a rock
I was a pebble
an untreated freckle
under men’s feet
stuck in the grooves
the bottom of some man’s shoes
till I wiggled free

I am
a rose garden
I was a ****
men pruned
till the sun shined on me
and I bloomed

I am
a songbird
I was a worm
a slimy germ
for bait
hooked on a line
twisted as twine
till I sprouted wings
and began to sing

I am
a mountain
I was anthill
till I grew a set of *****
two thousand feet tall
now men have to look
up to see me

back and forth on the red and
black hammock in my backyard. Tied around
the tree, tied just like me to things that
don’t make a sound. Fast or slow/high or low
I’m lifted off the ground.

I swing
to the song of the robin bobbing up
and down in my teal birdbath. He drinks
and makes a splash, wetting his wings. Then takes off
for better things.

I swing
my head to the neighbor’s screaming
kids. As they’re breaking up this reverie
two squirrels hanging from my tree are batting at
the birdfeeder. Spilling the seeds on the ground
as it swings to the sound of the breeze.

in your head, as you turn
down the violet sheets in your bed to climb
inside. Leave the canvas white. Don’t fill
it up with mountains and sky. How can you

hear a thing she says with a boombox
pounding between your ears? How can you
see the tears she's shed with striped shades pulled
over your eyes? How can she add her piece

when the pages are cluttered with
your beliefs, sneaking in the dark as
covered black thieves. Stealing all the apples
from the trees you planted outside.

a bed to spread the cheese. I don’t like
being stacked with all the rest. I should be
served only to the best.  I break into pieces
when I’m tossed inside a cardboard

box. I’d be lox, a smoky orange-
pink fillet. Sweet, smooth, and shiny. Not
crummy. Cured and plated on Bone red China
for the grandest diner that savors the brine and

smiles as if I'm a satiny shiny fleet. Not just
a snack of wheat that sits as a Ritz served to campers
for a treat. Or placed in rows as dominos looking
like clones. That's not for me!

melting in the sun. His life had begun
on a cold December day, with a round
pointed nose. And two twigs for arms. I’ll often
remember him with a cherry licorice grin

curled upon his face and his top hat
out of place sliding on his bald pate. This heart
began to thaw. But as the days marched on,
so little of him I saw.  He couldn't stand

the heat. And every day we meet, I'd have less
of him to hold. As spring danced into blooming
gardens and dandelions he sprung a leak. By April
he was just a puddle at my feet. He dried up at noon

leaving only his hat and scarf in the silver
shadows of the moon. Was he made up in this head
from all the books I read? Or was he a rolling
stone that couldn’t find a home?

warming me as a fuzzy woolen
sweater. I paid you as a debtor with this
silky red heart. My edges you
singed. And turned into fringe. Then you

cut out the frills. And just as a mill crushed
me into kibble and bits. Melting me down,
a golden globe of butter. And I swam in the
clutter, greased in the lard. Till I hardened as

the sticks in my backyard. You kicked
in a pile and with match and guile made
a bonfire. And I in turn warmed you in the light
of the harvest moon.

on a three-dog night
as the cracked shades pull down
around my shoulders.
The moon is plucking

older. Morning stealthy hums
like a Trappist nun. And I’ll
trudge out of this bed like I’m pulling
a sled of bricks. Stumble into the kitchen

to fix my morning coffee. The chair
is cold and hard as toffee. But I
plunk into it like a stone. And mull over
this day with feet of clay falling

asleep in their fuzzy slippers,
as I sip on the sludge in my mug. I can’t
budge out of this chair to wash my face,
brush my teeth and do my hair. So, I stare

into space and wonder how I got here. Yesterday
I was spry and could fly out the door. Today everything
hangs like the dust on the ceiling. And the only thing
that grows is the mold on the bathroom floor.

like a rose
smelling sweet with candy apple
crimson cheeks. Till your silky petals fell.
And your head drooped. I could tell you
weren’t yourself. And all you left me
was a stalk jagged as a mountain rock.

