No worries. Just a bit dug around in
Like some dry earth garden
Attacked with an unmerciful hoe.
This happened when I realized
That thing I used to say, that I didn’t like kids much
(There was no understanding to be shared?)
Well, an impossible little Jack popped from the box
When I wound it up:
It turns out the child I didn’t like is me. My inner, to be exacting.
No wonder she hardly visits, but has that,
“my chip’s right here. Where’s yours?”
We once drew sabres but now poignards suffice
Honed to lethal: set beyond Blood –
I think that’s my liver hanging from hers.
I don’t feel too good.
Hey, listen, I’d a sworn it not to be me
But all this Later, now I look away & wonder.
It’s only that it’s never mattered;
I was so obviously wrong about everything!
First & foremost, about her.
I chose to misinform myself first,
I chose to trust the weight
If I balanced. My sign, too,
First nature to me, now.
I only know the numbers
Not the matters a-weigh
But sudden-like it came off
There stands little between the wound
And continuing on.
I’m seeing myself again, this unnatural self
Who knows no meaning save the cerebral
When she must ought be found waiting in
The confessional of Spirit.
For the first time in years, I’m genuinely frightened
(she knows everything: she was there from the beginning)
My heart tears its reins from the
Carrying that unholy girl.
Now what shall I do?
Now where who do I call?
Once everyone knows everything
I’m kind of barnacle embarrassment
Who, seeing this, even knows me?
They would never know my face!
Do I stop then? No, of course not.
Beginnings are all ever given to me
I know little of middles or endings
Most certainly not this one.
God help me.
The child is on her own.
SOME POEMS ARE GIVING BIRTH
An idea gone material
Reaches for a pen & white paper
Closing not around the plastic
But on the idea
Clasping it in taut fingers
Saying what to say
Until it speaks on its own.
Too soon for me,
I like control…
While Surrender is much more eloquent
Her vocabulary faultless, flawless.
I KNOW NO PERMANENCE
At three years, I pack stuff up & go
I hate the restraints I feel
Like all this time I’ve picked up rocks
Instead of poked at clouds or found feathers
And time’s come to put all those big things down.
Some flash jealous, some disregard, or vanity, or to mediocre flesh
I took no time; but like I said,
She knows everything –
There from the start,
She remembers being human, too
I more remember what things were called.
She’s the hum of the song I sing
With a child’s grace to forgiveness
Caught with you, I am move in the Presence,
In the DNA I was cast,
This you, this me, you wise, brown-eyed,
With two sets of eyes since one never was enough.
No wisdom for earthlings; she minded
Herself like a science experiment, full of reactions
Of bromides, quick trips to the interior
When the exterior redlined.
This, that we thought a landscape
Instead a portrait
Most likely, a mirror.
We both don’t want to remember.
We both can’t do much else.
What happens when the
Like some , yeh, think about it,
About stuff I never even
Thought about; it was more omnipresent than that…
This is harsh, tho. Two at once?
Embellish it now: embroider it now
A black jet-bead ribbon threading the frame
The mourning of what I’ve left of my mortality.
Two senses in the same day?
Lost to some disease I never wanted to get involved in
Especially my sense of smell”
Which I mercilessly mocked my Mother over as she’d none.
“Carol, what does this smell like?”
A dread call from the opened refrigerator
Mother waiting, eyes over her shoulder
Would I come into the kitchen?
Would I dare not?
This is a truly Cosmic Upside!
Knocked me silly: my teeth moved up in my jaws.
My friend said there’s more flavors in New Mexico
Now I think he spoke too soon; seems where I’m goin’.
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