staring out at the rushing creek,
standing on the edge,
crushed leaves beneath my shoes.
i toss my phone on the soil;
i don’t need you right now, devil.
instead i focus on the passing water,
on the ongoing march of time
thrusting us forward no matter how hard we try
to make it stop for us.
i sit down.
birdsong fills my ears,
joining the creek
as it glides smoothly over its bed.
leaves brush against each other
as a spring breeze picks up,
rustling their way into my mind.
the gentle wind smells of flowers,
of soil and of memories.
i close my eyes,
allowing myself to forget everything.

-l.s.

you look back at the school
and see your tantalizer standing in the doorway
and realize they have been telling you lies about your self and criticizing you by your size
When you look up at the sky
And realize how bright the sun is in your eyes
you look around and see that the world is so much
more fuller and beautiful than they tell you it is
you see the fluttering the butterflies
and hear the chirping of the chickadees hopping around in the grass
you hear the running of water from the creek behind your home

silence
flows differently
than quiet —

she trickles
like a spring creek;
he tumbles
like warm sand.

There was a creek
Down in a hidden island
Called ******* Creek
Those who went down
And stood in it's waters
Were said to have drowned,
Crippled by the waters
Crippled by the stream
Crippled by the cold

So, I wander down to the creek
With hope that the waters
Might drown out my feelings
That they might sweep away the pain

So, I wander down to the ******* Creek
Hoping for it to take me
And one day I'll return
Anew, refreshed

Come enter the darkness
Come witness a monster, a man
Of features of a rare creature
With a clear path for a seeker
With a life of a greeter. Stay warm in this cold world with heater
Away from the gangsters and strippers.
Join the growers and hipsters.
Free like in the Castro and Mission.
Always in the corner, being a loner, getting high like a stoner,
being awake unlike an employee and being free.
Don't you see the system of delusion where they draw the conclusion but it's time take back the power and find a resolution
And lead to a revolution

The springs offer no explanation that cannot be heeded.
My feet meet the water, which absorbs those sins that have calloused my soles.

The sight of you across the bank, under the cedar
Chills me with a sharp current.
I will never know why the cold water
Surrenders me softly to the Earth,
But grips me at the heart
When you appeared below the trees among
Their fallen leaves.

There are salamanders that live in the creek,
But they are so small, and exist so profoundly in the water
That only the people who have used their lives searching-
To protect them-
Have ever seen these blind animals.

You have never noticed me at the river,
But the river knows that I'm here
To guard the stretch of Earth that keeps us at our ends.

The sky crackles and I feel the most alone.

Just like that day in the woods.

My special place was off the trail, but he couldn't have known me,

I was so young and such an idiot,

Not everyone is genuine but I was so trusting,

I can still smell the sickening mixture of fresh-fallen rain,his sweat, the mud around the creek and salt from my tears.

With every atmospheric collision from the sky
my stomach churns tasting the blood in my mouth from his fist thundering against my tear stained cheeks.

When the wind blows  
I can still feel his callous hands bruising and exploring my unwilling body, and scraping against
the most intimate parts of me.

The lightning is when I remember the rock that found my desperate palms and crashing against his temple

The wind howls and the rain finally starts to fall then, near my belly button burns just like it did when the blade he swung wildly cut me before I could run and the water is my heartbeat pounding  in my ears,
but I can hear him behind me
The rush If my blood reminding me I’m still alive mind begging me to stay that way, his threats pushing me further

Head pounding ,body burning,
I burst through my front door

And then I start to cry

beams of golden shine
rippled atop the creek's trace
glowing in shimmer

The house was big,
Too big for a divorced family of four.
It had sickly, pale yellow siding
With cracking paint and a long archway
That led to a round, asphalt-covered
Backyard.

Most days the trees
That rolled out into the little valley
Alongside it were barren and spiny,
And you could see through them, all
The way to the quiet road that cut
Through the growing houses
Below.

If you were lucky, you would have seen
A few kids shooting airsoft guns,
Running through the fallen leaves,
Leaping atop all the muddy mounds of dirt
Next to the creek, but they
Have lost contact
Recently.

If you were to climb up the little green hill
That rose just next to the mouth
Of the house’s driveway,
Cresting along the edge of the cul-de-sac,
You would see a greenhouse,
Brown, with splotches of dirt
On the windows.

If you opened its flimsy door,
Which was usually locked,
You would see all the uncut tomato plants,
All the sage and spices,
And you would probably wonder
Why they were not harvested
Yet.

But the people who owned it
Usually bought their groceries
Rather than grew them.