You came on
like a watermelon
ripe and dripping down my chin,
like strawberry and vanilla gin.
No tellin’ you were overloaded
with hard black seeds. And even as
I spit ‘em out they grew sprouts.

You came on
like a song
on the radio playing soft
and slow. And I danced to
the music, making my head spin
like a record on a turntable.
Filling me with reverie like the honey
bee/till I was stung by the lash
of your tongue.

You came on
like a locomotive
puffing and pulling me along
on your tracks till you derailed.
And I crashed.

as a babe swaddled in her rose
cotton blanket. Covered as the tables filled with
blooms in a wedding banquet. Wrapped in
the love sauce as a beef burrito, I, a tiny starving

bambino. Wrapped like a caterpillar
in her cocoon under the glow of a midnight
moon. But tight in that stance/not emerging
as a violet butterfly spry and ready for

the dance. Wrapped up like the birthday
presents in bows, glitter, and satin ribbons. And losing
my head as the chickens stuffed and pushed
in the oven. It wasn’t at all becoming.

to sprinkle over me and not baby powder
I can rise in this heat. And not lie as a wafer. It's much
safer when they don’t know you. None can expose
you. I’ve pulled apart like an onion flower, crispy on

the outside and silky on the in. But I’m more than
just a weeping, rolling bulb of yellow skin. I’ve
curdled over the years from jumping hurdles
as a horse. I’m looking for the path that’ll

take me on a different course. Old as the oak
in my backyard. But even he turns his leaves from green
to red and gold, a blooming marigold standing high
with head pushing through the sky. But I’m the sort

of woman that doesn’t shed her leaves. I’m tired of
acting like a dog matted down with fleas. I’m going to
shake loose from this noose wrapped around me.

as well as lovers
I should have thrown
in the fire. Their ashes
a catharsis. So, I can shed this

heart of darkness. The years
have grown mold around all
I hold. And now the men and friends
have floated as old eggs

in a bowl of cold water. They don’t
meet me down at the bottom. I’d be
better if they were forgotten.

again. Been in this battle
since when. But I’ve readied myself
to ride out into that cold dark
night, following the trial of

stars and moonlight. I’ve packed
light. My pen is my compass
and friend. I’ve sheets without
a bed, spread *****-nilly in this

head. Till I lay them down,
wrinkled as a turtle on the beach,
and dripping as a sun-sweet apple
peach. I’ve nectar without a flower. The bees

are the hours that’ll pollinate the
chapters, filled with teardrops and laughter. As I
turn the page on all my younger days
I'll heave a billowing sigh out toward a blistering sky.

full of life and flame
none can blow out this light
I'll not fit into some man’s wooden frame
I’ve turned my arms into wings
now see how high I’ll fly
my hips have carried a child

my legs have walked for miles
my hands have baked and sewed
eyes have wept and glowed
this ***** that fed my babies
now flops and hangs so lazy
the stretch marks across my stomach
are from birthing two boys
whose heads had plummet

the line on my face showing my age
are filled with love now and sage
my head hasn’t swelled, only my ankles
for standing for years in this shell
I buried my father and mother
as God took my son’s only brother
and smiled through all the pain
dancing and singing in the evening rain

eagle wings
and so, fly off over mountains
into prairie skies
passing by
cold dark nights
of weeping butterflies
and cricket jives

The days have
walking feet
that beat the pavement
in scorching heat
burning holes through the soles
of the old

The days have
chapped lips
that drink the nectar
from fingertips

The days have
jagged claws
that scratch through hours
with biting jaws

laying in shards of glass
greying and hard en masse
scattered as autumn leaves
crackling crimson underneath men’s feet

billowing gusts of dust *****
lolling in trees where critters crawl
crystalizing as snowflakes
blanketing tongues and cherry face

set as dewdrops on emerald blades
or beads of sweat on humid days
hailstones that ping-pong off cars
ashes that fall from smoked cigars

painting an azure sky in a mosaic
can’t say that these pieces aren’t prosaic!
an artist’s touch brings them to life
making them shine in the spotlight

of you like I do with my hair
in a dollop of shampoo then life
could fly like a breeze. I’d tease out the snarls
with a wide-tooth comb. Set my life
straight as a femur bone.

