Safe

As I drive through the Seaport

navigating rush hour traffic

watching the clouds darken through the lens of my windshield

stratocumulus nimbostratus

In a snap, rain sends all the folks into a scurry

I hang up the phone 

not able to navigate the pinball game 

pedestrians, bicyclists, drivers, and lights

without 

killing someone or myself

Parking almost always arrives when you are just 

about done with it

A good 45 minutes late to the reading

just in time to watch her read a short piece 

about

the threat of losing someone

even though they are still here

abandonment: a wound we try to stitch up ourselves

with threads made of obsessive compulsive perfectionisms

that soothe us, if they weren't killing us 

at the same time

Solving the unsolvable problem

I want to write a story

about a girl who became free she freed herself, really by letting the bird of her fear out of its cage knowing it might fly away and leave her if she let it go Nevertheless, the girl fetched a stool from her neighbor's house and because it was too heavy for her to carry alone she had to ask that mean old neighbor, who never had a pleasant thing to anyone in her village but since he was so lonely from any human company and had recently come to realize the benefit of others, was thrilled to receive the ask for favor was more than h happy to help this small girl with what seemed a large task Plus, she was pretty demanding - so he listened and complied. The stool, which was heavy and high was not very stable so the girl also asked the milkmaid and barber, who just happened to be walking by, through the field, at just that moment 3 adults to carry the stool and hold it steady seemed the right kind of support any maiden should need Also, when the girl finally climbed the stool to the cage hanging high from the ceiling, reaching to unhinge the door, she realized she had buried the key by the old oak tree so long ago she couldn't remember which stumpy stump it lay beneath and she didn't want to waste anymore time hunting for lost keys to cages. The barber, having some small shears at the ready, for a master is never without their tools, fashioned a way to pick the lock while the songbird quiet and watchful, unsure of the fuss after all these years did not utter a peep But, a small spark of something like hope or an aliveness had started to creep and gleam in her eyes and began to grow. When they heard the "click" that undid the lock the barber climbed down to steady the stool with the milkmaid, who watched holding the stool steady, encouraging both her lover to his secret skill and the crooned at the little girl to be patient, and made a new friend of the old neighbor she had never really met. The little girl, assuming her place on the stool, held steady by the support of her 3 new friends, held the cage steady and gazing deeply into the wonderous eyes of the songbird called her all the names of LOVE she could name. With each new name uttered, became ever more brave and ready to open the gate for the bird to fly free. The sound of freedom is unusual, thought the songbird. It sounded unlike any in her dreams. In a flash, which was a moment, settling into her knowing she hoped to the threshold with the happiest chirp, she bounded out of the cage circled the people and flew into the bluest sky ever seen.

Mother Tongue

(written Thanksgiving 2023)

on our walk through the neighborhood

stuffed with the fillings of Thanksgiving dinner

she tells me everyone in THIS family is like a 2-speed bike

charging with fists up, ready 

or resting on the soft grass, retired

Mom came into the house yelling at Matt for his parking job

not giving her tiny ass car the room she thought she needed

she still considers parallel parking on city streets the scariest thing 

only takes her car out now for the mall or far into the country to gamble

my hands deep in the making of some kind of squash soup that no one but me will eat anyway

irritated, I yell at her to stop yelling

"come in and say hi before you get to the yelling." 

She doesn't realize that she enters like a hurricane

into a hurricane

because she came second to last in a war already coming

and Bin has already been yelling at the dog 

for being a dog 

excited for the people who might love him - if they dared to

But,

the sheer anger and angst of that child 

a dark slash of unhappiness in my otherwise sunny living room

sours the taste of food on my tongue

I am irritated I can never have the kind of holiday that feels normal     

or at least in the mutual affection of each other

Instead, we have it playing out

the angry avoidant, the passive-aggressive, the defensive and over-compensating

I just wanted to fucking finish the cooking 

before I had to enter

the arena with my own boxing gloves ready to throw punches

bob and weave my way through the ancestral trauma we've carried around

like heavy baggage filled with the bricks of sadness and misunderstanding

I am tired

I want to rest

I want someone to put their arms around me and to say

"I know we are out of our minds, but I love you"

make light out of this insane tapestry of diagnosable maladies

personal shortcomings and character flaws

coming together in a tangled-up tango

on just another holiday.

Hope hope hope

Right now I hope I don't fall over from the exhaustion of carrying out 

this outrageous life of mine

I hope I don't lose all my marbles instead keep holding onto them 

I will surely need to think a minute or so later

This morning, I looked over at my daughter, letting the tears just finally come

reminding myself to make eye contact when I admit

I am on the constant verge of shattering into millions of pieces

from the worries that have no prompt answers 

just time under the load of the experience so we can navigate with more understanding

her unhappiness, her headaches, switching schools or staying

money, time together, the way it always seems we are borrowing from the balance

and can never pay ourselves back

recently I began to really feel the preciousness of my time here

my time with my mom

how many more years we still have together

how many more years still able to travel through this place, these days

how will I make my time here worthwhile?

will I still be able to sip the pleasure of being 

to write sweet words on pages 

to laugh with you?

pay me the riches of easy living?

