Dad in a chair in the dark
in a room of wooden walls
and dusty DVDs
and an empty glass
by his sensitive feet
My sister slashing colors,
and redefining direction
on canvas
in a house by a highway
a fat cat looking bored
by the door
My other sister
never made
the same mistake twice
a teacher, a wife,
a lady who barely touches
tequila
or thrives on sarcasm
(like me)
I run in circles
on a vinyl record
on repeat
comforted by redundancy
and the even turns
of an even road
of an even life
Mom, when you are telling a story
you don't stop between sentences
to breathe,
so, you run out of air
I love that about you
The sky scattered her shards of clouds
this afternoon
the cicadas rattle for the sake of living
Leaves drop undramatically
from crepe myrtle trees
Your baby.
I am your baby.
Tell that to your tongue—
the same tongue that cuts deeper
than any blade I’ve ever known.
Or do you choose to cut?
Your baby.
I am your baby.
Does your womb remember me?
Or has it sheltered too many
to still recognize me?
Does it not ache
when my heart breaks in silence?
I came from you.
Do you not remember that?
I didn’t ask to be here—
but you wanted a baby.
And you got one.
Too bad motherhood
wasn’t what you imagined.
Too bad it came with sleepless nights,
heavy hands,
and words you couldn’t swallow.
But that is not a fault
I can carry for you.
And still…
I am your baby.
The one who waits
for your voice to soften..
The one who listens
for love between the anger.
The one who stays
even when it hurts.
Your baby.
Still your baby.
Even when your hands are distant.
Even when your words forget me.
Even when your love feels like
something I have to earn.
I am still here—
Waiting...
Still hoping
you will remember
how to be gentle
with your baby.
That you will remember I am still your baby.
I love those who sit in my silence
Silence I seem to carry with me
It crowds around my shoulders and kneck
It stifles my words
I thought it would someday be filled
By promises to myself I can’t uphold
Living vicariously through
Those who march forward
Without choking on their words
I'll keep my eyes fixed on you
My mind catching every word
Like a hovering shadow
That you only turn to
So your words can fall freely
Without thought of the listener
Some days I feel my own weight
It bears down on me
Whispering sneers of disappointment
The fogginess in my head of unspoken words
It fades their meaning
Nights driving alone
Small snowflakes collecting on my windshield
Muffled echoes from the day
Are suddenly lifted and cleared
By the warm glow of the porchlight
That was left on for me
It lights my way to the door
Remembering small things I said
Bringing me back
From webs of lies in my head
You lay your jacket over my shoulders
I one day hope to give others
The care you’ve given me
I am alive because of you
I live because of you
I suffer because of you
I love because of you
I am dysfunctional partly because of you
I am loved and needed because I care, because you cared
The only thing which is not predetermined
Is how I choose to live this life
Will I spread love and acceptance to myself and others
Or will I repeat the same mistakes in myself or my children?
We are not robots, but we are 'wired' together
We are not artificial intelligence, but intelligent, living, breathing fallible beings.
We live so many years on this ground, but are not defined by what we do.
We are defined by what we are.
I am alive and I'm grateful for that.
The Art of Scaring Your Son’s Friends Away:
First, own a lot of animals.
Few people do.
Second, fall in love with snakes.
They will be some
of your “pets.”
One of them needs to be
a boa-constrictor,
because they are smart
and can catch a dead warm rat
dangling in front of them.
Mine is named Victoria.
I love names that begin with V
because they misalign, perfectly.
My other snake is named Florence
after the city I visited with my husband
when we were still poor, and hopeful,
romantic, and wandering.
My third snake is named after
Virgina Woolfe’s husband,
Leonard.
Leonard Woolfe was a smart
and patient man.
He loved a woman
whom it hurt to love,
as all great marriages
can attest to.
His wife walked into a river
and didn’t walk out.
He and her created something
longer lasting than life:
The Hogarth Press.
My snake, Leonard,
is as dumb
as a box of rocks
for a good
conversation.
Thank God I don’t write
serious poetry.
Souls made cold and dark
Met with spirits - Spark!
Warmed by glowing Sun,
Waves and sand made one.
Blessings from above,
More are born from love.
Pride of family strong;
Prayers for life lived long.
Souls ablaze with gold,
Love forever told.
from my mother
informing me
that she is bored
out of her mind
I’ll be sure
to get back to her
on that one
but while she
was leaving the message
of dire importance
I was dancing about
to Angelica Lansbury
I was spinning about
with a silk scarf
from Prague
that you gave me
for Christmas
around the purple
yoga trapeze
of parachute silk
that hangs like a swing
from heaven
next to my zebra print
that I didn’t paint
and a snake tank
that makes dancing
more constricting
the scarf is a print
of ‘The Kiss’
by Gustav Klimpt
that you know I love
I wore it once
and relished
the cheap compliments
“Certain as the sun
rising in the east
tale as old as time
song as old as rhyme”
some classics get younger
as I get older
I’ll call you back
tomorrow
Verse 1.