If I could wash myself clean
of this mess like throwing the dresses
mashed in my closet in a plastic bag
and deposit it at the Goodwill store. Then I’d
have room for the things I like more.

If I could wash myself clean
from the past, of every relationship that
didn't last./that didn't shape me into
this woman that is now erudite. I'm not
light of the weight. But I've spread it out
so it's not packed in one place.

you were just an idea -
a thing I planned
to do down the road before I
grew too old.

I loved you when
we were trying. And every month
crying when all the tests came back
negative. And my stomach lay flat
as a door mat.

I loved you when
you were only a seed
floating in midstream. And I
couldn’t wait for the due date. As
I saw two pink lines I screamed
no more drinking wine!

I loved you when
you played kickball
in my stomach. And as I grew
so fat I couldn’t see my feet
or tie my shoes. And then the doctor
said paint the room blue!

I loved you when
you pushed that big head
out into this world! And as I saw
those red chubby cheeks, so breathless
I couldn’t speak.

I loved you when
you were up all night. And couldn’t
sleep without the lights on. And in the early
morn, I looked like a creature from
Dawn of the Dead.

I loved you when
you wobbled like a weeble
and drooled like a rabid fox. And
pulled off both socks only to
stuff them in that tiny mouth. And I
pulled them out.

I loved you when
you called me mama. And my
tired legs couldn’t chase you
as you ran sprinting
like a cheetah/turning faster than
an ameba.

I loved you when
you shot past my shoulders. And as
you grew older I loved you even
more. And I’d miss you and worry
when you were at school or out with friends
and as you lay sick in bed
with a high temperature. And that
hasn't stopped/the love and worrying.
It's part of this thing called mothering.

at last year’s leaves
it looks like cluttered
debris, just like
my cherry red bedroom

drawer of scattered memories
I abhor.  I haven’t
the gumption to clean up
the messes of my lie. They hang

as the dresses in my tiny, splintered closet  
mashed together as potatoes from
every deposit. And filled with holes
from moths eating at

the satin clothes. And stains stuck
like gravy from too many
maybes. If only I can remove all
this baggage of war. I'll begin

this weekend with my bedroom drawer.

behind me? Footprints in
the snow that’ll melt as the day
grows old? Or am I an ice cube that'll
lose shape, watered down

thin as a crepe? A silhouette
on the wall for all to discern
like the Rorschach test in turn? Am I
just a fallen log that’s ****** on

by passing dogs? Or am I spackle that
oddballs like to tackle? Don’t spread
me out as filler. I’ll carve my initials
with a hammer and chisel on every pillar

and door/ on every mountaintop and
marble floor.

or give me nothing! If I can fly
but not perch I’d have no rest within
my search. I’d have no spot carved out
for me. Even the honeybee fluttering

from flower-to-flower flies back
to the hive upon a heavy shower, in a
colony of friends. Then flies off
again. Strong and tall as the red oak

it stands all day in place and doesn’t
move. And if a stroke of lightning hits
it cannot run/only split and land in the same
place as it stands.

of the string
tethered and wound
around my hand. Ruts
that cut and bled out from
holding on so tight. I saw
the balloon fly off into
the night, till it exploded
littering the sky.  But not as stars –
just blots with no shine.

I let go
of the reverie
that filled my head
like a drunk that passed out
and plopped into bed. As I awoke
my head heavy as a big bowling
ball. I couldn’t lift at all. I fell
flat on my back till the spring, as
the flowers were blooming and robins
did sing their sweet songs. And I saw
what I missed all along.

a moment
jump back into the frame
you can't take my place
I’d have things the same
look behind me –
now it’s yesterday

If I could freezeframe
this man
twist-tie the hands of time
wrap myself around him
as he’s mine
so, we can chill out and unwind

If I could freezeframe
that year
hang it on the wall
if only I'd looked into a crystal ball!
but then you don't have a second chance
this movie plays out till the end
can’t rewind –
and go back again