Want Ad

I want

a New York accent

a guy who bakes the cakes on birthdays 

remembers that flowers are like jewels 

adorning each surface 

on the altars of love

that candles cast the softest glow

should always smell like clean sheets 

dried in the summer sunshine

I want a guy who picks me up, literally

with a plan

a map, a picnic basket

a good playlist

drives us somewhere new each time 

never gets annoyed when we get lost 

enjoys the inconvenience of more time 

together

I want a funny guy

light in his heart and easy in his moods

good with his hands and generous with his kindness

I want a strong laugh and a huge smile

open arms

a devilish grin

a face I can love forever

a body that is strong and lean

youthful in attitude, mature in reliability

not a hot mess or messy 

handles his responsibility and money in ways 

generative, thoughtful

has moved enough that home is a sanctuary and refuge

knows where he comes from

the lineage of his ancestors strong and sure

loves his family, friends, and neighbors

wants to make the world a better place, not worse 

when he is gone

sings out loud and sounds good, dances, and makes music

isn't a brat, ungrateful 

leaves the guards up at someone else's door

is not a cowardly cheater

lies on in the soft grass of summer but not on his words

someone

who loves me

fights strong and easy against all that would make him seem unreal

he would show up and listen

make all the room that I need to be me

hold my hands when I am in panic, soothe

the scared and angry parts that are just so sad

will listen in rapt attention when I offer all the thoughts

considered and unfinished 

will listen and hear me

is capable of supporting the craziest of plans 

the tender stuff of dreams

I want a man that respects and roars for women

that holds the sacred in my daughter and the work we must all do

to bring HER back into the world to save us

On Grief (Menopause)

I have found myself at the well 

run dry

having lingered too long with fear and worry

what was once filled to the brim with the clear clamor of birdsong

the fresh scent of sunshine 

is now only rocky mud flats 

I imagine the moss growing around the mouth of the cavern

once a soft blanket to lean up against when leaning over to drink

it prickles my skin now, as I lean in with wonder

how is the water all gone?

Had I fallen asleep soundly while the deer people gathered

had men come with buckets to steal my youthful drink?

Or did time just pass as I continued to wander

farther and farther from that life giving well

Here I am now

gazing into the darkness 

reckoning with the passage of all this time

considering a well with just small puddles - where so much water used to be

metabolizing grief

Villain

 You will have to be the villain someday, if

you ever choose to say "fuck you, Kevin" 

go live your life

the one you've literally been waiting for

the one you hide in the stolen moments of longing

of dreaming 

when the kids are fed and kissed to bed

after the dishes are washed and the lights turned out

when you finally collapse into the waiting arms of your true lover's embrace

finally, let your thoughts and dreams off their leashes

out of their confined cages

let them roam wild and free across this landscape of your being

they travel beyond the boundaries of 

your everyday fears

you know the world is vast and wide

you have so little time, yet 

you tarry

I know why you do not make haste

you have been told to hug 

the corners for safety

that peace is the only solution 

to the clashing of your desires

YOU must be the diplomat and surrender

must be willing to allow someone else to 

save you 

help with the money, the children, the cleaning, the driving

the sheer magnitude of living 

this life 

1 is too lonely

2 is the happy ending

3 a triangle with 1 too many sides

4 strategically balanced

5 lopsided and ugly

any more, a death sentence for who you really are

yet, aren't you supposed to be both fearful and grateful 

to have found another to occupy your thoughts and time

so you do not need to listen to the nagging voice within you?

to distract you from seeing clearly 

through the foggy wet of your own indecision?

the hopes in your chest small mighty embers

dusty by the time you 

drag them out from their hiding

misplaced and neglected

the crushing weight of your own loneliness, boredom 

has finally broken them out of their attic cages

has shattered them at your feet

leaving you with only pieces to rearrange anew 

be brave

you will cut yourself and bleed

sing offerings to the past

reclaim yourself in the fire

walk anew into today 

be the villain of your own unfolding story

not the victim of your fears

Death of Little Things

I want to talk about the death

of the little things

that break the heart into millions of tiny pieces

scattered about me as I walk through this life

some melting into the soft earth, leaving behind

the crocus, the rosebud, the peony

others, disolving into holes the size of craters 

where nothing but grief overflows

I want you to know, I am watching

the world through the corner of my eyes

I cannot look directly at it for long

how can you?

If I do, I fear there will be no pieces of me left

to hold you for just 

one more moment 

What you carry

 I sit here contemplating what I am being asked to carry

You give me yours and the world gives me theirs and my long fingered hands cannot hold it 

all

even though I know I am strong

I have always been able to carry all the squawking birds in this one small cage

lately, I feel like 

opening the door to the bursting excess

letting them all fly free 

who said I needed to carry this for you 

and you?

I can barely carry myself these days 

it seems the weight is just growing 

heavier

like it wants to crush me 

on purpose

doesn't care about this body getting older

doesn't care about my hands 

doesn't care that my mind feels boxed in

smothered under the rubble 

that trapped it

crushed under its weight with no one to come help 

free me

leaving me there to cry myself to sleep

alone

until I become nothing but the last breath I breathe

living examples of connection

good night kisses

your hand moving towards mine

asking to be held

the big bowl of rice offering that your 

belly whine accepts

the fall-apart pieces 

you let me hold for you

held in news unleashed on evening walks

all the "I love yous" peppered through my day like confetti pieces

thrown into the wind from high overhead

the way we sign in harmony when we know the words to the song

when I stare into the warm honey 

brown of your eyes and see forever 

there