In the time before the distance
there was a woman I dearly loved

Her eyes they
shined while we
stood in a moonlit alcove
making love

She told me of the
bad places she had
come from once before

She said you'll
find my nightmares
will scream from  
the dark to the dawn

She told me
not one could ever hold her
she needed to be free

She said guilt
is what you
give yourself for
doing exactly what you please

I thought about my wife
I thought about my children
I thought about my past
I thought about my future

She said
which misery do you prefer

she said
come on upstairs
I'll meet you there

We were stuck on the street
neither of us
had the key

I looked at her
She looked at me
Neither of us knew
what to believe

She wound up
with the other guy
moved me along so smoothly
I didn't even know how she did it

I ended up
stuck in Reno
in the crummy apartment
by the river
trout fishing every afternoon
my children on the phone

She sang me a nightmare
song
She showed me exactly where I  belonged

If you are out on
the avenue and you
see her there
tell her
after all these years
I probably still
care
At least when the moon and mood
are blue
and I'm thinking about
my past and future too
thinking about my fate
in the time before the distance.

Unicorns talk from the pillows that lay upon the bed. Butterflies come off of the wall paper and tea parties are the in thing. There is a villain and a hero and always a happy ending. Fantasy is everyday and rainbows are fun to slide down. The world is full of imagination and wonder as the ordinary becomes extraordinary. All dreams are possible if you only see the world through the eyes of a child.

After the preaching is

Done-finished picking at the scabs

Of our guilt,

At week's end / day of rest;

When we almost had it gone

Forgotten

From our minds...

It's a kinder kin to amnesia

A softer fog of fugue

A healing art of our brain farts,

Not soaking in shame's

Diminishment

Or stewing in self helps

"Deliver us!"          bow down genuflect

But then again

Here we are together to gather

Uncomplainingly

Complacently listening

Absorbing every lash

Of the metaphorical whip,

To be guided back to good

The sermon for the humans that we know

We are -- unworthy

But willingly we suffer

The word...

On how to be just like

The lamb...


So afterwards, when after we've been

Emotionally & verbally punctured

Full of hollow

We are holes unworthy

Of being

Made whole...

Or so, we've been told

It is written.


So then let us meet for homily

After King James harangues us

His version of fellowship,

Let us have verbal

******* with the word.

Perhaps over supping

Or during beer & NFL

Or some blood

Sport

Non-emasculating

Reminding us how

Weekends roar

And Life is

Worth more

Than the inner wars

We are ourselves

Fighting.

After the sermon,  

Let's have true verbal

*******.

(Without a shred of guilt.)

Boundaries converge
subduction, descension
divergent margins widen
convective from the core
red hot and sticky
hardening to obsidian

succumb to subterranean pull
an infinitesimal slide below
dense and pressured soil
the slow parting seam
a rift becomes a chasm
consuming solid ground

When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

In order to heal from death
my child,
you must mourn,
and to do so properly,
in order to deal with the pain,
you must plunge a knife,
relieving the deepest ache of loss,
death is not in vain,

Cutting the **** deeper into your chest,

As I'm still breathing,
wise one,
I say alright,

Looking down at my lungs,
taking in some necessary air,
letting go of all my useless despair,

I'm amazed to still be alive,
& hoping to just simply survive,
with such life threatening wounds,

I take one last deep breath,

I remove the beating heart,
look at it pulsing in my palm,
dripping in cardinal red blood,
staining my skin,

I pull away a hand,
& I examine the sticky fingertips,
smear it on my face,
it's my war paint
mixed in with white clay,
right along with your ashes,

I am prepared to go into battle,

I am a warrior,
I would remove my fingertips
for such an important death,
as I make distinctive markings,
on your body,
so that I can find you again,
and lie with you,
your most,
beloved,

I prepare
many,
special,
& important things,
to take with you on the long journey,

You will reach the end,
at the long fork in the Milky Way,
3 days to get there,

And as you lie out in the sweet grass hills,
to talk to the children,
or become a medicine rock,
to heal the deeply wounded,

While I sing an endless mournful song,
& cut off my beautiful hair,
bleed again,
as I cut my thighs,
with a sharp rock,

I am stomping the prairie grass flat,
dancing in circles,
to the pounding drums,
yipping into the night,

I am chasing the dead,

I attach a rope to my wounds,
swing from them,
embracing the pain,
visions given
in the implications,
as music is drumming,

I close my eyes to see the flames
shaking my hands to the dancing licks,
my feet keep moving
find the beat,
the rhythm of life,

Extract the broken parts of my mind,
as some of your essence sinks,
back into your beautiful bones,

As I travel to the edge of loneliness,
as I try to find the end of it,

All souls eventually travel East,
to this paradise,

A lonely spirit tells me,
get on your knees
ask into the deep
wail into the pain,
lean in,
feel it,
retrieve it,
begin to even believe it,

Then pound an angry drum,
dear child
relieve it,

You must,
rail against time,
as you trust,
as you fly into the night sky,
in a blinded rage
write it all down
then gently turn again,
a page,
it's alright to cry,
& no,
this is not goodbye
just break down,
get hysterical,
scream at the night,
let it out child,
howl at that moon,
ask again & again of why,
run through the house,
with no where to go,
go crazy,

& then,
once your heart is healed,
you just come back.

Cherie Nolan © 2016