Your arms aren’t quite right, your head’s too big
Your legs are turned in awkward ways,
You struggle to take each breath.
We couldn’t love you more,
But I need to know...
Will you forgive
our giving
you this
Life?

The dark doesn’t scare me anymore.
I don’t see your face in my dreams.
The panic attacks are gone.
The night terrors are too.
Often, I walk through
that park. On my
way to spit
on your
grave

Flying
Crying
Multiplying
Terrifying
Shrapnel flying, burned children crying
Deaths multiplying, the world's terrifying

Turning
Burning
Learning
Yearning
Blackhawk turning, HIT, cockpit burning
Troops learning of war, yearning for home

Look
My arms
Have no hands
They are but clubs
My gift from the Interahamwe soldiers
Machetes chopping old, young, everyone
Children, wife dead
One ******
April
Night

Left, Right, Left
Mile after mile
We flood
Feet blistered, bleeding

Mile after mile
Heads down
Bleeding, blistered feet
On a long dirt road to nowhere

Heads down
Driving rain
On an endless road to nowhere
Jeeps, HIDE!

Driving rain
Live or die
We flood
To freedom

I can’t feel my legs
Stay with us, Buddy
The chopper’s inbound
I need some O-Positive

Stay with us, Buddy
Apply direct pressure
I need some O-Positive
Put that one over here

Apply direct pressure
I’ve lost the pulse
Put that one over here
Where’s the Chaplain?

I’ve lost the pulse
The chopper’s inbound
Where’s the Chaplain
I can’t feel my legs

He’s a behavior problem
He’s really smart
He’ll get you killed
He’ll save your life

He’s really smart
He’s too aggressive
He’ll save your life
Look at that face

He’s too aggressive
We’re going to war
Look at that face
He’s absolutely fearless

We’re going to war
He’ll get you killed
He’s absolutely fearless
I was a behavior problem too

Lemon VW Beetle
Pink and green Polo shirt seatcovers
Hippie flowers and surf shop stickers
And her Confirmation Rosary
glimmering in the fading light
She waves
“Call you later.”
The sunset is beautiful

PCH is busy this time of day
Surfers, commuters, tourists
and local kids, like us,
going our own ways
The sunset is beautiful.

Sirens pierce the twilight calm

There are conflicting reports
But
All include the words
Rollover.  Ejected.  Fatality.

Through my tears
I stare at the ocean
The sunset is beautiful

Her cheeks golden apples
Voice a hushed whisper
She smells like coconut Coppertone and sunshine
Her cotton candy lipgloss is sticky on my lips
Tanned skin salty from the surf
Smooth and soft like a puppy’s belly
Blonde hair sun-streaked, warm
Stomachs flip-flopping with teen-crush happiness

Gotta go…
Why?
I know.
Hate it though.

So we linger
To watch the surf swallow the sun

At long last
Relief.
It embraced her.
Welcomed her.
A warm wave.
Taking her cares and worries away,
one drip
at a time.

She watched the drips mingle with the bath water.
Dissipate. Disappear.
Slowly replaced by the peaceful emptiness of the Void.

Halfway. She knew that she was halfway.
The edges of her vision blurred.
Her breathing slowed.
She was slipping from here to there.
From chaos to peace.

Then...
Crashing, screaming, tugging
Peace replaced by frenzy
Solitude by cacophony.

The tranquility that was so close
pushed away by liters of O positive.
How she hated this and THEM.

"We've got her back," She heard someone say.

"I don't want to BE back," she screamed inside her head.

You missed my birthday
Again.

I prayed a million times
And still,
You didn't come.

How many has it been?
Eight or nine or maybe
twelve birthdays?

You've forgotten...

The yellow balloon
with the elephant.

Every year I blow it up
Hoping that it will bring me luck
Bring
You back.

But it doesn't

Bring either.

In the small house down the block...

Hundreds of tangerine air fresheners
hang from the ceiling.

