floating and leaving no trace
that weight on my shoulders
it is no feather
nor unbearable
i will carry us
carry you
carry me
through brambles
through flame
through disaster
i will be the disaster
so will you
we will not emerge
unscathed
but we will emerge
together
i would fit you in my pocket
if i could
but
you already fit in my heart
in that spot between my shoulder blades
where our wings emerge
——
i want to be made of metal
and electricity
i wouldn’t mind the rust so much
if i knew it were coming
if i could clean and polish
the rivets and oil the joints
but unlike the woodsman
i can do without the heart
with it’s complicated gears
incessant ticking
always needing a gentle hand
to turn the key to keep it beating
even better, a data bank
–please, god, not the cloud–
would be a fine sanctuary
to store my mind
to let my consciousness expand
i promise i won’t
launch any nuclear anything
or ever go rogue
i won’t even bother you
asking for a game of chess
——
the sun hangs angry and red
two hands above the horizon
like a sleepy devil’s eye
burning through smokey clouds
though soft and orange
i am punished for looking
it scars the inside eyelids
i see its echo when i close my eyes
i will see its echo
when i sleep
and dream blind
——
the outside should be hard
the inside soft
like a marshmallow wrapped
in a tortoise shell
once used to foretell the future
something fatty
something greasy
something brittle that will
shatter between my molars
i long to grind it up
powder the marrow
against my teeth
saving the last part
the blood part
for the end
when the eighth month comes
there will be hunger
——
the feelings appear
like a sudden moon
shining in the night sky
darkness ripped away all at once
but the stars are so small
and so very far away
far away from me
far away from each other
i will own this sadness
though it’s not authentic
this melancholy that turns
like a record in a jukebox
that spreads its roots
like a tree growing
from my chest, bursting through
bones and sinew
i will carry it
because letting go is cowardice
and facing it is cowardice
and writing this is cowardice
—–
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #45
OWN | TURN | SHINE | TREE | STAR
my pulse dances in your veins
no small victory for me
knowing that i once moved you to wonder
to see more than obscuring clouds
more than the blinding sun in the sky
mukashimukashi, i saw the heavens part
and though the angels were not visible
i felt their eyes upon me, reducing
my organs to ashes
i hold them out to you now
——
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #44
MOVE | SMALL | WONDER | DANCE | PART
the woman sits at the loom
thread in her hands
she measures a cord
an arm’s length equal to
the length of a man’s life
if she coughs
or bored, looks out the window
as she pulls the skein
the measurement
might lack
if she sings freely
a song that makes her smile
or remembers a boy lost
to all but memory
she may add an extra span
she adds no knots
weaves no pattern
that task goes to
a sister already tangling
measured threads
the pattern and the knots
disguise the true length
hiding years, hiding dead ends
hiding where the third sister
kissed it with her blade
——
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #43
SONG | WOMAN | FREE | NO | LOST
i don’t know the meaning
of dreams anymore.
i raise my hands but there is no
parting of the clouds.
i tried automatic writing
once. i let the other
take over. scribbles and cries–
i don’t know. the meaning
may be buried under the ground
struggling, but ready to bloom.
or is it just the decay
of dreams? anymore,
i find that it doesn’t matter.
i don’t need to understand
how the automatic door works.
i pretend to use the force.
i raise my hands.
it obeys, and opens.
i find that there are still
surprises left to be surprised by,
and maybe one more
parting of the clouds.
——
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #42
MEANING | RAISE | CRY | DREAM | GROUND
today my hands hurt
and i struggle with the clay
cutting the base free
to mount it on more clay
to raise it up
the finger bones ache
and i think a good use for them
would be a mala necklace
i ignore the pain
in the joints
but feel it while driving home
these little betrayals
of body makes
a little more paunch
a little less hair
a little more nose
a lot more jowl
so many more things to worry about
and the constant threat
of pain in the feet
of pain in the hands
the chest
memento mori
i count these off
on my finger bones
om mani padme hum
——
the top of the moon
reflects nearly as much light
as the moon’s bottom
——
for
Ronovan Writes
Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt
Challenge 100: Top & Light
Words and Feathers 