that's mrs. mediocrity to you

keeps playing through my head and
i walk my way through
this melody of motion

stay busy stay busy stay busy
stop, drop, and roll
lay on the floor crucifix-style
stare at the sky/ceiling/sky
a bit longer

strangely, the race feels over. life has slowed to its essence:
breathe and begin, breathe and begin.
the floor, the ground, the hollowed out place where a heart used to be,
these are my constant companions, and i adore them for their loyalty.

(just as i adore the beautiful souls who stand beside me through my trial)

circles circling and life living and hearts bleeding/breaking/beating
just as they always have.

last night, in a dream, i heard rapping on my window.
hard, insistent,
and i thought it was you.
or the moon.

it doesn’t matter which, really.
the sky was filled with clouds
and lost coyote screams

and i felt no fear,
nor did i part
the thin white curtain.

for you have no face and i, no mystery.

just this silence
filling cracks
with bits of blue.

as a child, i was often told I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. i could use a pair of those these days, when my sky is gray and life keeps handing me hard lessons.

these days, i’m thinking a lot about truth, betrayal and strength, and grace. digging deep, healing wounds that keep re-opening, cutting a crooked path through the tangled forest of fortitude.

it’s dark in here, but i never have been afraid of darkness. how else can we measure the light? besides, once your eyes adjust, it’s easier to see what lurks in the shadows, who your cellmates are, who reaches out a hand to guide you.

perhaps i’ll put a new garden over there, just around that bend. maybe a bench and a book with a view of the sunset. perhaps i’ll build my own mountain in the backyard of bafflement.

and then, just when i am ready, i will climb to the top and belt out the song of my survival.

. . .

writing again, winding my way through some things. finding my way home.

*from The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove by Dead Can Dance

into the bedroom
burrow deep into a dream

reminisce with my lost dark side
build long bridges to the past

wander boldly through a labyrinth
of strange rooms

i may redecorate
one corner of my psyche

add some art, fresh journals,
a book on the sibilance of silence

paint a sunrise in each window
moon hung high upon one wall

weave flowers through each door frame
music breathing from the floor

fix tea and toast and nectarines
for every endless meal

watch swallows flitting in and out
bits of sky caught in their tails

think i’ll move
into the bedroom

burrow deep
into a dream

float through brief moments of survival
built on colors from a stream

::

integrity is honesty in words and actions

damn the game-playing,
word-changing,
hide-and-seek
gladiators

: :

i’ll take the bird singing joy
surprised by each sunrise

the child’s new word
wrapped in giggle and smile

i’ll take the plate washed with love
to complete a good meal

and the call in the night
to remember what’s real

i’ll be quiet and staid
in a world filled with pretense

wrinkled and worn
in the fountain of youth

i’ll walk steps on the path
my own feet have created

humble-quiet and found
through dark forests of pain

: :

i will listen with love
and be your best mirror

shining back your lost song
from a field
sown with grace

your hand trails through water
and the boat down the shore
dips a bow to polaris

and

we all break waves
on sanity’s shore
just trying
to find

direction

::

as the truth
sands us down
to blurred edges

…

being a sagittarius, i’ve never been a water girl. i barely even know how to swim.

but this year, something changed, something shifted, life delivered the cruelest of blows, and suddenly, everywhere i go, i’m drawn to water.

it’s a mystery, but one that makes me smile in weird ways at odd times. perhaps it’s the desire to float away from this pain i’m standing here holding, held in place by roots wrapped hard round my feet, refusing to budge until spring.

and i’ve been thinking a lot about anger.

the way we’re told, especially as women, that we’re not allowed to be angry, at life, at other people, at circumstances beyond our control. that we should be nice, accepting, nurturing, we should let it all go. that it’s our job to be happy every minute of every day.

i disagree.

there are times when anger is the only answer, when anger is deserved. when anger is the flame that keeps your light from going out.

i keep thinking back to the old “just smile and look pretty” maxim. the one so many of us were conditioned to follow as little girls and young women. the one we’re still held to as grown women, by those who want to fit us into those little, quiet, smiling boxes.

anger is a normal emotion. it’s part of life, part of living. it’s a catalyst for change. it’s a response to injustice, to intentional harm, to tiny daily abuses, to the constant squelching of basic human rights.

being told i shouldn’t be angry ends up being part of what makes me so angry.

one of my goals in life has long been to not grow bitter as I grow old. and it’s still one of my goals. but you know what? we have every right to be angry at intentional harm. i can be angry and see the beauty of a lone leaf clinging to a tree. i can be angry and cry at the beauty of a sunset. i can be angry and open my heart to all the world has to offer. i can still look out my window and smile at the titmouse cocking his head at me as he feeds.

we always want to see things in black and white, and we always think anger is red.

but i’m holding mine in a circle of blue, that place in a flame that holds the most oxygen.

one of these days, i’m going to use my anger to walk right through the fire that’s burning in my heart. and then i’m going to march right past all those rules til i reach the wide open shore, and cool my feet in the healing forgiveness of water.

perhaps that will cauterize my anger. crystallize it, temper it, transform it. but i shall always refuse to drown it.

you will hear me howl and the faint crackle of tough skin.

when that happens, i hope some part of you will smile.

is the seed
you never saw

dropped by bird or breeze or
gnarled fingers

holding silent
in
the cold of dark
the dark of cold
the carapace
of old

tend the bloom
discard
decay

worship petal
over promise

the grey kitchen
sings in whispers
to the rainbow
of brevity

each flower is merely
the camouflage of purpose:

grow
continue
circle-cycle
rest in soil

the light was always
your beginning

…

of cold

spinning deep down orders
to watch and warble and

listen

the way you stand there, alone, in a memory
of sanctitude

as if
as if

as is

forgiveness is the penny with no shine
worth next to nothing ’til you save it up
build a bright copper mountain
watch sleet coat the north

with patina

so much patience, required
this bold gift of living

inhale

over there, the beast just keeps rising
sun-gold and heat brittle branches
painting red a beginner’s horizon

luck is the path,
compass forbidden

embark, unmoored

stand frozen,
arrested

these clouds all smell
of winter

exhale

…

and i carried silence

limbs crashed as everyone watched
gladiator gold and cold blue judgment

but it tell you, i buried the seeds.

tending was a way of life
and you left me to it
watering
feeding
trimming fat
from bone

it’s not the burnished quiet
that destroys me

it’s the wind echo
petrified singing

cracking hope clear through
those
ring-counted hard-growth years

the sunset stays the same
holding space for another

tomorrow.

all i want is the gift
of a bare sapling
backlit
horizon

…

in the crooked end
of a thunderous day

all these colors
marching cross the floor
in turncoat uniform

the way you meant to go
in dark straight lines
but the labyrinth picked you up
on tiny golden bird wings

dropped you down
into the well

of expectation

deliverance in perfect
pirouette form

spinning leaves and knitted landscape
into this holey shawl

of absolution

…