Response to Maine

Tired of waiting
shaking
square in the doesn't matter

black, woman, gay
I am feelin' Malcolm X, today.

F*ck the legal system
Conservatives and evangelicals.
I am ready for a revolution.
people being equal.

Don't even get me started
on ALL the those groups we have sited
still underrepresented,
taken advantage of
silenced.

Today
I am tired,angry,
and a little bit crazy.

College Tuition

ringing with a slow build

my cell phone

blinks the name of my sister

BREANNA

blinking and I wonder

what a 1 am call has to do with safety

Breanna

19 years of gorgeous

some less of independence

wishing that college tuition grew on trees

fighting loss of confidence

in teenagers

bent on development

demanding the changing of circumstances

marching boldly

to middle class debt and white collar jobs

you robbed me, not you Breanna

but the collective you of all the isms

the you, I owe 80,000 

working in administration 

to pay for my keys

making art in my "off-time"

excuse me when I sniffle, just a bit

and sound hollow 

in my response

remembering my own hustle

into middle class debt

and cheek biting

burying the isms deep 

so as not to effect my push 

sister, 1 am calls 

speak of a different safety

to clamor into what you want

the fear of losing grip

on a dream, 

built on other peoples money

that fear is real

and realer still, the reality

achievement does not make it go away-- 

subside

they are just different isms

clenching our ribs

squeezing life

and demanding 

weekly, monthly, yearly sub-prime payments

that building buzz 

reminding

you work to get

where is not always the destination

it is the work, the fear, the knotty clench

making forward steps the necessity

those dollars burnable

those isms just part of the check list

homesick

travels

miles in a lifetime

upon miles in a day or week or dream

finding lost bits of memory 

sandwiched between 

this face, that body, a smell

making for a broken thread 

was there clarity

in that picture

    where to go

    who had the key

    how to make it work 

 better

or nostalgia in the smallest 

action

    fingers swiftly weaving 

    sounds of crashing, clanging 

    pot holes dug

 curiosity

constantly homesick for a feeling

unattached

bobble heads 

unhinged

inside that image

Answers

In a question

you unveil the baggage

of your past.

Slipping into 

former selves

lives caste in shadow

Why. Do. You - Think.

That?

In a question  you

arrive at danger

you pilgrim forward

seeking new incarnations

changing your senses.

In a question

you deliver

present concentration

contemplating

the whole

of what is

in front of you.

In a question you answer

your past

your present

your future

you.

Michael

It has been a scary long time since I wrote a poem. I am not entirely sure if it is the brain drain of summer or a fixation on french fashion, moving furniture around in my house, or a need to turn off in anticipation for the next school year. 

But yesterday I found myself smelling images.

Michael 

days slip through my fingers

droplets of sand 

wearing castles

i woke

discovering grey and lines and creaking bones

that yellow house is brown 

the foundation raising with each bellow

trees are tall, tall

and grass crunches 

while I whirl

blow a bubble

and snatch a star

making music is different now

walking softly

yelling at things that cross our paths, quickly

melodies web across the continent

connecting to a million and one

hold your hands, open 

breathe, be love, begin

catch that hour

build

Wily brain

It has been a full week since my last submission, for some reason my brain is refusing to think in poems. Its not that I am not feeling moments but rather, I have been immersed in my own deep and cavernous brain, over thinking just about everything that happens to me. 

Today, during my coaching session, I heard a quote that joged my cortex for just a minute "the only thing you will not like about life, is that it is too short." said by a 102 year old man to a new born baby.

With all the time my brain spends picking apart the smallest details, like dust bunnies, parking laws, the increase in the price of milk, and dogs peeing in my vegetable garden, I wonder if maybe I am missing the point to life. 

Today, I think, 

maybe, I will live

and let my brain

have itself.

Bump

thursday mornings,

people still smell

like soap

and freshly dried hair

clothes are pressed

as we bump

against another, walls, and sliding glass doors

pre-recorded bells chime

"ding"

Fullerton

"ding"

Clark & Division

"ding"

Sunshine streaming in the window

"ding"

Madrid

looking up

realizing

bumps take me to dreams

the fresh morning smell

has molded

my brain

to think of far off

places

How to get to LA?

What jumpsuits look

best

with tan skin?

"ding"

Harrison

picking my pencils

and morning fantasy

I walk

slowly

to my gray

office

cubicle

to eat

the first broccoli

i knew

formed hearty and green

in humboldt

with tiny yellow flowers

peeking from

its firm leaves

it snapped

in raised beds

home to 

a cat named mingus

city rats

an earthworm or two

until that time

i did not know

how perfect, a taste 

it held

sweet and bitter

concurrent

that summer, sharing earth 

with my neighbors

i grew

the need

to know

my food

gaze

just yesterday

while i walked

from shower to dresser

your glasses slipped

to the tip

of your nose

and your eyebrows struggled

coughing and rustling

the page of your paper

blowing that single hair

out of your eyes

daily, your lashes flutter

while my back is to you

quickly turning

i can make out

a hook in the side

of your mouth

funny, i think

you struggle so

concealing arousal

as you are my wife

and in being so

have no need

creating tension

soft and loose

lidded

Pride

She projects

people carted away

bloodied

by sneering police

and right wing boots

re-living Stone Wall

How surprising, then, for

my sister, my aunt

that mother and I

are not alone

our partners and we

hold hands

not met with shaking fists

She sees the world 

through

rigid jaw and tense shoulders

unthinkable 

a pastor may march

with homo

believing one equals another

How surprising change

revelations in human spirit

belong to others, too

and evolution

disrupts stagnant

history

Prayer

yoga scrubs my hips

blood flows easy, quick, and free

dancing to follow

Now

There is no need

to prepare weather

anecdotes

when calling,

your absence is not personal.

That highway 

leads to me 

and away

when necessary.

There is no need

to hush discomfort,

we are older now

speaking time

is what comes.

That road

is steep;

I could not judge you

on reflection.

There is no need 

to fumble

with straight-lines shoes,

the smell of bleach,

or ringing in your ears.

That path 

is for ones

that never medicated

you are better,

now.

There is no need

to fear

my hand will easily

find yours

upon return.

ten things

making lists:

why change...

one:babies

two:enlightenment

three:fashion

four:respect

five:overpopulation

six:rising cost of food

seven:bathing suits

eight:loving you

nine:tired

ten:all the time

on the train

in the car

on the couch 

mid-sentence, while speaking

change

perfect

sleepy, listless, repetitive, counting, typing, hacking, staring

change 

Off a plane, 1 am

quick harsh fingers close around 

my throat

choking little air puffs

squeezing what is left of my breath

the air is inky black

that color that looks perfect

on wedding dresses

and in funeral marches

i inhale quickly

tasting dank earth and wet pavement

my chest heaves 

i stumble

water molecules and pollen

invade my body

again, summer in Chicago