When Mud Was Our Friend

IMG_6992Remember when we used to run toward the rain

back when we were in love with the world
and it returned the favor?

when we couldn’t
let raindrops fall to the ground
without our tongues
getting in on the action

or pass a body of water
a pile of leaves
without jumping in

and mud was our friend?

and shin bruises
arms drawn with scratches
numb fingers from
staying out too long

were love bites from the world

and just the clouds in the sky
could evoke a song?

now, is it that our only sunset
is the one that’s a perfect 2×4
through the Device
with Valencia filter
that we heart?

our only storm the one
we can prepare for
adequately informed by the “they say-ers”
three days hence
so we can
take cover?

the only mud found
on our Goodyear tires?

no mud shalt touch thy feet!

I’ve heard that once in a while
a happy moon person comes
out to play in the sky

but to see her,
you have to put some things away

I don’t know if it’s true,
but I might
take a peek this month

I just might even try
to run towards some things


Avocado Heart

avocado(Turns out avocados are actually berries, while strawberries are not technically berries, but rather aggregate accessory fruits, sometimes called false fruits. Appearances can be deceiving)

The way she used to slice
the green flesh
and lay them so gently
like sliver moons
on two eggs boiled
halved bellies up, yellow
eyes open

a dribble of olive oil
a dash of salt and pepper

a snack shared smilingly

“you’ve got some on your chin…”

kiss it off

that’s where it’s at.

but also the pit,
seed from which it came
simple and whole,
solid, dedicated

like a poem
a song
a building

if only hearts could be as such

maybe sometimes they are

Plant Them Beside My Artichoke Flowers

IMG_6883From the start know you are not
a goddess
to me
but an ordinary woman
with wings
Sacred and beautiful
Your blood and scaling skin
and muddy feet,
mouth full of sweet vino,
and vulgar jokes–these
prove your Power,
not perfection.

what things pull tears and smiles from your body
the way you craft your art
and own your part
is how I know your heart

In my house there is a room
for your rage
a room
for all the grief, big and small
a whole rooftop for laughter
released to the skies with the
dandelion seeds

For your desires…Oh, your desires
—an unending garden—
plant them beside my artichoke flowers
Or as a bean vine climbing up my cornstalk

Sucking Soggy Marsh

Wound is muddy,
sucking soggy marsh
draining down

Pain is sharp, clear like glass
bright as a purple thistle

arriving like an ancient letter
you forgot you sent yourself, saying:

Scrape the mud off your feet
look through the glass
walk your wound into pain
pain into bloom
bloom into puff — blow away on the wind
the seeds of the new

Today I Pity the Gods

IMG_6667Today I pity the gods
and pure spirits
in their unearthly realms
without ferns or figs or falling rain

or autumn’s aroma
among the oak-laurel lane

I mourn for what they
don’t even know
they don’t know
like the hint of salt on the scent of the sea
or the impossible colors
of the walnut tree

How sad they will never taste a wild blackberry
purchased with fingers stained
juice streaming down their chin
with a grin

what could their wings mean
without blue skies
compared to doves
and diving falcons?

angelic skin without knowledge of the caresses of warm wind or warmer women?

Can their heart flutter like a bush bird
upon a lover’s utterance?

what bleak void must their eyes
gaze out upon
that holds no horizon
overflowing with peach and promise
what could mark the
span of their days
in dreadful sunless time?

how lonely must they be
without the immeasurable elation
and unfathomable despair
of the human heart
to keep them company?

bereft of both beauty and terror
of what, truly, could they be in awe?

Eye of the Storm

28xp-harveyroundup1-master768troubled waters
fills the nation
rising fast

like out of bed at 3am
from a loud sound
because everything seems
to be breaking down
can’t find solid ground

a flood of tragedies
both nature born and man made
pour over the land
like a heat wave without shade

two different nations
or a divided soul

in one they stake their ground
in another they find common ground

in one they get their black boots on
ready to stomp on the throat of the Other

in another they take their boats out
ready to save the life of another

in one they kill the Other with their car
in another they rescue another with their big rigs

in one they demolish the homes of the Other
in another they provide shelter to another

in one they bring chains to beat the Other
in another they form human chains to save another

they send their money, food, and clothes
y hornean pan dulce para la gente

they forgot to ask:

What color is your skin?
What party do you belong to?
What religion are you?
Que lengua habla usted?
Who do you love?

if the eyes are windows to the soul,
will the eye of the storm
be a moment of calm
through which they can imagine
being closer,
something truer
like a nation of cooperation?

which they are they?