I reset the clock and sent you away
at the correct hour you will cry your arrival
to take your place among the elements

We moan and play and push you forward. The future.
We have visions of you, a being already
keeping us safe.  We cover the walls with your image in paint.

I will be your mother
when I see in the mirror the future
that I mean to give you

At night, I think I hear your breath
the echoes of our own. I wake to listen:
You move beyond my ear

I cry, and wrap the blankets tighter around
my naked body shivering
I press my mouth against my lover’s back. The pillow we share

lulls me back into sleep. And I hear you now
faint whispered sighs;
that fade away in the morning.

I remember her
in old
photographs

she'd been
daydreaming
all her life
in her under-age
world

spinning
like a top
eternity
in her head
but recklessness
on her tongue

crusading for
******* summers
in Europe
and all that comes
splendidly hither

when laid down
by the embers
in the groves
close to
the congenial sea

I rightly recall
before the page
turning

electric particles
shooting off
as fireworks
in each of her
copper eyes

and how destiny's
curtain fell
with such
suddenness
that morning of
the thin blue line

I wanted you to be real
I wanted you to be real
Like a fire on a cold evening

Glowing, a spark
For a moment
A short second here,
Now a while gone

I feel the emptiness inside me
Like you’ve taken my fire too
Frozen in my chest
I’m not ready to let go

Little thing I love
Little heart I loved
Like a butterfly’s wings,
Delicate,
one day we’ll meet again

Your belly
Next to mine
Smooth and soft
It subtly moves
As I gently touch it
Caress it
With tender admiration
Innocent and sweet
I listen to them
Rejoice at the sight
Of it ever so slightly
flowing over the seam

My belly
Next to yours
I cringe, look away
Try to hide it
As it’s flawed
It’s Not flat,
Not nonexistent
I’m afraid
Of what they’ll say
Should they catch
A glimpse
Of its imperfections

Yet without mine
There’d be no yours
It’s my womb
That carried you
It gave you shelter
And protection
A space to ripen and prepare
It’s my belly
That gave life to you
And still I reprimand it
Demand that it be
What is expected

Thoughts flow in
Freely on their own
Hijacking their home
I am without defense
Everything is gripped
I can’t break apart
Depression seeps through all cracks
Now that’s what it is
Not just lingering sadness
More like a
“What the **** did I do”
Hijacked.
Is this discussed?
It’s supposed to be sweet
Elation, joy, connection
Overtaken by this body
Turning its back on me
Temporarily
Without defense for now
I hope to come back around
For now I’ll stay
Crying without a sound

Strangely enough, I
almost missed the
birth of my three year
old daughter.
I have never written much for
popularity or trends; this one
is no exception.
My girlfriend and I
had been separated most
of her pregnancy.
I stabilized the last three months and
was able to
travel the 50 miles
as often as needed to
be there for the birth.

The night before she went
into labor, that morning, she acted
crazier than usual--passive aggressive,
and cruel biting remarks.
Finally, she just came out with it,
"I looked at your phone while you were sleeping,
and you have been watching ****.  I'm taking you
back to Mason City and you can just miss
the birth of your daughter.

Luckily, we only made it a few blocks before
she went in to labor.
But, she hasn't let me
live it down.
And I hoped like hell,
as I looked down at my
little angel,
I sure the **** hope
that she never becomes
a **** star.

one: "mom"

crossing the line she had drawn in the sand
cussing me out from holding my hand
these rules and lies all she made up
her chalice of fire scorching my cup

rue the day she came to know
the silent demon hid in my soul
pushing memories out of the way
and succumb to a chasm of arid dismay

two: "rules"

forget the burning in your *****
forget the cursed mine of coins
forget the lashings from her lips
forget the sinner b'twixt my hips

eyes that sting when open too long
voice that scratches when given song
bodies that itch for cursed delights
heart that relates pleasure and fright

three: "Mary"

blessed are they that feel the burn
holy is she that ignores the yearn
but what should she get for crossing her thighs?
not honor nor respect, but labor and sighs

'sainthood becomes her,' the elders all say
'so honest! so pure! and see just how fair!'
whilst only yesterday they'd cursed the *****
remanded to outcast; covered no more.