Leaving, but not leaving behind

Dolce, bambino.

Pilgrimage

There's the house
That looked prettier last summer.
There's the field
Lush and green
It strikes fear into my stomach.
The old, old house
That I saw and quietly loved.
Some things never change.
And the old barn on the corner.
 The one they wouldn't let them
Tear down.
There are houses now.
The elementary school.
Little blonde girl, balls,
Soccer and a weak ankle,
And swings.
Next street on the right,
Second house down on the left.
It's ugly.
But the beauty that lives inside
Is anything but.
I almost missed the turn.
Do you remember?
They had to carry him.
We parked here.
A picnic and kids on the court.
But they left.
It was the three of us and the sky.
I climbed inside the beehive.
I looked for your handprint on the tile.
Here, you said.
Innocence preserved in paint.
But I didn't say that's what I was doing.
The last time I came here was
When we played with the noodles.
Me too
But I don't really care about the noodles.
Just the soul holding them.

I drank pineapple juice
Straight from the glass bottle.
It's organic and good for me.

Kind of like you.

Dolces Nientes

Dolce.

Yeah, I know.

I was born sweet.

The very blood in my veins,

tears in my eyes,

marrow in my bones-

dolce.

My heart opens up wide as the wilderness night sky

in churches with organs sounding,

filling the whole cavernous space,

on adventures beyond what’s trimmed and green,

but not here.

No dolce-no.

I don’t speak your language, sorry.

But really, you don’t speak mine.

Mine is ancient and wild and raw.

But sometimes, a lot of times, I can hear you.

I’m sweet-

Dolce.

Keep talking, bambino. Don’t ever stop.

Fill my heart with sweet nothings,

if only to keep the monsters at bay.

July 10, 2013

Evolution

I don’t think this started

like you think it did.

I don’t think you know that

I wanted you here

for a different reason.

I don’t think you know that

you fix a part of me

you didn’t even know is broken.

But you do.

And I think that’s OK.

I’ve learned it doesn’t have to be complicated.

We speak silently, invisibly,

with words.

And I hear you perfectly.

And it’s making us brave.

The mountains have shut my mouth,

the sea washes away my words,

and distance is keeping us safe.

It’s burrowed under every iron train rail,

nestled in the old Swiss eaves, and

tucked in the quiet corners of loud Italy.

But it’s your turn.

I’m only speaking silently until

you’ve been made brave enough.

And then the train rails,

the eaves and the corners

will yield up

what can maybe heal you, too.

July 19, 2013 (I think)

Hello. I Have a Few Questions. And There Are Some Things I'd Like to Say.

Did you ever wonder

why it took me so long to fall?

Did you ever look at my eyes

and wonder what web of

confusion, doubt, hurt, hesitation

existed and want

to exist behind it?

Could you see my pain, and

did your compassion almost

rule your flesh?

It’s ok if you didn’t.

I flit around, and with one wave of my magic wand,

wispy silver dances in the air,

and suddenly you are not in the same place,

though we haven’t moved.

I’m a handful.

But your hands are strong-

they can hold my writhing soul

and still have a hand left over to hold mine.

I don’t care if they are dirty-

it’s your becoming.

Don’t give up on me-

I only saw the fireworks yesterday.

July 5, 2013

A Reaction to Les Mis

It doesn’t even matter.

Our soul, when we won’t give up

after we cannot stand.

The fierce fire matters-

the battle to the death for something right,

to fight against the impossible

because somewhere,

you have caught hold of that spark

of infinite possibility.

When power fires, pulsing through human veins,

when the underdogs rise,

propelled by visions above

base humanity.

When a heart gives what a human couldn’t-

mercy.

When love overcomes fear and hate,

when sins are forgiven and hearts change,

this is what we live for.

For the power we have

to bring heaven to Earth,

to change the fate of innocent souls,

to bring joy to those who might have

suffered from lack of it,

had we held our peace.

Not justice-no, justice never saves.

