Monday, August 30, 2010

How I Would Marry You Again

poem me wishes look television landlord stars succumb anatomy kicking real pilgrim

i could almost write you as a poem
one i could carry always, in my back pocket.
if all three of my wishes were granted,
you would look to me as a muse
or the television by which you are entertained;
perhaps, a landlord to whom you pay homage,
or maybe the stars that guide your way.

you could succumb to me, and i to you,
and the anatomy of Us, evolving from the shedding of our separate selves 
would become more textbook,
studied for years to come by eager students.

there would be no railing against, nor kicking out at
the humility of simple.
after all the hard calcium of imperfection had been burned away,
only the core of what is real in us would remain.

the fused dichroic chunk of Us could be a wandering gypsy pilgrim
in the wild untamed lands between You and I.


Thursday, August 26, 2010

Under the Sun

here we go.
all of us rushing to
the business of busy.
but there is nothing new.

it's all been here before.

even You. 
As you are, or
as the the You you endeavor
to be - 
nothing new.
another Someone has done it all before

there is no thought 
conceived
that was not already 
hatched upon another brow


you should think of this,
all of You,
when whichever You you are
begins to bloat with your own
importance





Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Twenty-Fifth Year

The Year I Turned 25, I

taught a bellydance class.
got my first pair of glasses.
went to New Orleans and fell in love with her.
voted against the first black president.
took in a stray, crazy, dog-baby.
became an organic gardener/farmer.
conceived Shekhinah.
began to figure out where I was heading.
reconnected with old friends.
made new best friends.
broke out of my shell.
started a blog.
changed job-homes.
bought a Mac.
realized my husband was an alcoholic.
swore off family.
realized the incredible burden/mixed blessing of biraciality.
began investigating my relationship with God.
redefined beauty. 
went to the opera.
bought a grown-up purse.
realized my style.
began to learn.
understood how special Grandfathers are.
fell in love with my husband again.
tasted gelato for the first time.
broke down and tried Gefilte fish (not as disgusting as it looks).
celebrated Passover, observed Sabbath, and attended an Aufruf.
found three sterling hairs at my temple.
reveled in the bliss of a quiet cafe.
looked behind me and didn't see much.
hosted wandering musicians under my roof.
drank a can of PBR all by myself (not recommended).

And in the last hour of my 25th year, I felt the passing of it keenly. 
I sat awake, in a candlelight vigil for that year, that would never come again.
I wondered if I had truly lived it, with all the strength of my being.
As the dark faded to a grey dawn, I vowed to myself to make the next year
even better.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

le Matin

hello, Wednesday.
 
i just love mornings.
it's the part of the day, almost everyday
when i wake up, watch the sun rise, make a pot of tea, 
burn incense
and breathe deeply.
in the mornings, i tell myself
that i will keep all the promises i've made to me.

if you wake up early enough,
it feels like the whole world is a secret
just for you.

i try not to do anything that i hate, first thing in the morning.
like, no homework or household chores first thing on waking.
sometimes i knit.
and i like to be quiet.

the shower is the transition.
maybe it's the water, or the chill on my skin after i step out...
whatever it is, it brings the Day.
so i make my daily list in the shower. 
sometimes i dance in the shower, or cry.
sometimes i sing opera.
anyway, i do something to break my quiet.

haven't made it to the shower yet.
but there is a paper to be written, glooming and moaning around my house.
he has spread himself around like a shadow...
i hate him, for ruining my morning.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

tuesday Blah.

still sitting here.
pretty sure i should get up, get showered, pour another cuppa tea and have breakfast.
but there's this leaden weight on me, just holding me down and i can't seem to shake it.
my procrastination is getting worse, i think. 
and for all my heroic efforts to push through and reach out, i really just prefer
myself.

my productivity wanes the higher the sun climbs.
gross.
i am (currently, anyway) a gross, lazy blob - taking up space and wasting oxygen;
i'm running out of good excuses, and am too lazy to offer the mediocre ones.
just, gross.


and yet, 
i'm restless.

Monday, August 09, 2010

Parfaitement Imparfaite

what if i told you
without lying
that i -
yes,
i

had seen the perfection
in imperfection
the beauty
in ugly

the grande in simple.

what if i promised
without lying
that i - 
yes,
i

could prove it to you
 
but quite frankly, you
would need to
come holding
nothing.

your expectations-
those tiny morsels
you have been
force-fed,

purged.

 come empty
a vessel to be filled.

otherwise, you will look
with your eyes
only

and the gift is given
not only to
 be seen,

but to be touched like velvet
inhaled deeply, like a glass of wine,
heard like a prayer
and worn
on the sleeve,
a pulsating heart
for all to see

have you forgotten?




Saturday, August 07, 2010

Abba and Ima

my father was lost
but now is found
even so,
the hand i was holding
still turned out to be my own
and this child-self clings to my mother-me

 i protect her,
with a shockingly primitive savagery
determined that no one will harm her

i am the lioness protecting the cub
and they are me.

Monday, August 02, 2010

the Chill Of Memory

glass, skin, harrowing, fingers, burden, shattered, swells, dragging, told, crunch, growth, pillar

rain pelts us from above, splinters of glass
falling from grey skies
burrowing into our skins,
harrowing up our souls,
using icy fingers to blind our eyes

the Snow Queen's burden
we wrap about our hunched shoulders and shattered bones
swells of loneliness are the frigid sea spray.
a tidal wave of chilled memories 
crashes into the rocky beaches of the unconscious, dragging recognition out into the current.

when the sailors' tales are all told
and the quiet settles over us, the crunch of memory
will cling to our vessel as the barnacled growth beneath,
we look back, a pillar of salt each.




Strange Moon



 yes i'll admit
i knew it all along:
we were under a strange moon

we devoured ourselves
we peeled the skin from our bones
we poured out oceans of tears
we tore at one another

the golden-orange Strange Moon
looked down, horrified
his mouth gaping in shock at us

we were all ugly

the storm moved over the mountains
pressed us into something smaller,
less wild
she washed us clean

she mixed her tears with ours
so the Moon could not see

we'll be fine.
he's moved farther back 

but he's afraid to get too close
for every time he draws near
he sees the cracks in our flesh
where we stretch at the seams
the wild just underneath

the panic rises
creeps into his face
he looks down on us, stricken.
O, the Strange Moon.