Only God can breathe life into the dead.
Uncock the gun
Release the bullets
Into the palm of your hand
Put the weapon down
Smash it into pieces
Sown into earth
Like the teeth of the mythical
Dragon
Pull down the walls
Release the lions
They will feed now
On grass like the Lamb
Who has tamed them
Undo all the damage
Unleashed by thIs savage
Heart next to
A river, next to a Tree
At the center of this new country
Light, for instance
Poured out like a drink offering
Through trees in the summer sky
Why is it following me? The boy asks
Because it loves you
His mother speaks of metonymy
And the moon?
Why does it follow me?
Same reason, of course
Love.
his conversation with the devil
his last meal
the things He gathers with his hands
broken treasure
if you being evil
He asks
(rhetorically–don’t answer that…)
give your children good things
stones for bread
our history
my dear
my darling
if I could only roll
all the stones away
and find you living
Bread among the stones
bred among stones
my love…
I say
God: Space Artist
and you respond:
“Heh.
The Universe +
gravitation=
collisions
and mergers
of galaxies.”
Nice
is another word for weightless
ephemeral
and sombrero
comes for the ancient
word for shadows
and sorrow.
I see splendor in
the arc of the living
God.
you shake your head
and I am inclined to ask whether
you genuinely believe
the Pieta
is just a big rock
worn down by friction?
canst thee see Jesus?
canst thee see the creator?
Michaelangelo amidst the stars.
Carrying Light 