staying quiet, still...

no one but you and I

I, who carries you like a Christmas present,

walking soft, with a grin and a

prayer

am overwhelmed by what I have been chosen to perform (what a gift! what a task!)

this sickness, this exhaustion is taking everything and everything is going to be fine

staying in survival mode, protective

no one but you and I

I, who has rivers and lakes and streams of strength that you may be surprised to see

I have evoked the spirit of my mother and my Mother

I, too, have swam and seen the beginning...

the tiny kindergarden class room
Love bloomed for the first time
i made a figure 8 with chalk, 2 circles atop each other, amid giggles, my redfaced try at normal numerals
growing to wonder of cats in hats
and stones in soup

but the biggest little thrill of all...
sitting Indian-style next to him and his coveted cowboyboots

weavings

in worlds behind
these eyes,
the handsome figment,
(a girl's girlish delight)
surfaces, in the silent scream of vivid dreams,
electric blue eyes
dance (and promise)
and he lays the strongest hands down,
and I curl up safely in them,
hiding from day
light
and shadows in his face and anxious
alarms

Again
I found a secret ache
Buried in frantic, busy business

Years ago, I stoked it like a fire
I chased the blue ‘til I bled and nearly had to bury it down sweetly

Eager and hungry, I’ve set out again
To find the things that
Fanned the flame….

my white dress

My white dress…

Knows nothing

It fits like him and I
Snug and chic and oh-so-soft
It knows nothing of our moment
Of surrender or
, the way my body really looks, the scent of us together, or his Icelandic eyes

It knows nothing of
Our clumsy life,
Our throw-down, the hugeness of this love

my white dress...
Assumes everything
And lies in stillness
I’m the life that puts it in motion
And his is the one I will move with
In every dance,
Every chance
I want my dress and I to float up to him
And vow, with honeytongue,
To have and have and hold him

(My white dress is surrounded in a lie like diamonds)

the city

new new york
the same stores with different versions
the giant metal worm of the subway
the dark Avenue B bar,
the tipsy Rockfeller letdown,
the lack of clean space,
unknowingly smoking the entire city’s cigarettes,
my favorite was
the eccentric
Basquiat park, with strange metal twists and statues
And the free Little India wine
with mango ice cream

Indian Summers

sweet, sticky, hissing warmth
looking for excitement and escape out of my bedroom window
recalling the slow sound of a saxophone down the street
the summer made sweat cling to my clinging nightgown,
mornings were spend waiting for epiphanies about the cool water strokes,
the explosion of fireworks, evening ice tea and sweet girl rhymes of silly loves filled most nights
I, finding a bit of honeysuckle on the summer-worn path, tasted sunshine and wanted to share…
Guilty only of slathering myself with summer, filling the lackadaisical time with whispers,
Prayers