the word
like the wings of a bird
and it'll take flight
spreading it like
a quilt on the bed
on a cold grey night

I'm spreading
the seed
all over this land
performing the deed
with woman hands

I'm spreading
this memoir
near and by far
making it stick
like strawberry jam
to the sides of the jar

I'm spreading
my pelvis
birthing this babe
pushing it out
with gusto and sage

in this life. I must put back
more life in my years. Living
in strife. My rage is sheer as my silk

stockings. Shuffling through the day
like an actor in a play. The only thing
dropping by are the pigeons firing

bombs. Banging my head like a tom-tom,
waiting for something to hatch. But the only thing
I catch is a cold. I roll through

this afternoon as a ball of green and blue
yarn the cat's unraveled. A tangled string
that hasn't traveled past her backyard.
A joker in a deck of cards.

hung
as a pendulum
and swung as so
side to side
of all my woe
till I let go

My head
is thread
as if sewn on
and unraveled
to some man’s song

My head
is weaned
as if sliced
from a guillotine
weaned of all smiles
and laughter
no sweet kisses
thereafter

drip of the lip
of the faucet. He's sagacious
to not cross it. Dewy drops of
pearls plink forming beads

of sweat in the kitchen
sink. It looks like morning
dew. Smells of ocean
mist.  But won't fill up my

coffee cup of grist.  Straining
to release it plops down next to
last night's dinner grease. And swirling
like a van Gogh. Water and oil

looking like a doily mama
used to sew. If I set this on canvas
I'd hang it on the wall or wrap it all
around me like nana's crocheted shawl.

I'll still bite them hard.
They can put up fences.
And I'll still cross their yard.
They can knock me

down.
But I'll stand up.
They can refuse to serve me.
I'll still fill my cup.

They can throw stones.
I'll still swim.
They can shut the lights off.
So, I'll read in the dim.

They can lock doors.
I can open with a bobby pin.
They can cheat at every turn.
But just the same, I'll still win.

They can build mountains.
And I can climb.
They can rip out my pages.
But I'll still rhyme.

that makes us grab that chip, the glass
of wine, the cigarette. Do you want it? Do
you need it? Does it really matter? It’s
reflex that makes you do it, no matter. It’s

become a habit. The brain doesn’t
think. The hand takes over. It works well
with some things, like my writing. Not so
much with others. I’m no Stepford wife. Yet

I feel like a puppet, entangled in my own
strings. I blame it on the reflex. It makes me
do certain things. Call it impulse. I can’t
retract. I stole that black Ugg from the store. I

can’t go put it back! It was the slip of my wrist
that took it. My fifth, but whose keeping
track?

the earth is
a pond. My tears
make a puddle so big

the fish can cuddle. They
roll as dice so fast
it scares the mice. I’ve a moat

around myself. You can see
dead bodies float as lily pads –

none can cross
but the albatross.

and you look through me
as if I’m a ghost, with no skin
or bones, as you drone on, bored
like a skipped needle on a record.

I bare my soul
and your clock says that
it’s time to take a walk/feed the cat.

I bare my soul
on my knees, clutching
my chest. I can’t breathe. I weep
a puddle on your floor. And drown
in it once more.

I bare my soul
as a hurricane. You shake
my hand, leading me out
into the wind and rain. My hair
wraps around my face. Fills in
the space between eyes, nose
and teeth. So, I look like a russet sheath.

let it pour until it seeps into
my pores. Let me run naked
in the stream, having wild girl dreams.

If it snows
let it cover me from head
to toe in a blanket of white. Let the children
stick a carrot in me, laugh and sing
to their delight!