A Closed Mouth Catches No Flies
Silence is a strong shield we must learn
Some fights are not worth any bruise
to the soul
You learn this lesson much too late
After all the words explode
Cut like sharp glass so deep
Tongue is set on fire
Mouth shut tight
Wisdom
Bleeds
Verse 2
All That Glitters Ain't Gold
She wears her fake joy like golden wedding
rings
Smiles for the camera, poses for the whole
world
But when all the spotlights fail
Her shine is all on loan,you see
Truth pawned for social likes
Empty and sparkling
Diamond tears fall
Broken
Gone.
Blood is Thicker Than Wi-Fi
The family chat group full of ghosts now
Missed calls unread are just unseen hearts
They say they love you online, bruh
Real hugs require the air
And airtime is quite cheap
Love is data free
No network
If it's
Real
I hated him,
fought with him,
threw words sharp enough to cut.
I called him a psycho,
as if he was
and he—
he just nodded,
as if guilt was his to bear.
He took my beatings,
my storms,
without a single strike back.
And when I broke,
when tears came like floodwater,
he didn’t turn away.
He pulled me close,
patted my hair,
and whispered,
“It’s okay… I will be with you.”
That was the moment,
like Tom understanding Jerry,
we stopped being enemies—
and became something more.
is it ethical
if he says he hates his family?
they did him wrong but then the world will say-
"god help this child possessed by the spirit
he's the one in the wrong".
he tries to find a reason to love them,
because he is in debt for raising the man he is now
but then again, they reminds him-
his existence is wrong.
he is not saying he hate his family
if so, then they hate him too
the reason for this is far beyond
this poet's understanding
they also loves him,
giving him a crown of jewels
but imposing something upon him
that was never his to begin with-
to carry the weight of stones they bore.
and the arguments, the words thrown at his prime
it is hard for him to breathe sometimes
he's locked in a dungeon he can't escape
then one day,
a stranger will walk into your life.
before you know it, rambling conversation
will turn into late night laughs
that turns into meeting families
that turns into creating a family.
only little you knew,
how much this person would mean to you
and,
while you’ve known them such a short time
you feel like you’ve loved them a lifetime
Beneath the warm sun, we wander
through the tangled branches
my grandfather's hands gentle,
like the tree itself, rooted and wise
He points to a ripe fig,
its skin a the color of a jewel.
I reach, as he coaches me
ripe and unripe
Conversation is exchanged
his grumbly Italian voice echos
like a simple song on the summer day
He tells stories under the shade,
of times coming and going
and I listen, hands sticky with nectar
learning from his words
In this small act
the picking, the talking
we find a moment, fleeting and eternal,
a harvest of memory and love
the greatest classroom
I ever sat in
was my mother's kitchen
she said
give what you want
if you get it back stay
if you don't leave
she said
you might not ever get a degree in law
but you damn well better
get a degree in people
she said
you cannot
have an independent mouth
and a dependent ass
she said
don't criticize
the recipe
only criticize the dish
she said
marriage is like
a construction company
you are supposed to build things
she said
the devil
does more harm with a lie
than a knife or gun
she said
you may not believe in God
but if you look in my eyes
you will see the results
the greatest classroom
I ever sat in
was my mother's kitchen
and I
graduated
Summa cum laude
Our childhood home in old Monroe
Is now home to someone I do not know
I knocked once but was left standing
Alone and waiting on the patio
Like when we waited for Dad many years ago
My family sold it when they up and moved away
Under some spell or hopeful for a change
Sometimes people need to go their own way
I saw your childhood home
After a handsome young man had died
Now looks dilapidated
And I don't dare go inside
I stopped next to the gravel driveway
Only to look
But I couldn't take a step or get too close
For I was frozen with fear
That perhaps Id see your injured ghost
Childhood is childhood and cannot last long
Sometimes Love flows in and away too quickly
For us to grab it or hold on
A house is a shell it's people that make it a home
And when they are gone it feels strange and lonesome
I cannot go back home ever again
For those places no longer exist
Except In my head
When I am with you,
words melt like sugar in tea—
too sweet to hold, too warm to grasp.
The verses stop on my tongue,
because you are the poem my heart has sung
But when you’re away,
ink spills in your absence,
lines flow like longing,
stanzas stretch like empty arms,
and every metaphor
becomes a bridge back to you.
You are the silence between my rhymes,
the rhythm I try to catch but cannot keep.
With you, I need no words—
without you,
I sink in them.
Let this be the quietest way
to say I miss you—
without saying it.
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