Before I Go...

13

My body
is a wilting flower,
growing weaker
every day.

Ruined
beautifully,
such beautiful ruins.

My body
is like a tomb
without the stones
to save me.

My body,
like a cage,
keeps me withdrawn,
secluded,
confined within the dark
corners of, not only
my mind,
but the unexplored
places of me.

Sometimes my skin is scarred
sometimes my bones rattle
and my limbs tremble.
Sometimes I ache,
I can’t always hold myself up
or walk straight.
My body is a crooked spine,
pigeon toes,
and sharp edges for bones.

My body is bruised,
almost too old
for its youth.
It is agonizing
but independent.
It is a weary thing,
a different creature
that moves me, motivates me
teases and taunts me.
It is everything
and nothing all the same.

It will turn to dust one day.

The Juniper Bends

In the morning my hands are soft, my skin so smooth.
So fragile, so unused, that the bones poke through.

In the morning my stomach is week, my vision blurry.
I like to lie in the darkness, I get so dizzy.

In the morning I’m not afraid of anything;
if this house were set on fire I’d burn right along with it.

In the morning you are still here,
and the warmth of my dreams cover me.

Did you know that I dream of you? Of how soft your skin is,
how your spine bends. I dream of you through the morning,
unfocused, my eyes heavy. I dream of the match you still hold in your hand.
I dream of the moment just after you strike it, and just before it catches.
Then I wake up and my reality is dust, just as you wanted.
My throat sore with ash, a mouthful of glass.

In the morning I’m burning right along with you.

You’ll ask me to pray for rain

Soul & Body

I step into the forests, green and desperate,
my life swindled beneath her earthly tresses.
Mother takes my hand and leads me to a clearing,
a large red bird is there, waiting.
He turns his head to me full 'round and begins to sing.

When his beak parts all other movement stops
and it is just the wind that I feel around me.
When he parts his beak the waters calm, even out at violent sea.
The leaves cease in their downfall and terror no longer terrorizes the living.

I sit near his talons, shielding my eyes from the late afternoon sun.
His feathers brush against my hand, their softness a whisper on my skin.
I close my eyes and see a lover, undefinable, unambiguous.
I close my eyes and see no other but what I know in my heart is there.

But my heart does not beat. It is a presence without pretext, it is no longer my bodily connection to the soul, but the soul rises like blood to my cheeks and thrives in the clearing. I sail above the air on the notes of his song and feel not the cold, nor the warmth of that late afternoon sun. There is life in me, but it is no longer caged within the confines of my body.

Salt

I make every surface smooth, out of habit
out of anticipation. The desire rises up like
leaves on a river and I float over to him,
arms open, hands upward.
But I do not let him win the war,
his gestures remind me of the other women.
I smooth down every surface, out of nervousness,
out of anticipation. I think only of his hands
all over me, so I keep silent.
Mouth shut, legs crossed
the upward pull of body heat,
temperature rising within the without
and I ache for him.
I close my eyes, out of pain
out of inner analytical thought processes
and I feel his hands searching for mine
under the vast expanse of sky.
Heaven and Earth meet when our hands do,
the sand disappears, the coastline fades together
and nothing else exists but us. Just us two
fading signals on the surface of the salty shore.
I hear his laugh, I repeat it, out of happiness
out of liberté. I feel his breath when his words pass mine,
lips moving together, sound syncing and I lose myself
in the crowded atmosphere.
I speak without stopping, spitting poison out of spite,
out of bitter resentment. And he nods his head,
understanding that all of it is selfish.
“There are three words”, he says, “to bring me back to you.”
My whole body skyward I hear him tell them to me,
like a lullaby lost in the story, in our history.
And I say them back to him, out of courtesy
out of my last attempt at honesty.
There’s no guilt, just thought
and then thought disappears and only words remain
until they fade into sounds which create a salty cascade
over the ridges and valleys of my face.
My bones all break at the same time,
his lips pressing to mine.
With unbearable lightness there is nothing,
there never has been.
A bottle of Ménage à trois and the ocean.

It takes one man to dial
and the other to pick up the phone.

Then it’s up to him to answer,
his static crackling through the receiver
and then it is time for the first man to listen
listen and respond and hold the phone close to his ear.

Oh dear oh dear, I do not know what you sound like on the phone
oh amore I do not know how your voice travels in person

Where to go when one does not travel,
have to end the settlement on tele— anything
anyone
become resolute
until you’re absolute
move your limbs
and be limitless.

Your lips were at my ear, speaking to me,
delicately choosing words to fit the chaos.

That’s what I remember:
The nearness of you, your lips.
The soft tones of your voice — unobtrusive.
And your hands when they were holding my hands,
your shoulders, the wholeness of you, your strength in that moment.

The noise grew until it was overwhelming,
and then a sudden silence,
like a wave rolling over everyone around us
and it was just you and me left.
Sitting, standing, I don’t remember.

Your nose brushed my cheek as you whispered something to me.
I do not recall what you said, I just remember how you felt then —
How you have always felt in my presence.

It's Boiling

Autumn has a very distinct smell, don’t you think?
Of dead leaves and burning and the dying remnants of summer…
But with a trace, and just a trace, of perfumed petals,
of sage and of the crisp sting of winter.

On Record

I am
(turn, stop)
Alone, and happily so.
(flip, side b)
There is nothing
(skip)
There is something that
(Pause, rewind)
I remember that there is something
(Pause, fast-forward)
Remains. Everything is
(stop, flip, side a)
Was there a question?
(pause, fast-forward)
We’re all missing our cue.

Lost It

Sometimes it’s there;
it’s real, it’s alive and true
and I can almost touch it,
taste it, see it.

And I want to get to it before it vanishes
and I’m racing, I’m running and running

Then suddenly, it’s gone
it’s nothing, it never was.

The day I met Suzanne

One night, as we were driving alongside the ocean,
Skylar played a song for me.
He said, “Every time I hear this song you appear right beside me.”
And he sang with Leonard, saying:
“I want to travel with you, I want to travel blind”
And then we listen, together, as Suzanne takes your hand and leads you to the river.
Then he tells me the sun pours down like honey, “I can see that in your eyes.”