If it blows
the wind, let it carry me
up high. Pick me off the ground
into a purple sky. So, the men
below can ask “is it a bird; is it a plane”

If it hails
let it hit me like a pellet
gun. I won’t run! I’ll jump
between the blasts. Stare it in the face,
and shake my ***!

her feet swelled to the size
of her head. It wasn’t the first time the swelling
would happen. He took his first dump in the
amniotic waters. He was plump for one so young. She ate him

as a peach for lunch. He sprayed her in the face with
his piston. He acted peculiar at first. Then it started
getting worse. He sought comfort in things that were
disturbing. He played by himself. Never noticed anyone

else.  It was autism, said the doctors. So, she sought
help. He got better until two years later. Something dreadful
in the night fell upon him. In the morning he was stiffer
than the rafters. She dialed the three digits on her

phone. The ambulance whisked him away on
Good Friday. Isn’t life ironic. It was swelling of the meninges
this time. The damage was pervasive and permanent. He
opened his eyes Easter morning, of our Lord 2000.

words are worse
than anything thrown
it’s not true what they say
words do really hurt
they stay –
lesions on the skin go away
but hurtful words
I’ve carried years after
I married
and are part of me
today

is a beast with peppermint breath
and shiny white teeth. Sometimes
they hide their claws in the bottom of

their bedroom drawers. Sometimes
their sweet song is exiguous as their
black leather thongs. Sometimes you're

trapped in a bubble that only leaves you with
a measure of trouble. And sometimes it takes
a sharp pin to see all the years you've put in.

We tried to shame it
To save ourselves some face
We tried to ignore it
But it only brought disgrace
We’ve walked around it
But looped back with every pace
We tried to outrun it
It bit our tails in the chase
I said let’s go through it
Giving ourselves plenty of space
You Agreed

follow as a sheep? I should
have been a lion. Afraid to make
a peep. Should have built up
a Zion.

Why did I
weep over men that strung
me as beads on a string? I should
have been a diamond, a solitary stone -
a bright azure island.

Why did I
wilt in the garden? They tilt
the sun from the place I was
lying. Cloaked in shade I was
dying. I should have been flying
in the wind. Should have grown me
a pair of wings.

Why did I
wait till now? Why did
I stand in my ivory tower looking out
at a world I can devour. Creamed
as the chowder I cannot flower.

the mornings rose no sun
blackness are the days
the moon pulling double duty
everything lies in shade
If
the robin hadn’t wings
he sings but not flies
and walks on tippy toes
rasping songs down low
If
the whales swallow the oceans
the ocean now a desert
of dry shells and bone
If
you go
I’ll not have the sun
covered in shade
I’ll hang down low
and roam a desert grave

made me sour,
not flower. Once, a rose
garden, but like the ground
in winter I hardened.

Your love
made me curdle,
not fertile. Cut
to a stump,
a place a man
plumps down
his ****, a farce!

Your love
made me whittle. I turned
brittle and cracked. Now I'm
half of a woman. Not silky,
but woolen.

Your love
turned me spastic. Stretched me out
as an elastic I lost all my shape. I stand flat
as a crepe.

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.

doesn’t cover
a frown. It can turn  
the lips to wine or azure,
plum, pink or lavender. But

you’re an amateur. The waxy
paste sticks to the cloth, you
have to  toss. And your painted
smile rinses out

in the wash. The gloss
can’t shine the river
of brine swelled as a wave
above the nose on your face.

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.

All those things they told me not to do
give or take one or two, I tried hard to resist. And I did. But it wasn’t effortless. But this one thing I can’t ignore. This one thing is going to take more. I can’t stop these feelings I have for you. You might as well get use to the idea I’m not going anywhere.

There’s AA, and gambler’s anonymous, groups for those who love too fast and loose. There’s weight-watchers for the heavy-set, but nothing has been invented yet that could bring me down from the high of seeing you walking by, or your voice on the telephone, no, I can’t kick this habit alone.

So you might want to join me in this state perpetual bliss of kisses and hugs, of love, love, love. We can remain anonymous, like the rest of them, a closed group not letting anyone. There’s one caveat, the membership fee, and that's your heart.