Mercy-mercy changes lives,

mercy is the hand when all else is gone.

When broken hears forsake themselves, and bleeding, love.

We live for the joy that strikes us to the bone,

for the angels that speak to nothing

but the soul,

for the times that our souls are touched by God,

and we give Heaven to someone else.

We are made by none other than moments of purity-

pure humanity, divine humanity.

This, this is what matters-

for better or for worse-

to hear the people sing.

July 20, 2013

Leaving

Goodbye.
Au revoir.
Auf wiedersehen.
Arrivederci.
Reaching farther into the depths, 
Goodbye.
I cannot fight this necessary evil
but I can take the soul-
it has become a part of mine.
And now I have places that
are my refuge, places
where dreams became reality,
and I'm taking them with me-
home.



July 20, 2013

A Prayer

I’m scared.

Terrified of the things I can’t change.

Burdened by the things I could

but didn’t.

But sustained by the things I can.

It’s those same things which are familiar to me-

Yes. This is something I have

a choice about.

God, my Father up in the Heavens,

hear my plea.

This has nothing to do with those things.

They are not truly important.

It has to do with those three people

I love fiercely and will miss terribly-

my family-

and all the rest of them that I don’t think

I can bear to leave.

I need them, Father.

I need them like I need the blood

running through my veins.

When I go to take a deep breath,

I’ll choke because they’re not there.

But You will be.

It’s going to be uphill, Father. I know that.

But give me new blood,

just the kind I need

to breathe life into my new world.

July 19, 2013

Vernazza

They took me though strange lands,

mountains in clouds, and

churchbells that sang with the birds.

Loud, steady, hot.

Black under the rock.

And then, wild and higher than St. Peter’s dome.

Craning for a look,

Feeling myself growing.

They put me on a platform,

took the wind and left the still warmth,

speaking to me as if

I was the only one embraced.

The most unassuming of places,

protected my nothing but respect.

The air breathed welcome-

can I stay?

There is nothing but sunlight bleeding through the walls.

But further down-

can you buy this?

Can we really pay for something

meant to be unbridled and eternal?

But I took it from them-

I took the part that is free for men everywhere-

because it’s God’s, and He doesn’t charge.

I am not ruler here-

the voices surface from deeper in the earth.

The ancient is quiet-

those absent speak to me,

and my soul yearns

to learn what they remembered,

even before I was born into the forgetting.

The Virgin Mary watched

my reverent footsteps,

and I needed nothing

but to become this

as serenity enveloped me.

I decided, up on that

precipice of time, that

when I am broken

I will go there to heal.

They took me away. But I took it with me.

The old, slanted steps,

the lady that knew what was more important,

the lights slanting off the rocks, and

the pathway of rock and hay, which is,

in it’s humblest form,

paradise.



July 13, 2013

Hell

Yeah, I've been there, but I didn't
bring you a postcard.
He's been there, too.
That's why, I think.
We know sad.
We know the wall between us
and them.
We had to dig under it.
So we talk about dirt, 
and hell.
And that's why.



July 11, 2013

Scars

I can handle it.

Don’t think that because I’m being sweet

means you’ve got me forever.

I can slide from between your fingers,

fast,

and before you know it,

I’m gone.

Just because I’ve been dropped

doesn’t mean I can’t

drop you

after turning you inside-out.

Go ahead, try it.

You just try it.

You drop me from here.

No, go a few stories up.

You drop me, and I’ll tell you

it doesn’t hurt as much as before.

And look,

you look at what happened after

I laid in those ashes.

A pillow if my burned dreams amidst the gritty pavement,

raw skin, and

red stains.

But you know what I did?

I got up.

Yeah, I got up,

And now, look in my eyes.

You see that fire?

It will burn you if you aren’t careful.

Cause you know what?

I’m so tired of being dropped that I’ve dropped them,

one by one, so I won’t have to

be swinging, stories high, and then

plummet once more.

But here I am.

I’m telling you I don’t want to be dropped.

No one does.