Forever is make-believe. The sun
only shines in the day. The sky grows dark and
grey. The red and golden leaves fall off
in the autumn breeze. Friends are like

the snow. They leave me cold. And
then turn to ice, leaving puddles of memories,
stealing apples from my eyes as thieves. I spend
more time talking to the head in the mirror,

the only woman nearer to me than
any of them, so-called friends. White knights
turned to black nights. Tossed like a salad. And limp
as I, so pallid. I ache to hold onto a mountain, strong

and fixed/not thrown like a stick. That I can look up
to and rise in altitude.

of my head.
This reverie sticks to me
as the sweaty sheets
in my bed. Wrapping around
me as a burrito, clinging to me
as a beach ***'s speedo.

I can't get him out
the door.
He's blended into
the furniture. He's woven
in the tapestry. We're packed
together like bananas
in a banana tree.

I can’t get him out
of my heart.
My blood’s shaken up
as cream churning
into butter. The reds
solidify and make
my heart flutter.

a seed
covered in dirt
alone and cold
in the dark wet earth
but out I sprout
into the sun
just as I am
alongside no one

I am
a cloud
hovering in the grey sky
I rain on everyone
that passes by
but I cool off the grass
as the afternoon passes
and spread my shade
on every emerald blade

I am
the dust
that lays on the table
swept up as Clark Gable
in a switch of the wrist
but I’m grist for the mill
with my paper and quill

as I pushed out
into this hard world
a cold wet baby girl
through screams and men’s
hands wrapped around
the tiny infant

I was alone
as I sat for lunch
shoulders hunched over
my lunch
in the school cafeteria
blending in with the exterior

I was alone
an only child
in my room
as girls went to dances
and parties
proms and semi-formals
I was not normal

I was alone
in his company
standing as a door frame
that he walked through
hanging over him as the blue sky
a cherry silhouette
on standby

stick like gum underneath your shoe. But I can’t
undo that first meeting. I couldn’t
stand and with labored breathing, I wasn’t
the Mona Lisa. I was the leaning

tower of Pisa! You met me in a
hurricane, unraveling in pain. Driving in
the breakdown lane.  I can’t fix this
bent rearview mirror. But pedaling ahead

I see clearer. So, as we say goodbye
I’ll hold my head up high. Look you
in the eyes and apologize. This is how
I'd like you to remember me, as crimson
golden leaves blowing in the autumn breeze.

as you/no matter all the
whitewashing you do. The indelible
stain that lies under her chest

cannot be wiped clean from
her heaving red
breast. The lipstick smiles

and lilac perfume makes us grow
faint as she crosses the room. You
can’t gloss over the filthy mess

that lies under the stitching of her
lacey white dress. She can cover the
cake in satin gold cream but slice through

a piece and you'll see the gleam
only shines on the outside. The middle
is riddled with mold that crumbles

and can't hold together/overstuffed like
the drawers in her dresser. I'd not fare
to go near and undress her.

I hung my bleeding body
on to dry. At war with myself, I saw
a place to lie.  A satin red
flower erected on a tower of

spines. And fell on a pincushion
of needles and pins that made
my head spin. And ripped a hole
in my side. Torn so wide I split

in two and grew spikes in
my pupils from a man with no
scruples. This, from two stars
colliding. I'm sliding on a fast track

back to earth. Still at war with
myself.  Now the spikes that girth me
are my hands and my knees. And there's
no soft place to lie.

relationship of honey and
purple flowers
rainbow bridges and
gumdrops showers. All we have

is all we need. Al and me
and the honeybee. We dance and
laugh. But do not bake.  All we make
are mudpies and patty-cakes. The only thing

we string along are beads and some
old notes to songs. We don't dress
up. But every day we wear a smile with
colored underwear. We look through bright

blue and red picture books. All I miss is
his kisses, hugs and cuddles and starlight
wishes. Many call us fluff. But we have
each other. And that’s enough!

strung clothes on the line
young ***** wind whipping blind
pigeons dropping bombs again
shooting balloons of estrogen

waiting in the frozen rain
splintered from a winter’s sun
skin peeling off like an onion
dropped into a stir-fry
wilting violet butterfly

