*
Poetry has nurtured me and been a vital form of release for as long as I can remember.
Forever I have had books and scraps of paper next to my bedside, damp from tears of confusion and loneliness over my parent's divorce and questions about my place in the world.
As a teen, my step-mother read private letters to my friends and poems hidden in the back of my closet. She demanded my Father force me to write a letter of apology to her, including all of the commandments my words had broken. I tearfully refused. My sister, Jodi, away at collage, heard about what happened.
For Christmas 1989 Jodi gave me my first cloth covered journal and inscribed on the inside:
your words are beautiful and matter
~
My hope is that these images and words will offer amity, spark compassion, and help shift the dialogue
********
be the change- uplift the hope
i sit in my car
watching the rain
i cross out
laundry
return baskets
buy milk
missing from my list is
explode
breathe
hear your faults in their tiny voices
if you saw my eyes
could you capture
the depth of my urgency
the despondency in my soul
the truth beneath the inevitable lies
on the screen tonight
i will acknowledge
your joy, your pain, your dreams
i will assume to know
is it possible
for the exchange of loaded words
to be enough to share
this burden of bliss
i want
my light, my love, my words, and images
to synchronously signal
my gigantic yet gentle purpose
it is never too late
to shift the dialogue
i will crack open
and activate compassion
expose the shadows and
find a way in
for us all
sanction
driving past the floral hills
under a pale sky
the wind blows my hair wild,
the ocean smells sweet
my driver slaps her face awake
i am on i-5
from la to san diego
97 miles
although i pass the citadel
i have no idea what road you are on
they are called freeways here
where nothing is free
except the sun
that is supposed to shine 354 days a year
here in southern california
i have cried enough tears
for all the flowers
to last forever
here in southern california
i have learned
to let go of fear and
to forgive my past
here in southern california
there is gold in our shots
and i am not sure where i am sleeping tonight
here in southern california
will i be able to avoid the burn
and eventually begin again?
back near the apple
by way of the peach
the veils are all falling
back to the state before
the fall
in every face
in every crowded bookstore, bar, and mall
i see my reflection,
god staring back at me.
my construction of reality
is just that
something i created,
and time is suddenly slower
until it
stops
and there is a
pause
and then great frenzy
and life moves faster than lightning
faster than i can handle
and i try
and i try
and i pause and
i pause
and because of you
my heart quickens
at this realization:
nothing is wasted