that's mrs. mediocrity to you

the year I became
an old woman

was the same year
the snows never came

the same year
your heartless mirror
turned my skin truth-brittle

the same year
black birds refused to fly

and i remembered
(at long last)
how to cry

heart and hands
bent and broken

scrabble-holding
weightless forest

neither you
nor i

but the (w)hole
damn mess

the same year
water taught me
how to whisper

the same year
i spat bitterness
back to center

washed myself clean

the same year
as those that marched
in pattern-dashes
of before

you always leaving

me always loving

someone
never there

and only trees
know the last
ancient riddle

bearing witness to the scars
of hollow hearts

still standing

(always standing)

shedding leaves
like tears
at the threat
of yet another

dark-buried
bold-cold

winter

.  .  .

.

.

listen to my reading of as it turns out below:

stand tall in the light
of your own deliverance

bury nothing
but roots

grow rings
of truth

spin buds
of grace

and wait

time will spin
your story

into fresh green
dappled

shade

i revisit your funeral
in a dream filled with rooms

paint my face crackle-grey
and watch the pink of my tourmaline ring
wash away

every so often
i think i see you

still

every so often
you’re choosing a can of peas
or bringing the cat
you never had in for fleas

and as long as i don’t look

directly at you

i’m certain you’re

saying

i’m game

here we are again
balancing a sentiment
we will never name

none of us are free

we all come at great cost
to ourselves
to others
to this bold green earth

to those we love
and those we hate
to those
we cannot know

own yourself

pay the price of reflection
add loose change
to the plate of collection

pick up your actions
hold them high
look deeper

examine

have the good guts
to stare yourself
in the eye

have the true grace
to accept
all consequences

own yourself

none of us
are free

the sun is shining just now, but it’s so cold.
the snow is glittering with that false, enticing promise.
beautiful to look at, brutal to hold.

and now i’m thinking of you again.

it’s a vicious circle-cycle.

life and loss and the truth of living.

survival of the fittest.

survival.

of.

we all have our own sky.