I don’t ask for sanction
seek imprimatur
live by criterion
I’ve made it this far
wearing my scars
as a badge
for living a hard life
in the face of jeers
through soaked filled tears
I’ve cried an ocean
riding in a river of pain
I rise as the sun
after the rain
none can stop me
I’ll stand unchaperoned
in the face of the crowd
holding my voice
steady and loud

this chain-link coat
this mesh of steel
the surrounding moat
I’m an electric eel

Don’t come too close
You’ll get a shock
600 volts
will stop a heart

A heart that’s been
Black as sin
Thick as waste
Sticky as a tube of toothpaste

Wires for veins
Gizzards for brains

If you’re looking for
a contribution
You’ll get it in the form
of electrocution

I’d soar
higher than the trees
into the clouds
and catch a breeze

If I Grew fins
I’d swim
longer than the seas
onto the earth’s outer edge
and be a tease

If I Grew muscle
I’d lift
you off your knees
into the dancing stars
and galaxies

I’m gonna stick you
Like a needle
I’m gonna ***** you
Like a beetle

I’m gonna cut you
Like a laser
I’m gonna gut you
With my razor

I’m gonna fry
Your ***** in oil
I’m gonna lie
Them on tin foil

You’re gonna plead me
To stop it
You’re gonna need me
To drop it

I like to avenge
How sweet is revenge!

Gymnasts use chalk billowing in white
smoky clouds to clutch the high bars.  But heights
frighten me. I never land on my feet. I’ve gotten
rope burns from the tug-of-wars over the years that I’ve

endured. I’ve developed calluses from gripping
the line tightly. Anxiety is expressed in water droplets,
as dew on the morning lawn. It makes it impossible
to hold on when sweat is rolling off. To think what they

used to do, from learning to tie my shoes, to taking care
of a home and family. Now my digits hang as old
sow teats flapping in the breeze. They’ve turned into a
Tin Lizzie, a rusty vehicle that barely moves.  It maddens
me to see an infant’s grasp,

a natural reflex, as hairs on a Venus Fly Trap. The soft,
tiny rows can swallow any bug whole. Old age has swollen
the palms; arthritis has done harm. I have the lines and
creases on both the left and right. They form the letter “M”
to remind me I’m still married.

as a snowball rolling down
the mountain. Every man had
a hand in its making. Every man
packed more on till it grew large

as a boulder. It barely moves from
its weight. Once this snowball was a little
meatball on my plate. And every man
the tomato sauce till I was lost in

indigestion. I was tossed as the linguine
in a polka-dot bikini. I stuffed my face into
every man's line as spaghetti wrapped
around a fork, so entwined and cut short.

the pieces splitting
become parts of their own,
each with a tongue
and a backbone. The jagged

edges are my sharps
that I pluck as the steel strings
of a harp. This music I dance
over the page. All the pieces

pulchritudinously engage! Crystal
snowflakes embound. A brilliant
diamond in the round. Like a mosiac
of colored tiles I wear it as

my father's grey and red
argyles. I fine tune this craft
out of broken splinters
and built me a raft!

What’s wonderful
about memories
is they happen
and when they’re over
they last a life-time.

What’s awful
about memories
is they happen
and when they’re over
they last a life-time

I Am
No one makes me
No one breaks me
No one claims me
No one shames me
I am
No one stops me
No one tops me

Democrats & Republicans

A needle is a slender piece of shiny metal
with a hole at one end. A thread is a long,
colorful strand of cotton.  They feel very different,
when you hold them in your hand. One is loose,

the other is stiff. They don’t look the same. One is
straight as an arrow, the other can change
its shape as it bends.  But when I push the thread
through the eye of the needle a miraculous

event occurs. Now the two start working
together. And together they have the possibility
to do many great things. My golden button was coming
unraveled. If the needle and thread didn’t repair it,

it would have fallen off, lost forever,
somewhere in the park. I always think about that
on my long, nature walks. I can relate it to most anything,
the democrats and republicans.

her face
every morning. Rouge
to cover her bruise. Paints
her lips candy apple red,
matching the highlights on her head.

She puts on
sequins and ribbons
to tie it all together,
silk stockings and
black leather.