Cars come and go
At all hours
Furtive movement
Car to house
House to car

In the dim light
bills are traded for small baggies
Bits of chemical provide relief.
Temporarily

Nearby...
Children play
Happy
Ignorant of the filth that surrounds them

In the small house down the block...

Plastic buckets
Chemicals and bleach
Hollow-eyed adults use long sticks
to stir the brew
Fiberglass respirators and rubber gloves protect them
There is no God here.

Nearby...
Children play
Happy, smiling
Curious

In the small house down the block...

Skeletal adults are strewn
randomly on floors    couches   and     chairs
Sleeping the non-sleep of the drugged undead.
Cigarettes and blunts burn in ashtrays.
Roaches and rats feast
on ignored food

Nearby...
A child challenges a rat for pizza
She brushes off the bugs
Hunger overtaking revulsion
She bites down
Weekends are bad
Monday she'll eat again
at school
Where she's fed
her only reliable meals.
-- she hates Spring Break --

In the small house down the block...

A toddler bobbles around
He looks into this
He looks into that
Curious about the world around him

A bucket with bubbles
That's fun.
The bubbles are deep
He leans over
He reaches
down, down, down
SPLASH!!!

It must have been the sirens
that caused them to stir.
It wasn't his agonized screams
It wasn't the girl's wailing and tears
Huh? Wha?
They rise
Unfocused, unaware, unconcerned

3:19 PM

In the small house down the block...
A 17 month old boy dies of chemical burns
To the eyes, nose, trachea, and lungs

Nearby...
The skeletal adults are angry
that they will receive $357.84 less
in welfare payments next month.

Was she ashamed of the ******* that she bore?
I’ll never know
Was she ashamed that her children favored a man she despised?
I’ll never know
Was she ashamed of her childhood poverty?
Was she ashamed of her physical infirmity?
Was she ashamed of her educational insufficiency?
Was she ashamed of her family disunity?
I’ll never know

She carried an unyielding burden of shame
Its roots
remain buried with her
forever

Sometimes we see threads of a life we might have led
We pick them up and follow them for awhile
Until the frayed ends lead to nowhere

There are many
The farm
The house on Wilson Road
The places in Texas and Kansas
Not really.

I am not a tree
I am a tumbleweed
Rootless, restless
Waiting for the wind
To take me to the next place

Vea la bellisima y la oportunidad
He sees the beauty and its potential
Vea las flores en el lodo
He sees the flowers in the mud
Vea la felicidad en el dolor
He sees the happiness in the pain
La paz en el ruido
The peace in the chaos

Cada dia toca la tristeza
La pobreza
Pero su orgullo no reduzca
Porque...
Vea la bellisima en la feisima
La felicidad en el dolor
La paz en el ruido
Las flores en el lodo
Es su hogar
Y
Vive para salvar
Cada dia

My death will be like rain
It will seem unpleasant for a moment
Then
You will see how much nicer the world is
And you'll be happy

Mothering In Real Time

I don’t know how you do it,
Mothering in real time

Between Budget meetings and
Committee meetings and
Leadership meetings and
Board meetings and
Volunteer meetings and
Volunteer meetings and
Volunteer meetings…
You manage to
Listen and
Counsel and
Organize and
Discuss and
Attend and
Advise and
Be a friend to so many and
Most of all love…

Mothering in real time
Is what you do
And we would be lost without you

I don’t miss you every day

I didn’t when you were alive

Our relationship wasn’t like that

I do think of you sometimes…

When I make spaghetti sauce
When I listen to gospel music
When I defend unborn life

When I hear a particular twang in someone’s voice
When I smell the desert sage
When a preacher is filled with the Holy Ghost

When Blacks and Whites harmonize
and bring together the best of both cultures
I think of you

When my kids sing
When the music is loud
I see your thumbprint on their souls

There’s
Tamale pie
Pork ‘n Beans
Jiffy Cornbread
and Collard Greens
With the extra bit of salt
The dash of heat
The reserved bacon fat
I gift your flavors to the future

It’s been ten years and
I don’t think of you always
but when I do

You are there

Rumbling tumbling
Spinning twisting
Ideas are socks in my clothes dryer mind
Some emerging fresh and new
Some lost to that forever place where socks
and apparently ideas
go

