Last week

seven of my

children were

all together for

the first time

in a long time.


and as each one

came into the room

to greet me.

I felt my roots

grow

deeper and

deeper to

the center

of the universe.


and in their smile

I saw the smile of

my father,

the smile

of my mother.,


and as I drank

in their laughter

I became

drunk with

life.


and when night

fell

I looked up to

the heavens

took a deep

breath into

my soul.


then I

memorized

the exact place

of every star

and shimmer.


and I knew

I had finally

found my

place in

the universe.

Empty tombstone

bed my *****

picked clean,


my temper

tested and

left to it's

madness.


the unbalance

thoughts of

your leaving.


holes in

my front shirt

pocket,


where I used

to keep all

my secrets

of you.


the tasty ones,

without equal,


the scent of  you

around me

now feeling

like hell's wrath.


I saw you

with him

last night,


him taking

the place of my

kisses stealing

the flickers of

starlight

from your eyes.


but it

was not

me and

I must

swear that to

oath from

now on,


it will never be

me again.


I am an

old photograph

with nothing to

do in your

heart but fade.


an old song

that will never

be able to

change it's

tune.


and your  love

will never

find me

here again.


with my

pants dropped

down below

my knees.


the newspaper

will still come to

christen my

cobble porch

tomorrow


and in the

afternoon

the trash flies

will come to

be scattered

and picked up

by four,


on this

slow news day.


as my bones

turn to grey

and my heart

can ask for

nothing more.


than to stand

in love's

broken corners

alone.

i write them in my notes
keep them like postcards
i cannot bring myself to send
i want to tell you i'm sorry
because i am
i'm really sorry
i'm sorry
that was the best we could do
i'm sorry
that i asked too much of you
i'm sorry
i acted so selfish
i'm sorry
it has taken me so long
i'm sorry
i cannot bring myself to send
the **** postcard

i am the *** waiting for the last turn of the hob until it boils over

i am the glass waiting for the last drop of wine until it spills

i am the frightened child sitting in the dark waiting for someone to turn on the light

i am the frightened child sitting in the dark hoping nobody will turn on the light

It was a small book
he gave me
full of empty pages
and promises.
Like dads who pull quarters
from behind their childrens'
ears
a son
hopes there is magic
in a blank book.
So, I drip letters
from my pen
stacking them
like dragons
or a
firetruck
or a
memory that smells like
the honeysuckle we drank
on bicycle rides.
I pray he finds
a quiet place
where he can hold these thoughts
as firmly as held
his Ninja Turtle sword.

There are two types of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes
and people who…

There is one type of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes.

The poorest people dream
of one pair of shoes-
a right and a left,
a pride to possess.
The not-so-poor-people dream
of two pair of shoes –
one pair for casual,
one pair for dress.

The not-so-poor-
but-not-so-rich people dream
of four pair of shoes-
one black and one brown,
one to walk and one for play.
The not-rich-but-better-off-
than-the-not-poor people dream
of multiple matching shoes-
one for each outfit,
a new pair each day.

The richest people dream
of endless lots of shoes-
two for every outfit
winter, spring, summer and fall,
some that match their pets
and some match nothing at all.

Yes, there is one kind of people in the world.
The kind who love shoes,
and that makes us the same
black, white, yellow or blue.
So, let’s love all people,
people with shoes.
And give shoes to the shoeless
so they can be loved, too.

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

I wish that someone was interested enough
In me
To read between the lines and read
Deep
To point out where I failed
And places I was strong
To stalk me and examine me
And notice my song
My rhymes
My patterns
And rythyms
And tell me that they notice me, because I
Would never guess that anyone would ever
Notice me