But boy, if you do,

I’m tellin’ ya now-

you’ll be dropping one of the greatest souls

you’ll ever

But lucky enough to know.



July 2013

The Uniform of Freedom

Forgiveness

Growing Pains

Growing Pains

Adulthood is slippery.

It doesn’t have 1, 2, 3.

I feel like a child more than I ever have before.

Is everyone else understanding these half-formed representations

of my future?

The numbers are clearly marked-a number to say how much

stuff I can keep in me and tell you.

But can we have numbers-linear processes please?

Numbers outside of cinder block walls?

I’m just ring to et there, and I don’t know what the words mean

that are telling me how.

I’m terrified for the day that I’m not gonna know

and something terrible is gonna happen.

Enlightenment shouldn’t be this ambiguous...I’ve never don’t this before.

Can you send help to help me get it?

I can wade my way througha lot of things…my young life

is riddled with battle scars.

Real, hard, confusing.

But this? This is where I say

                                    I know confusing and this doesn’t have to be it.

Please don’t laugh. Please don’t criticsize. Please don’t

tell me I should part the fog with my untrained eyes. Please don’t

make me smaller by showing me how it's done.

                                                I’m still learning life.

                        Can’t you see? This is what I’ve been bad at

                        all along.

Please be gentle. Please show me the new way of counting

I have to learn but show me with love.

Leaving childhood is supposed to be empowering

I feel it a thing that must be endured for the sake

of keeping up with myself.

Their tears roll down with the sugar still on their lips.

This natural reaction has not been trained out of me,

and is proving a difficulty.

I want forever to belong to the wild grass with its sweet yellow

and the sky that is my home.

Spring 2013

Warning!

The girl writing this poem has been distorted by

mentall constructed ideas of what's right

and how to fix it.

she has forgotten over and over why she is here

and who she is

She forgets quite frequently how special and wonderful she is.

She forgets to praise herself more than she tears herself down.

This girl here is learning life the hard way.

She is never satisfied; she needs to be better.

This girl is not without joy-in fact, it is one of her

primary means of survival.

She is not without vision.

In fact, it is one of her primary means of hope, and of

motivation to keep going.

This girl is powerful beyond her own comprehension-

she knows that, and yet does not grasp it.

This little girl is God's daughter, and she often doesn't realize

that she is being held and guided by angels.

This girl is awful at forgiving herself-

it is one of her hardest lessons.

This girl wants so badly to never, ever do anything bad again.

this little piece of Divinity wants so badly to do the right thing.

Her heart is good, and her humanity frustrates her.

this one girl is scared, so scared it almost swallows her.

She cries, then and now, and is healed over and over.

She is inspired, overwhelmed, and rises and falls.

She is a tough warrior, although very few know it.

She loves life, and shows it.

Her life is different, and she is painfully aware.

But she knows that everyone's life is different, and so

she decides that she doesn't yet know,

why. 

But she knows there must be a reason, so onward she goes,

hoping dreaming, falling, and 

forever rising again.

June 3, 2013

May

It’s the month of sweet coconut,

freezing hands,

and heartbreak that isn’t

heartbreak at all.

It’s the restless time,

the chafing at the bit and digging in the heels

into the rich dirt of childhood.

The slide that is time-slick so as to prevent

changing of minds.

The days when the toes breathe freshness

and skin absorbs the Earth.

When the hands spread out, the mind forgets dark,

and freedom spins every child around the yard.

It’s our time-the world belongs to our culture,

right now.

It’s selfishness.

It’s growing from the inside, that growing that pulls

hearts and minds up and out.

It’s the last breath in before

safety’s wind rushes at our backs, telling us

in no uncertain terms

goodbye.

Sticky fingers stained with sugary summer.

Chocolate embedded in the green grass blades.

Black-and-white tags and passports,

and someday letters and stories.

Rustling dresses and goosebump mornings

And the opening of my gate, rusty and humble,

To the most glorious of adventures.

May 17, 2013