Anathema: Cursed by Ecclesiastical Authority

She blamed me for her excommunication
She blamed me for her banishment
She blamed me for her ostracization
She blamed me for her condemnation
She blamed me for her fear
She blamed me for her shame
She blamed me for her loneliness disgrace humiliation suffering
She blamed me for her pain
She blamed me for her agony
She blamed me for her dishonor
She blamed me for her punishment
She blamed me for her tribulation
She blamed me for her immolation

My name is Anathema.
She is my mother

His grapefruit-shaped head was just visible above the elephant grass; an ideal target for enemy snipers.
Rainy season bathed the area with an intoxicating petrichor,
inviting him to forget the danger... for a moment.
The new medication caused his genuphobia to subside, but thoughts of knees, terrible horrible knees, still stalked his mind.
Would he live to see his birthday tomorrow?
The fates were ambiguous

I hope
That in the end
I've made your life better

I failed you and you and you and you and you
I let you and you and you and you down
I disappointed you and you and you and you
I was hurtful to you and you and you
I lied to you and you and you and you and you and you
I cannot fix these things.
I can only apologize

Yesterday

Our fingers interlaced
Our hearts intertwined
Our lives interlocked
We sat in church
We soaked up the sun
We traveled up the Coast
We prayed at the Mission
We had brunch in Ojai
We shared salad at the harbor
We danced and played and loved each other
Your smile filled my soul
Yesterday was 30 years ago
I’m sorry that I failed you

Home is where
The wrong word is a slap
crying is a belt
noise is
cigarettes on your back

Home is where they hurt your dog to hurt you
Where the boyfriends come and go
Where the drugs and flesh
are sold

Home is cops
Pounding on the door
Drunks passed out on the floor
Kids asking for more...
Food

Home is needles
it’s pipes
It’s tweakers trading their lives
for a high

Home is spoiled milk in the fridge
Empty boxes and cans and
Roaches crawling
Everywhere

Home is burns and bruises
Scars and stitches
and frequent
accidents

Home is damp ***** stained carpet
smells like ****
I want out of it

No matter how

Home is where
You have a corner of the fridge just for your stuff

It’s where you hide your journal,
Where a fat cat makes your day better,
And where dessert CAN come before dinner

It’s where you skinned your knee
climbed a tree
and learned to make spaghetti

At home,
you’re not popular
or
unpopular
You’re just you.

It’s where you can be neat or sloppy
It’s where Mom lives
and Dad
doesn’t

Home is where you know the creaks in the floor
The code to the garage door
and where you can always go back for more

It’s a comfy couch
dishes in the sink
and warm socks from the dryer

Home is a familiar cocoon
That you must leave
to build your own

Today

They screamed
They mocked
They demeaned
They berated
They castigated
They excoriated
They hollered
They yelled
They scolded
They criticized
They condemned me to Hell

And when I shot them
they died

Make no mistake…
I can live without you
I can thrive without you here
If you leave,
I can move forward
I can get great results
I can contribute to others

But why would I want to?

What can I do to lift your spirit
to lighten your burden
to spark your smile?

How can I be more present
More compassionate
More loving?

How can I be the miracle that your heart needs right now?

Annie’s jagged features create an ominous shadow
Known locally as the kielbasa murderer,
She dispatched her victims with wretched exuberance.

She hunted them while they languished in public spaces
Masquerading as an angel of mercy, she offered food and drink,
Warm blankets, and kind, uplifting words.
False hope for those whose sustenance she had poisoned.

When her evil was complete
The dead were gently covered
A small shrine constructed
And a perfumed goodbye note placed nearby.

"Dear Beloved,
I could no longer bear your suffering
This last measure of comfort is given with all of my love
To assist your transition to a higher place.
With Radiant Peace,
Annie"

Annie helped more than 200 souls transition to a higher place
Then she disappeared.
Dead?
Imprisoned?
Or just moved on…

No one knows for sure.

