Two blue birds
A mourning hymn
Two blue birds
A mourning hymn
I was 10 years old when I tested an electric fence. I was today years old when I realized it wasn’t because I leaned my fishing pole against it.
What will I leave them?
my very last breath
10 toes down
Gripping my mother
More and then some
Self preservation can be a fucked up thing sometimes
13 years of muscle memory
A constricted love story
18 years apart left a mark
I’m walking away
Exposing all of me
Restoring a faith lost
Nourishing a wounded soul
Keep your hands in at all times
If at any time the masks drop down
Put your mask on first before helping someone else
Now enjoy the ride
Music is life
Set off that grenade
Shake loose of those crawlspaces
Step into the sun
Love IS what WE need.
My fingertips skimmed a golden sunset
It touched my heart
Then I woke up
Even my most rational mind loves you irrationally
Nagging my heart.
I want to wander with you
Drifting on and on
A wave is crashing.
Carving out the earth.
Taking pieces of land out to sea.
Nothing but a grain.
To gather them underneath us.
To cover them with our bodies.
To hold them tightly to our chests.
To cover their eyes.
To quiet their cries.
His hands were working hands.
Big, thick and strong.
Calloused and stained.
Creased with scars.
Smell of old beaten leather.
He wept like me, my Papa.
We painted with the same shade of blue.
My words fill every corner, crevice and curve of my body.
I hurl them onto this keyboard hoping they’ll stick.
I don’t know whose eyes other than my own they seek.
Whose heart they’re meant to make ache.
I don’t want those tears.
Promise me, when I die, you’ll crumple all of my words and put them gently back into my mouth.
The rock crusher was across the river from the big yellow house. I can still remember the smell of creosote soaked wood in the hot sun.
The smell of the warm yellow grass. The dirt was so soft, it felt like corn starch between my toes. The train tracks surrounding the house.
The big inner tubes Papa would bring home from the loaders so we could float on the pond at the quarry. The smoothness and warmth of the inner tube in the hot sun reminded me of Nana’s belly. I liked rubbing my cheek on it. My safe place.
The hole in the side of Papa’s shop. A crawl space just big enough for two of us kids. Our comics. Baby food jars with our potions of perfume, dirt, bugs and puddle water.
The big pear tree out front with the bats.
That’s where I lost my heart. I think I left it in the blue bathroom. Or maybe the back bedroom. I know there’s a piece in that crawl space. It’s definitely there, at the big yellow house, across the river from the rock crusher. I can hear it beating still.
I’d like to be touched again.
Touched without my shadow.
Touched like a real girl.
A clean girl.
A clean girl who likes to get dirty.
I married a man who doesn’t like touch.
Ashamed to touch.
Awkward with his touch.
Purposeful but meaningless with his touch.
I’m a girl who has been touched.
Who craves touch.
Even when it hurts.
Touch me in the sunlight.
In the backseat of a car.
Just touch me.
Remind me, I’m there.