It was the last time
choking on the words
trampled as herds of buffalo
crushed into red peppered flakes
rigging the sauce
stepping on the brakes

burn this red candle
it shrank so low
it’s flat as my sandal

glowing a golden amber flame
standing ***** at the windowpane
melting beads of teardrop wax

hoping soon you’d drive back
till the light choked
billowing clouds of dusty black smoke

I will no longer
hold this door ajar
looking out for a shooting star
spring flew as the robin
after a cold winter of sobbing
and falling like the autumn leaves
cracking neath the boy’s hot feet

through lonely cold winters
as I splintered
black nights unraveled
little pieces of gravel
crushed together
turned stone
Man chiseled me down
to the bone
and still….

I held on
in marmalade autumn
as red and golden leaves
fall to the bottom
and man tramps
a scoundrel in tan pants
even then….

I held on
as a song on replay
melting as
a sunset on fire
till I turned
to liquid ****
man poured straight
from the tube

as I lay in a puddle
at his feet
I mustered the strength
to retreat

to **** out my garden.
Now there’s no room
for the roses to grow.
So, all that they do
is hang their heads low.

I hadn’t the time
to clean out my closet.
Now the skeletons
are dancing a jig
wearing my corsets.
I can’t jar the door
even if I force it.

I hadn’t the time
to dust the grey cobwebs.
Now they’re dangling
as pearls over my bed.
And bead up as teardrops
in stillness, I shed.

that when thrown
ripple outward
heavy and sodden. Not like
the painted violet and red ones

untrodden sitting quietly
in grandma’s garden. They shine
in the honey sun. And raindrops
pearl on everyone. Don’t move

them from their nesting place
when you’re not in the right
headspace. Better a flower
than a missile. This world needs
more silk than bristle.

to the end
the women I called friends
after the spilled perfume
they left the room

the men
I said looked out for me
as my shadow
were soft as Brie

They didn’t make it
to the middle
to them, I'm an image
the bonbon
that is spinach

They didn't make it
to a beginning
they judged this tree
from the splinters
they couldn't make it
past the winter

in his chain of
“can’t let gos”
with a flick of
finger I began

to quiver
till I toppled on
the next spotted
vagabond that

fell as hard
as I
neither standing
after the ride

as he laughed
to see us all
knocked out flat
that's the last

I'll fall in line
for a man's tricks
no matter his shine

as the clock on the wall
like the leaves in the fall
caterpillars grow into butterflies
but your change only soaked my eyes

You changed
as the day into night
turned black from all white
women like a pink sunset
but your change left me with regret

You changed
like the ocean tide
as a carnival ride
kernels turn into buttery popcorn
but you only left me in scorn

You changed
from spring to winter
from a mahogany table
to a flat board of splinters
in spring flowers bloom
but your change left me little room

when storm clouds
puffed mightily
hung in billowing shrouds?
Where was he –
Out smoking the ****.

Where was the sun
as pelting hail
flung from the sky
whipping his tail?

Where was the sun
when the morning rose?
Did his petals fall off
when he struck a pose?

Where was the sun
as I lay crystal cold
in the shade?
Was he rolling himself
in a penny arcade?
Banging and spinning
scoring his winnings!

this overcoat
of friends
filled with smoke and
lies. I’ve worn for
years. Drenched in tears
it’s soaked and heavy
as my father’s 60 Chevy.

Time to Shed
this wrinkled skin
I’ve lived in all my life. It’s pale
and thin/stretched
too wide. I cannot hide the
Lilly spots that branch out
from my eyes.