Have you ever seen a chimp’s hands?
His were exactly like that.
Leathery Weathered Stained
From 50 years of farm work.
Today I see those hands
Moving chess pieces around the board
Masterfully

A moment of dissonance.
Like snow falling on the Visayas,
It was that strange to me.
Simple man, where did you
learn this sophisticated play?
In your tiny village on the remote Philippine island?
Knight to G-5, takes Bishop
He glances up and smiles.

Your skin is so smooth.
My fingers trace your gentle curves.
Just the right amount of firm and supple.
I bring you close – you smell of summer, of sunshine.
I smile

The blade of the knife catches the sun as it pierces your skin
I pull downward
Hard
The skin rips.
Wetness drips
From your exposed flesh.

I see what I have done.
I can’t stop myself.
I cut again
Again
and AGAIN.

I tear you apart.
Ignoring the voices of fairness and reason
That might have – should have – stopped me.

My children’s eyes fill with horror as they witness the frenzy.
They plead, “No, Daddy, Stop!”
I turn to them
Dripping knife in hand
“Do you want some of this?”

They shake their heads and back away.

Good.

This last orange is mine.

I’m Used to Ugly

When physical rejection is as familiar as
Morning coffee

When nice clothes are an unneeded luxury

When the after version of your morning ablutions
No longer result in an uplifting, “You look good”

You get used to ugly.

When you have 2 sets of nice clothes - that are years old

When you do not go anywhere that requires nice things

When your job is semi-professional

You get used to ugly

When your self-deprecating humor is more true than not

When you encourage your spouse to do things without you

When being alone is a better choice than being out there

You get used to ugly

The error message reads: Out of memory.
Its capacity has reached its limit.
But the ‘memories’ that it possesses are touchstones on my family’s journey together.
My son’s tiny five year old fingers learned to navigate MacOs on this computer, with this trackpad.
My daughter’s poems were composed here.
Hundreds of papers, presentations, employee reviews,
and math lessons were clicked and dragged into existence here.
Inside its silicon brain are thousands of family photos, bits of music, and other ephemera meaningful only to us.
Truly, this old computer is our family’s memory box.

No tender words
In gilded script
Will appear on Mother’s Day

No bright bouquets
Family photos or
Teddy bears
Will clutter where you lay

In your life you had no time
For sentiments such as these
You’d rather we spend the money
On cornbread and chili beans.

Buy some toilet brushes and bathroom grout,
I can hear you say,
Or better yet,
Buy the kids some clothes
And put them on lay-a-way.

Don’t shop at those expensive stores
When Walmart works just fine
Why pay $1.62
When you can get it for $.99?

You’d tell us not to bother
Getting cards or presents
But on Mother’s Day you’d be irate
Because we actually listened.

So on Mother’s Day in ‘17
Your gift will be the same
A reused box from Amazon
Where we just X’d out the name
Inside the box are useful things
That do not cost a lot

From discount stores and sales racks
To keep the prices down
We’ll donate them to a shelter
That helps the homeless right downtown
Perhaps that will make you happy,
But my heart is filled with doubt
I’m sure there’s something in that box
For you to yell at me about.

Someone recently wrote that ‘Love Has No Color’
I disagree:

Love is the deep blue of the ocean
It is the pink of my dog’s tongue
Love is the orchid colors of my daughter’s bedroom
And the blacks my son wears to theater

Love is mocha, pale, ebony, and tan
It is emerald, sapphire, chestnut, and jade
Love is honey and straw, pitch and caramel

Love is cherry blossom walks
It’s painted deserts
It’s shimmering skyscrapers
And the intense greens of triple canopy jungles

Love is the color of your first car
And your girlfriend’s prom dress

Love is stained glass
Bright green Christmas trees
And the Easter dresses
Of the church that you call home

Love is your alma mater’s jerseys
And NOT your rival’s
It’s shimmering fireworks with friends
And the long rays of the sun from a folding chair in the sand

Love is not without color
Love IS colors

Love... is colors

You know, the one who never turns in his work
You know, the one who challenges you at every turn
You know, the one who never seems to listen
You know the one who’s late on Monday and skips most Fridays
You know, the one who aces every test
You know, the one who reminds you…

Of you.

