Traveling So Far

This jagged scar;
the ridge of this lesson
prospers with parallel
tracks, brindle and dull
from disuse.

Almost forgotten letters
are traced on the inside of my lids.
When I least expect to find their raised edges
and the deafening meaning
that comes
from touching these wounds,
I encounter the cold resistance
to losing everything.

I am stumbling toward the darkness of prison--
the metal of bars pressed heavy
on my chest, my heart fearful.

As if the unbearable dream was over,
I declare I will not go back there
now that I have stopped
the bleeding
and I have remembered
the distance
of traveling
so very far
toward freedom.

The Body was Even Cold

Brace yourself
for the thud,
cold and stiff as bones
tolling like lonely

church bells,

when the ache
of your body
drops

quiet as death
from the corpse,

breath pilfered
from the pink satchel
of your lungs--

gasping for anything
like air..

This day is as precious as the last,
you think.
It seemed easier to notice the losses
when the heart pointed out
there aren't as many beautiful
morning mists or babies to kiss
on the roundness
of a cheek.

The shock of it all
was like grief.
Abrupt abandonment
awakened before the body
was even cold.

Even Oaks

Forget what you have ever known
about the core of yourself;
that pithy center that has held  you up
through the stormy days and nights
of your life until now.

Forget what it meant to waste hours, minutes
wandering through the grief of rain
you carefully weighed
on scales that measured nothing
of the soul that inhabited the space
that slipped away like leaves
letting go on cold nights.

Even oaks eventually give up
and let copper and brown
fly and give way to the wind
that remembers everything
and is content to release the silent voice
of another season
turning the corner
where memory and love
first kissed.

Doing it Right

At the top of the stairs
I hear myself scold you;
holding you accountable
over the phone for your digression.

I see myself in the mirror
and reflect on the way my mouth
tightens at the edges
and my brow gathers in a stitch
between my eyes.

I am guilty
of wanting your happiness
to flow like easy water;
a cold and deeply clear spring
that quenches your desire.

Like any mother
I want you to do it right
this time.

Cup of Kindness

When deep winter comes
and the snow chases our attention
across the fields to the stone walls
and the hem of trees,

the mind will wander to early spring
and to the sheep that stood
steaming in the heat of the stable,

their small bodies waiting for the shearing;
a sacrifice that is is always lost in their bleating.

Follow the white flakes
caught in the wind
to where memories
of  brothers laughing together,
tossed handfuls of cold at one another,
and knew what it was to silently love

and here you will find your ancestors
smiling at the door of your soul
asking to enter for a cup
of kindness.