Time to shed
this painted red
drawer of memories
beside my bed. I haven't
energy to sift through
the pile/sort out the happiness
from the bile.

in the sun
in scorn, it burns
and shoots out thorns
that yellow the ferns
turning the lawn to hay
hardening the ground as clay

There’s no Joy
in the wind
in haste, it blows
uprooting every rose
sneezing out dust
to me it disgusts

There’s no joy
in the trees
they shed their leaves
as a dog does fleas
in a hot bath
sticking out their branches
with wrath

There’s no joy
in song
it carries along memories
of days I danced in the sun,
fluttered in the wind
and hung on a tree branch limb

are lush butterflies
with crushed wings
in azure, yellow, and violet
marmalade

trapped in a glass
like a ball in a penny arcade
rolling in a memory
stolen from the air

they breathe
melting as ice-cream
in a hot July
they'll be a puddle

of pistachio as they die
sticky to the touch
running as a river
down every finger

you trace
but you sealed the top
and twisted tight
and stored them in
the back of the cupboard
out of sight

flower
then to find myself
flapping the hours
in a garden of weeds

I’d rather be a lone
starfish
on the shore
then to explore
in a sea full of mercury

I’d rather be a lone
feather
floating down the river
then stuck together
on eagles back

I’d rather be a lone
cloud
lying across the sky
then a loud
clap of thunder
rumbling nearby

I’d rather be a lone
head
deep in reverie
then lost in dead
men’s memory

as the sun melts down
like butter
but only as it rises
don’t act surprised if
if I roll off you
as the morning dew

If you’re not there
as grey clouds
pour shrouds of pelting rain
but only as the rainbow
bridges the sky
I’ll form wings and fly

If you’re not there
as the oak grows bare
in the thick of the winter
as the trees splinter
don’t step at all
as golden, crimson
marmalade blanket shade
in the fall

bought me little, just a lot of
dead weight carried around. A penny
a day didn’t pay for all my pain. Wasted
time and a bungle of lies that destroyed

lives. I carried them in my pocketbook
the first year. They jingled as I walked up
the stairs. I said I'm pulling down stars. So, I moved
them to a bigger jar. Did they shine bright

in the thick of the night. But as the years
passed the lid didn't fit on the glass. The sparkle
turned to rust. And he blew me off as dust
in the wind, carrying the weight of a thousand sins.

than you. He doesn’t care
for money or station. He can spend
hours smiling at the sun, picking a
flower/beading a string. He

doesn’t care a thing about labels
or how he looks. I often find him
head deep in a book. He’s
happy just to see me. We go for

a walk, with none of that
highbrow talk. He’s happy
for all he has. But many wouldn’t
say he has much. He has touched

my life like none ever can. And
he’s more a man than you. He fell
into a coma and came through losing
his memory. And was labeled

handicapped. In a snap, his life
turned from running rivers to shards of
splinters. He was beaten and tormented
for this. And he's more a man than you. He rises
with the sun and smiles with the moon.

is not something
you steal
or win
not something to play with
it doesn’t have strings
it’s not something you give
till you’re dead
you can't place it in a cast
if it's broken
it doesn't mend as a bone
sometimes it doesn’t mend at all
but it’s the only thing that keeps beating
twenty-four hours a day
the only thing that keeps beating
asleep or awake

blowing the rooftops
off houses. Turning over
trees. Spreading his vermin like
seeds in big gusts. Shedding

the husks from women
like corn. All that was still
is airborne. He’s a black funnel
of smoke. He’ll crawl into her

tunnel and choke the life
out of her/making her eat
her words/and dressing them up
as dessert. And all the while he flirts!

the golden leaves
turn brittle
break off the oak
and whittle
even the trees
are noncommittal

I wonder why
the ground freezes
after a cloud blew
too many sneezes
covering it in frost
all the crops are lost

I wonder why
children weep
crowded in pens
like sheep
none dive deep
they fish in shallow water
are weasels like the otter

I wonder why
the boy sports a black eye
when all that’s bruised
on the man is his ego
a whisky ******* mosquito

as the hickory
blowing in an autumn sneeze
swirling yellow leaves
flying in a dancing tease
carried off in a sliver
floating down the river

I’ll shed this
as a python
with the lights on
rid this cast of blood-red
so, I don’t take it with me
to bed

I'll shed this
as a woolen coat
as the sun pokes its nostrils out
and melts me like a burning candle
I have my hands on the handle