Sunrise
A light mist diffuses its rays
Rabbits lap at the morning dew
Eagles circle overhead

Morning
Kids walking to school
Rabbits flee to the bushes
Eagles circle overhead

Women in designer sneakers
Walk designer dogs
Dogs stare intently at the bushes
Eagles circle overhead

Students in PE uniforms
Run here and there
Yelling, chasing *****
Eagles circle overhead

Riding mower screams near bushes
Spraying grass and debris
Terrified rabbits flee the mower’s roar
Eagles plunge downward

Aerie rests upon outfield lightstand
Eaglets screech, mouths agape
Mother rips warm meat from a tiny carcass
Her children will live another day

Noon
Students sit here and there
Eating, laughing, smoking
They leave trash in their wake
The rats are lucky the eagles have eaten
The sky is bright blue overhead

Students in PE uniforms
Run here and there
Yelling, chasing *****
The sky is bright blue overhead

Kids walking home
Individually and in small groups
They ignore the trash
They do not see the rats
Puffy clouds float by overhead

An old Mexican man with a sad demeanor
Walks the field
He picks up the trash with gloved hands
The sun beats down upon his head

Boys in cleats occupy the field
Mouths full of seeds
Moving in choreographed actions
The sky is filled with grayish white spheres
For awhile

Dusk
The field’s lights blink on
Accompanied by a faint fluorescent hum
The eagles are not disturbed
The bright bulbs warm their nest
The sky is cobalt and pink

Groups of uniformed boys run on and off of the field
Spectators’ cheers  punctuate their actions
The eagles sleep peacefully
The sky is obscured by bright lights

Night
A trim Caucasian man moves a heavy switch downward
One by one the lights go dim, silent, off
The last lights are his truck’s headlights beaming across the infield
A crescent moon is visible overhead

Deer and coyotes play deadly hide and seek during the night
The deer seeking sweet flowers and grass
The coyotes seeking the deer
The moon and stars glow brightly overhead

Sunrise
The sun peeks above the horizon
Warm hues of yellow and orange
Songbirds wake to announce the day
Eagles circle overhead

Now:
The EMTs respond.
A Jane Doe is found dead.
Beneath the I-90 overpass.
They lift her
Zip her into a bag,
And transport her to the morgue.
They can’t feel sad.

Today:
The few wispy strands of hair that remain
Dangle haphazardly from her scabby head
Jagged misshapen teeth protrude from dry cracked lips
betraying breath that stinks of infection and decomposition
Vermin gnaw on exposed flesh while parasites feast within.
Her eyes dim as her body putrifies.

Last Week:
Mission workers prop her up against the wobbly chain link fence
A thin blanket is wrapped around her bony shoulders and
Her blue-tarp awning is adjusted
She would be less wet and cold.
For a night.
They leave a cheese sandwich and chicken noodle soup.
The rats eat most of it.
She wouldn’t have kept it down anyway.

Last Month:
The shelter is scary and dangerous.
She couldn’t sleep without nightmares and her screaming disrupted other ‘guests’.
The shelter workers apologize and put her out at 2:19 AM.
She finds a spot between two dumpsters.
It reeks of **** but is unoccupied.
Sometime in the dark she is ***** and beaten by two crackheads.
The crime is unreported.

Last Year:
The fluorescent lights sting her eyes.
The antiseptic smell burns her nose.
The noise and chaos that surround her make her dizzy and disoriented.
She fights hard to get away but is restrained by strong hands – then leather straps.
A painful jab in her arm and then nothing.
Days or weeks later she emerges in a haze.
Kindly eyes greet her.
They stay with her.
They accompany her to the shelter.
They tell her to come back for follow-on care.
She never sees them again.

Before:
The divorce rips her heart in two.
She has nothing.
She is nothing.
Her world crumbles beneath her and she crumbles with it.
Where would she go?
What would she do?
Everything has become so wrong.

