Baby

You don’t have enough enemies, baby
don’t make one in me
you bang against a cage
you’ve created yourself
and only time will help you
find the key
there is no more breaking out, proving
that the darkside calls
you
can go willingly with little
disapproval
no one is watching
it’s only
you
worrying about the cost
with so much time
in this world there is plenty to waste
and if
you
die tomorrow,
who will care
what you did with your life
only that you are gone
and what will be remembered
the ecstasy
the touch of love
the smell of chopped hair
against soft lips
a crooked smile on
a work worn face
a heart’s truth
a soul’s wisdom

The Same

I wonder what my baby feels when I cry.
My own selfish world takes over through all these changes
no one feeling the pain but me.
I forget what a fragile creature he is,
it's what made me fall-in-love with him,
breaking my heart to see his heart broken
all those pieces put back together
but some were put in the wrong place
he holding mine, me clutching his.
In all these masks and shields we're blinded to the other and forget true self
missed hours make it difficult to get the spokes in sync
moments together wasted
can't catch up for the bickering
travelling back to a place where forgiveness is sacrificed for easy accessibility of criticism,
resentments stacking up like bricks on a fence.

Something's got to give.

"Heather Tacos"

You walk along, deep in thought
I pop pop pop
wondering, wandering
drifting on my own (long in coming)
constant, quick glances
checking for clues
you utter, I pop pop pop
expectant, hopeful
for a clue to the inner
stirring of the soul,
yours, that I claim
to love
"Heather Tacos", my heart falters
tears slip inside, ripping tears
I want to hear
"I love you"
"Your beautiful" just now.
I smile, foot forward.
"Yeah, and a pablano, too"
I love you
We keep walking
I keep straying playing
gazing dazing
thoughtful thoughts

When

Sandwiched between 2
gloved hands, supporting curls,
lace and fluff, patent leather
and tighted puffy legs
looking up at skyscrapers,
no higher than
3 stories
feeling like a metropolis
(in population 5000)
high heels,
boufant hair,
rhinestone clutches,
my mother and grandmother
lift
me from the curb
a free carnival ride,
a snapshot
of small town glamour,
landing smoothly
on the street side
curls bouncing ear
to
ear

Careful

Remembering still
the shy manners,
uncomfortable
country genteel.
inherited social nervousness,
graciously
passed by grandmother,
legs crossed,
hands clasped,
a little
chatter from mother,
easily
warming any stranger,
me, swirling
with emotions
and reactions.
smalltown girl, yearning
for country housewife duties
to pass the day,
the clean smell of
sheets on the clothesline,
the warmth of
fresh bread in the oven,

a mended shirt draped on an ironing board

wishing for what we’ve lost,
they wished for our burden.

Room With A View.

Room With A View is a short piece about my grandmother's death and the joys of motherhood all tied into one. This piece was published at Austinmama.com, a fantastic website that encourages creative women of all kinds to get thier work out in the world to be seen.

Mama

Streaming tears
melting
hearts foot soldiers
stand-by
Carry, carrying
to carry
I drive forward
unrelenting tears
silkening downward
ever scolding,
a stance
set forth by others
trying tears
plying, flailing, failing
again upright
mine
beats now,
mine
cries now
flying tears
with force and intention,
I melt to tender touches,
hearing
Mama,
Mama,
Mama

Listening

I learned from the wind to believe my soul when it spoke.
The trees would lean and my heart rocked and
words would pour into my hands.
My mind heard, the words felt and I believed.
I learned from the wind not to doubt my soul.
Visiting my eyes, the wind opened them to hear what could not be seen.
They wielded, stripped and my ears closed to the questions.
I did not doubt.
Too late for that now.
Leaves whisper, pull, tucking away at my eyes.
The corners loosen the words that float to my fingers and crawl through my arms
to be read in me.
The wind colors my thoughts and I settle.
I learn from the wind to trust my soul.
Cleanse my soul. Take my soul.

Erroneous Intent

beseech, entreat,
Plead
implore, Beg,
intrusion,
Wanton apprehension
Necessary temptation
Candy-Coated Rookie.
Rip
Wide
Open
WAIT
Submit momentarily
Nude unavoidably
given desolation
recurring torment
Rip
Wide
Open
Retreat, Research,
Discover,
Remember
Sullied Virgin Ideal
(is real)