If this is a dream, I’ll meet you at South Mountain when we wake

“Daddy Long Legs”

He sauntered suavé
from his mother’s womb and she
carried him on the wind like a leaf
all the way from Porfirio Diaz, Mexico.
They say spiders can love butterflies
I am not always sure

There is something in the warmth
of his brown body
curled around mine in quiet moments
an intrigue of danger to the female heart

With his head of black hair and
taut legs climbing into a fast car
a seductive pillow talk and smiling
hoyuelo whispering words of
forever until the dawn

It was summer then
and there was always the fear
his great migration was merely to
find his next prey
I sometimes suspect he eats Monarch Butterflies
my fragile wings all aflutter


“In love with the Taliban”

Nine years it took
for me to find myself again
There you were trying to sell me candles
that burned long after the sushi and
sake were gone

I had to laugh when your dark lips asked
“Are you married?”
In the middle of our first love.

Then you asked in Japanese
“What time do you have to be home?”
Oh—my smile released purple butterflies
From my exposed heart; I believe
I am
finally home

We sat close through the whole movie
our hands sweating to reach out for one another
Fell completely in love
without touching

When you slept in the hospital bed
next to the tiny redhead
When you watch me dress
like you really mean it
Even when you ask me what if…and
I can’t be bothered to answer

You speak to me in Spanish
“Calme te mujere.”
All I hear is
the way your lips move
to the sound of my breath

I see the picture of you
your beard growing into your eyes
because your days are spent
playing peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake
with the love who now holds your hand

and I think,

Man, I’m in love with the Taliban.




Eruption of Gaea

From the first moment you entered
There has been no silence
Your noise in my ears, ringing
Shake my head as I might
Always you leave the forest child
Crying, screaming, wailing, NO!

I feel the constant stamping of your feet
Multiplying, tortuous repetitive kick, over and over
in the same spot
Slowly, meticulously you butcher me day and night
Shave me
Open me
Drill me
Slice me
Incarcerate and embezzle my power

A force you think you can command
No more

Stop calling me Mother
I am
Not your victim
Not your patient
Not your little girl
Not your little flower
No patch of garden for your seeds to sow
Not your poisonous weed to rip
Though you rape me thousands of times over
With your Oedipal scarring
You call caress
You do not know
Beast that I become

My tantrums
My threats
My warnings across the sky
Do not stop you
From coming; from coming
Through every barrier
You blast your obsessed incestuous prick
My totem protector rising

I reject you like the foal
Too large for the birth canal
A hoof kicked up to slash your nursing mouth
Whip my ancient mangled mane
Around in the wild winds
To conjure a warpath
Destruction beyond what your feeble mind has seen

When at last a peaceful settling comes
Not a speck of you or me remains
Nothing left to kiss
Not to hold in your calloused hands
Not to lie on top of me under the wishing star
Not to hold in your lips to drink
No lines in the sand or borders to cross
No flags to plant your claims on me
I belong to no one

Little man
We both cease

I am Spirit,
Land, Skies
You are not of me
Not of my dust

Dear Boy

Dear boy

Playing at being a man
we are both children today
not old enough to care for another
or each other

I admit
at first I imagined her soft pink fingers
wrapped around mine
enough love for a full round belly
as I held her wide and blue-eyed
to my breast

I wonder if you heard only cries
hers, mine, your own,
smelled the diapers piled high
felt your teenage wallet on a chain
thin in your pocket

I thought you should know
before you kiss your mama goodnight
I did what you wanted
what you could never do
from your crouched and quivering corner

Put on my cape
with fists clenched and faced the darkest night
as fearless as a child alone could be
but not brave enough
to see any other way
I stilled our unborn beating heart today

Something Called Freedom

How can I love you any longer
when all we do is fight
my children are dead
your children are dead
shot in their six-year-old heads
learning double digit subtraction
a sacrifice you accept
you willingly weep while you
make small caskets to fill
as long as no one takes your right
to make and fill large magazines too
for the kids of course
because without this second right
how will we protect them
from the bloodshed rising between us
in the name of something called freedom
a hideous demon
masquerading behind the face of a man

What he does not know

(for Kyrsten)

With white morning sun
a song of you
from subtle melody to crescendo
all I can think
is to wrap myself in the grasp of your
tempo where we play all day
from good morning sunshine
to twinkle twinkle little star

I am lost to know how he chooses black of road
silver buildings, amber bottles, barrels,
and other make believe worlds
instead of your arms around his neck
your worship of all that he is
and never was

what he does not know
will hurt him like a broken bone never healed
a pain that does not kill
but wakes him each day to remind him
he still lives in spite of it
pain that never allows his laughter
to be full or true again
your longing for him now becomes his longing for you then