Once Upon a Time:
She was happy. Joyful.
Filled with life and hope.
He was smart, funny, successful.
Together they were magical.
Perfect.

In a moment, the news.
Until then, we'll turn to the nation's capitol and have a word with...
Condescending self-important motormouths
Narcissistic bloviating gas bags
Useless over-coiffed talking heads
Disingenuous glad-handing power seekers
Smarmy bootlicking Ivy League backstabbers
Government funded flatulating wind turbines
Spit shined Armani wearing handout seekers
Grudge holding influential bureaucratic petty tyrants
Overworked browbeaten ladder climbers
And, if we can find them, a few nonpolitical working Americans.

"Hello?"
Click
Her voice sounds the same.
After 35 years, nothing has changed.
She is still 19 and I am still 22.
There have been no marriages or divorces.
No kids, dogs, or houses.
There are no commitments or inhibitions.
There is only that perfect wonderland called young love.

Sebastian quivered as he made his report.
Science - We did quiz. I 102 percent
History - We did read chapter. I finish first and wrote answers to questions. All correct.
English - We did grammar lesson. Adjectives. Describe words. No grading.
Sebastian hesitated, just slightly, and his father exploded.
Mathematics! Report Mathematics! Show Me!
Tears streaming. Hands trembling.
Sebastian removed the math papers from his tiny Hello Kitty backpack.
97 percent. Not perfect. Not the best in class.
The rest is unrepeatable.
Humiliation is much worse in Mandarin.

The woman known as Mom hummed contentedly.
The kitchen smelled delicious.
Eggs, toast, juice and what was that, pork chops?
For Breakfast?
An unexpected, delightful treat.

Unaccustomed to cheer, the children entered cautiously.
Looking toward the wall
They saw the hook.
But the belt
The wide leather belt
Was missing

Was that good or bad?

The children took their seats.
The woman known as Mom
Slid their plates into place and urged them to "Eat Up"
Lest their delicious meal get cold.

One careful bite.
A swallow.
Pause....Pause....Pause
No slaps. No hits. No belt.
The children gobbled furiously
Racing to finish
Before she changed her mind.

I forgot the sound of Grandpa’s voice, but not the rattle of the farm truck
I forgot the names of the workers, who smiled so broadly when he brought envelopes filled with money.
I forgot how to tie a fishing knot, but not the taste of the fried fish
I forgot the floorplan of the yellow house, but not the sadness that consumed it
I forgot about the stuff that I hid in the crawl space when we moved
I forgot most of the math after 10th grade, who needs SOHCAHTOA anyway?
I forgot my freshman locker combination, but not the rank smell of a high school locker room.
I also forgot the love that I once felt
because I’m sure that she’s forgotten me

I remember screamed profanities
I remember slammed doors and cupboards
I remember walking on eggshells, slipping silently around the house, not flushing the toilet - hoping to remain unnoticed.
I remember strained car rides and feigned happiness - for the relatives' sake.
I remember the blessed gift of headphones - that drowned out the rage and replaced it with joyful music.

I remember hiding behind schoolwork
I remember 5:00 AM Saturdays, doing yardwork, to keep the peace.
I remember racing through dinners, eyes down
Being done before being done

I remember strained birthdays
Unappreciated gifts
Forced gratitude

I remember graduating
Boarding a plane
And never really going back.

The 8 Days of Hanukkah

On the first day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - A Torah portion that I can't read.

On the second day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Two loaded bagels and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the third day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the fourth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the fifth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the sixth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the seventh day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - Seven Jews a-kvetching, six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.

On the eighth day of Hanukkah, my rabbi gave to me - 8 burning candles, seven Jews a-kvetching, six mohels brissing, FIVE Maccabeats, four Shabbos goyim, three spinning dreidls, two loaded bagels, and a Torah portion that I can't read.....

What do you think?

It had to end this way.
Sorry about the mess.

His eyes fix on a single line
A familiar signature
Screams from the page
The End

Of a marriage
of a family
of a 20 year love affair