Home Alone On a Friday Night

"Who needs Love?" you think,
Home alone on a Friday night again,

and

if you dare
ask yourself,

perhaps after the darkness of dusk,

how you will ever knit 
the jagged edges
of your wounds
back together;

how you will ever

nurse yourself toward wellness,

away from the lure of the pain
you carry in the rheum

that has become the natural gleam
in your eyes.

It is not hope that you will find
in those mirrors

but it is unquenchable sadness

that returns like a drunk to the stool
at the smokey bar
night after endless night.

Here you find yourself
alone and tired;
elated to be so addicted
to losing yourself,

falling off the wagon
of joy
again,
and again,
and over again.

Vibrant Light of Tomorrow

On the edge of illness
my brow is warm with fever
and no hand will sooth me this time.

Brick upon brick
I have built a fortress high
so that I might not look outside
these walls,

will only set the lamp
on the ledge of stone
on the nights
I am most
lonely

But tonight I am chilled
to the bone
and making exceptions
to all the rules
that require lines
drawn in the flesh
between head and heart
so that I might see

how I fit
into the gallaxy
that circles
the sound
and dizzying,
vibrant  light
of tomorrow.

Disappearing Into Each Other

Carve your thoughts from pure brilliance;
light shining into light
that makes you squint
and turn away.

Cleave the ideas of forgiveness
away from the bone,
wrench yourself free from the hold
the earth has on your mind
and you may awaken
at the turning of the key
in the lock
of this door
painted red
for abundance
of so many lives.

I am an old soul tonight.
I can feel my body buzz
with the deep knowledge
that we are
the keepers of our sisters
and our brothers
and the tongues
of the universe
as they speak to me

one gesture of kindness at a time.
One moment at the edge of jumping
into the big pond
of glistening stars.


One splash
before we disappear
into each other.

Election Night Kindness

Lean over nearer me
on election night --
let's appoint me the Queen
of the Universe
and you can be
my biggest fan.

Remind me that it matters
to vote
even though no one
ever wins here
except the Queen--
her loyal subjects
constantly falling
on their knees
in gratitude,
weeping for joy.

Kindness rules here
like the sun rises
and the moon
that is just a light
that reflects
all the rays
of the fading
from day into night.

It matters,
when all is lost,
to know that we have
been so much more
than kind.

It takes nothing from the other
to be kind and full of hope.

The Summer We Raised Chickens

The summer we raised chickens
is fading from my mind a little--

The way the feathers smell
when water,
boiled.
is poured over
the stiff white bristles.

The way twine feels
tied tight around legs that tried
to carry the body away
from the inevitable.

The track of blood
from the stump
into the long grasses
and back to the barn
and the steam.

My job
was to pluck them.
My job
was to hold them down.

My job was to remember the names
my sister gave them,
like Brownie and Skye,
and live to tell the story.

Distant Relations

I am fading tonight; pale
with only the slightest outline
sketched on my sheets,
hands tucked under my head
and breathing deeply.

My breath resonates
in a frequency
that only birds
the color of cardinals
can hear.

These bloodlines,
warriors,
are cousins
and distant relations
to the sounds of music
with no place else to go
but up.

Clouds and stars,
and sometimes a falling maple leaf,
can see beauty in all that red
and the incredible flashing
of clarity against the
cool exhalations
of snow when winter
inevitably arrives
just before we expect
seasonal gratitude.