She puts on
every man. They can’t
understand she’s a mannequin,
for entertainment –
the payment helps as she’s
the sole breadwinner in the house.

the wind
it blows in gusts
and picks up dust,
turns over trees
swirling leaves
flying debris

You cannot silence
the robin
he sings his song
all morning strong
at the top of the crest
throwing out his red breast

You cannot silence
thunder
the raucous clap
cuts the sky in half
with a lightening
zapping sting

You cannot silence
Injustice
the bells of freedom ring
over borders and seas
and so as with me
I won't leave quietly

you see streaking down
my cheeks. I’m cutting onions
for the stew. And they just stung
my eyes for a few. No, it is not

a teardrop plopping from
my nose. I have allergies. So, I
sneezed and let go. The little drip
on my lip is only some sweat

that slipped and slid on my chin from
running around the block again. No,
my puffy eyes are not from weeping
all night. It’s the dust mites from sweeping

the floor and polishing the furniture
bright. I'm happy. Can't you tell? It's raindrops
that fell on my face, oh so well.

aside like a cracked eggshell
after he scrambled
my brain. Cast me aside
in the rain like a broken umbrella

unhinged from the wind. He cast
me like an empty bottle of gin
after he licked his lips of the last
drop. Just tossed me off in

a trash bin filled of garbage
and rats and tin cans.  He cast me like
a doctor casts a broken leg, wrapped up
in plaster. And men drew with their

marker, calling me sweetie, till I looked
like a wall of graffiti!  He cast me with
the flick of his hand like an actor
in his play in a role I still have today.

in a quilted cornflower blanket
and set it on fire. I'll puncture
a hole in the thick of it, till it
flattens like a tire. I'll package

it and ship it off to sunny
Mexico, taking with it all the ice
and the heavy snow. I'll rip pages
off the calendar till May,  

taking November through April
minus two days. Leaving Thanksgiving
and Christmas there to stay. Or else
I'll hibernate like a bear and sleep

the months away, rolled up like
cigarettes in the mountains of Tibet
till the frosty air makes my breath dance
pirouettes on the stratosphere.

the walk. You talk. You’re
a painted flower that has no
perfume. You’re stenciled on
my bedroom walls to look at –

not consume.  Flat and one-sided
you left me misguided. You spoke
the things I like to hear. But none of it
is true. In all the years,

I believed in you. And now I have
not a thing to show. You planted seeds
that didn't grow. You bragged about
the garden. But the frost from every breath

you took made it harden. No footsteps
in the soil. You watered me with oil. But I
didn't dissolve. I floated on top, a yellow
raindrop of gold.

like the autumn leaves. We can
change colors as we grow
older. I’ll be red because I’m

bolder. You can be yellow as a
sunflower. We can reinvent ourselves -
become butterflies and flutter across

the open skies. We can boil ourselves
down to an intense reduction
concentrating our flavors. We can

put on a new coat as if we’re
fresh paint. Or if we’d like
be transparent as a stain.  Or become

a waterfall after it rains. The beautiful thing is
we never have to stay the same.

if I was an eraser
and you were chalk
on the blackboard,
until you were a billowing
mass of dust. And I’d inhale
you as a cigarette and smoke the rust.

I could wipe you clean
if I was a sponge
and you were a spill
on the granite counter.
I’d soak you up through
my pores. You wouldn’t lay
cold and flat, so the ants can dance
around you. The smell of you
inside of me, dearie has me
singing as a canary.

I could wipe you clean
if I was soap
and you were the dirt
that stuck on me
as a mud pie. You’d
stain my bathwater as you came off
and I'd sit in it lost
as a pickle  in a jar of juice.

I could wipe you clean
but not out of my head
if a man splattered my brains –
you’d break out
but I’d be dead!

of dew
like turquoise fountain springs
trickles misty rose
in color
on a palette
so, she clings.

And I'd paint her
crimson red,
as she's laying softly
in her whispers
on my moonlit, star borne bed.

As the morning sun
appeals
blowing golden kisses,
honey sweet
and so she kneels.

It's a wonderfully blended
hue
when amber sands
of moonlight
a little shy and blue
sneak up on the twilight
to kiss the morning dew.

