Dreaming The Way Out

In the letter I write
to one of my imaginary friends,

the words disappear
from a screen into small particles
of dust that find their way
to waking eyes after a long sleep,

the mythology of danger
becomes just another romance
where you lay your head
and dream.

In this letter
I tell you
I have tasted
the sweetness of the apple
and liked it.

In this letter
I am not ashamed
of the impulse
to please my body,
let her touch what she will touch,
without losing her way.

In this letter
I recognize the power of scent
and the nose of the soul
finds her way home
even when the rain
has washed the flavor of oranges
from the ground under the four corners
of the feet.

This is, after all,
the grove all around me
and I have only
to reach out a hand
to find my lover
smiling
and his mouth dripping
with the juices
of the new morning.

To the Cyst Growing in My Belly

At first
I had no idea
you were there,
hiding on the dark side
of the ovary—

tendrils, tiny shoots
of root taking hold
of the orb.

You appeared
like a phantom
in a photo
of the womb—

more alone
than ground control
and the voice of a stranger
could make me feel.

But, there you were,
the size of a plum,
full of sweet water
and smiling at the trick
you’d played,
found in this game
of peek-a-boo
with your mother.

Surgery, the doctor said.
Removal, puncture, twisting,
death, hysterectomy,

or, at my frown-creased brow.

Wait and see
with needles and herbs,
talk therapy,
castor oil and heat.

Wait and see.

Take another photo
later.
Line them up
like the growth
of a healthy child.
Fat cheeks, giggling
curls.

I make conversation
in that dark place,
ask what the lesson is
in this holding,

in this secret language
of the body
trying to tell me something
from the inside
out--
like pulses
on a ticking
clock.

Translation

Sit next to me
in silent prayer
with your skin
delicately etched

examine the color
of my white covering
as if it was the most sacred text
to be handled with gloves,

carefully turning pages
worn thin by devotion
to finding meaning.

Nothing will be lost
in the translation
of the body
if you place your heart
at the center of the page

inhale ancient truths
waiting to be released
by your touch.