I’m not satirical or political
So, I don’t belong in the New Yorker
I’m not all gossip
So, I don’t belong in the National Enquirer
I’m not famous
So, I don’t belong in People
I’m not newsworthy
So, I don’t belong in Time
I’m bare-bones
So, Set me up in *******
I promise not to disappoint you
through all my curves and lines

my own fat
and do this exercise
when I’m not in the mood
it’s no excuse
Push Past
this depression
my indigestion
these aches and pains
from getting older
this indignation
from lack of
appreciation
Push Past
cars cutting me off
wanting to be first
at the red light
Publisher’s that scoff
at all my poems
without knowing
how hard I work
on them
Push Past
my own defenses
Because I put up
walls
to protect
myself
Push Past
the *******
En masse
from people who believe
something different
than me
Push Past
my own thoughts
that build up
like plague
turn black
Stab me
in the back
these worries
give me
no glory
only sleepless nights
Push Past
to another day
saying to myself -
It Will Be Ok
Giving it
my best shot
Giving it
all I’ve got
when sometimes
that’s very little
Push Past
another line
to complete
this poem
without knowing
if I’ve gone too far
will it be too much
should I
leave it
or
leave it
leave it
no more

I wear them to conceal my feelings.
Behind the polarized plastic
no one can see my streaked mascara
blended with the brine of my tears
leaving a black pool around the edges,
as smudged ink does when your pen runs out.
It spills all over the paper you’ve been working on.
They make me look cool when I’m not.
Looking out of them everything is dark, like my mood.
It softens the brashness. It welcomes shyness.
Turns the day into night.
I’m a window otherwise. I need my privacy too.

is splintered
as icicles in winter
into a million sharp pieces
hanging on the eaves
over my front door

This heart
is heavy
running along me as a levee
stopping the sea of brine
spilling from my eyes

This heart
is static
as the air in my attic
sitting thick as fog
******* tight and flogged

This heart
is plundered
the days numbered
like sleeping through an old movie
guzzling gin and sushi

what he is in her life. Just as
the moon doesn’t know what it
it is to the night. After all, the stars

shine their radiant light.  Sometimes
the moon’s just a thin sliver
that gets lost in the sauce of the river.

He doesn’t know
that to cut off his appendage
would destroy her. When
the wind rips the branch off the tree

what happens to the nest full of baby
birdies? Even if it were to survive the fall
hungry predators out there would
core the nest like a pear. And none
would be more for the wise.

If I could wave the goodbyes,
goodbyes
bid them farewell
without malice intent

instead of planting them  
in my backyard
until they turn cement
and become the sidewalk

I trod upon
an empty grave
If I wouldn’t save them
I could stave off

the ruefulness and
discontent of
another day

Spread

these things like butter sliding
on hot toast, like gravy pouring from a bowl,
lumps and all.  Spread them in the wind
like dandelion seeds. Have them push their way out

like a catapulting sneeze. Spread these things
like wild fire blazing through the forest. Spread them
wide and far like a virus. Have them repeat and repeat again
like lyrics in a chorus. Have them swim

like ***** searching for the egg. Have them
fly overhead, like a vulture circling
its prey. If they don’t penetrate, infect, spur,
impel I know I did not serve them well.

of a hand
you gave it to me
with all four fingers
bent into the palm
thanks for the punch
in the arm

When I was in need
of a hug
you gave it to me
and squeezed my body
with brute strength
at full length
till I couldn’t breathe
thanks for the bruises
and the blood that oozes

When I was in need
of a man to look up to
you were that man –
after pushing me down
the stairs
I laid in pain and wailed
at the bottom
you walked over me
crushing me as leaves in autumn
you stood at the top
as Mount Kilimanjaro –
thanks for being my hero!

You always have your hand
on my hair-trigger. There it lingers

until it blows you up in billows
of fluff. Has you staggering like a panhandler

clamoring for a buck when he’s down
on his luck.

Black as the cat
Scratching
Ripe as the egg
Hatching
Fierce as the waves
Crashing
Bent as the switch
Lashing
Is my love

I’m Shameless

when it comes to you.
I have no pride.
I’ll strip down everything
to hold you deep inside.

I’m not afraid
of your personal rejection.
I will never be accused of
looking out for my protection.

I’m selfless.
I make no demands.
Expression is an art for me.
It thoroughly commands.