July 17, 2012 § 9 Comments

most times
isn’t it about
jumping without a net
below you
believe enough
in yourself
to jump
without a net
below you
I believe
in my strength to land
safe or
crash well
or pick myself up

City of Sin

July 3, 2012 § 19 Comments

Fish fry afternoon
45 minute walk on inferno cement
to polluted ocean
on flush town border

remember when it was just me and you
tripping on Jules coffee
in our ghetto love nest
with our oven-ette
and three cats?
Diamond district house paint fume war
Feet slap uneven sidewalk
Storefront ghosts,
like old tyme moth ball ladies
holding bedraggled
parasols against the aging sun

save 3 dollars for ice cream sandwiches
and debate the bus ride back to
the center of the lost land
minorities and poverties
in walmart flip-flops and expensive
cars parked in front of
matchbox apartments
carved from mansions of founding sea fathers
when the ocean was king
not the city
the ocean was king
fishing was king of money
and diamonds were bought with the blood of boats
sweat is also salty
leaving the cast offs now to reclaim
the elemental home as their own
we smelled the ocean every single day,
then the garbage, then the cooking oil
and back in out bed/couch with our bowl/solace
I’d make you dinner and
we’d swear there was nothing
better than two rooms of
our own and freedom
near the ocean.

Will Rise and Fall

July 3, 2012 § 3 Comments

Be volant, wings above all things,
the angst and sorry patchwork pieces
squares away where verdure grassland
borders in the past had touched, blades
intertwined there annuals grown to
bewail don’t forget don’t forget, it
wasn’t the right, parting like lips, imagined
hope perhaps too much to miss, too much
it would be an itch under skin till
fingertips would be back with
measured words and new plans and
new rules that would move forward
but be volant as good as pretending,
all a’glide, never a’fly, each thing was
felt with that part of so hard to see
how that could be, but believe an idol builder
crashing to our ripe land, soon fallow and
out of rotation yet receptive of a melted
wing beauty who cannot help but be volant
there are wings, above all things.

I Don’t Ignore Miracles

June 27, 2012 § 1 Comment

Life will grow on a pile of overturned rubble…

It’s so hot and I don’t feel well.

I am riding home on the train and the asshole next to me can’t even tuck his elbows in, like the rest of us.

And we are going thru the air, under the highway, way beneath the Zakim, below 93, parallel to Boston Sand and Gravel and the train yard, rows and rows of tracks, still carrying flat cars and open container cars with uniform piles of sand…

I don’t get what I am doing in life. There it is, those worthless doubting feelings, of my sickness. So pointless. Just life. Just live it and breath.  My kids, right, my kids. Focus on my kids. If I focus on the positive things in my life, my writing, my family, my husband, my kids…

The Hood Milk factory, then the tunnels and stone walls around Sullivan Station, positively covered with graffiti, some I look at for ten years or more. Then these open fields that have changed over the years, developing into a new train stop and more stores…

And I am thinking about what a shitty mom I am. How I don’t give them everything other parents do. I can think of good things I give, but so many more things I can’t. Or don’t.

Then this empty field with piles of dirt and smoothed paths and graded paths and paved paths…

And the piles of dirt have shy grasses growing in carpets everywhere, up and over bulldozer made mountains of get-outta-the-way and progress.

And don’t you see? IT finds a way.

I’m going to do my best. They are made of fine stuff. Of STRONG stuff.

Life will grow on a pile of overturned rubble…

Old Man

June 25, 2012 § 1 Comment

Did I try hard enough? Should I have tried harder to be his friend and that alone? GOD, I miss him. And in places and ways I have no right to. Not just during the times we would be together, but at home. Playing with the kids, thinking he might get a kick out of something, or my photographer’s eye, only there because of him, overactive, trying to please him.

I wonder if it’s true, that all I can do is be a little girl to his old man. I should be able to be his friend and that alone, but I don’t want to. I want to be his, his property. I want a daddy, one that loves me unconditionally and guides me. One I feel comfortable going to, one I am close to, one who makes it so clear that they are proud of me.

Am I mistaking fate with that desire? And if so, how hugely unfair to him…

I miss him.

Steady As Water

June 23, 2012 § 1 Comment

I hope he is ok. His routine, left unfulfilled yesterday, for all the world to see. This man, steady as water, as true as sky and tree. That I could upset this flow…I only beg I didn’t hold him too long. I sigh for the love we were allotted, as a gift well received for the work we did to get it.

I hope he is ok. I shouldn’t look, but I did. And will I continue to? I probably will.

I am writing more. Why do I feel like these are letters from somewhere small, where I have gone to heal? No, that’s not right. It’s a place I’ve gone to transform once again. I have to. I have to keep writing and living and raising my girls. I have to be married to my best friend and cultivate my family, because that’s the most important thing. It really is.

That’s What You Taught Me

June 22, 2012 § 3 Comments

Endless pictures
that’s what you taught me
just like
mostly happily ever after.

The strength to do
bubbled up inside me.
No longer question
being worth it.
That’s what you taught me.
That’s what you taught me.

But worth you staying despite
your gentleman’s need
to always do the right thing.

There is no half way.
No uncertain.
That’s what you taught me.
No violation of loyalty.

Imperfections will be admitted.
Worries will be submitted.
Risks will be calculated and taken,
chalkboard numbers kept inside.

And while yes,
endless pictures exist,
yes, they do,
that’s what you taught me,
endless lives to live don’t.

The strong hurt.
The distant grow close.
The traditional emote.
The macho ache.
The older express.
The calm lash out.
That’s what you taught me.

Patience, oh so much patience.

That’s what you taught me.

This Is a Good-Bye Letter

June 20, 2012 § 7 Comments

I don’t want this to be good-bye.

I’ve held on now, no attempt yesterday. I can’t be the one to break the silence. I’ve asked the question. I will wait, or consider myself answered.

But I don’t want this to be good-bye.

I hope this missive is premature. But you never asked me to censor myself ever. It’s always been my blog, my words. You wouldn’t have me stop now. I know you.

I don’t want to look to others to fill that need and frankly, I can’t. There is no one like you.

The burning, aching loss in my chest, that is not there and I don’t know why. I’m in an almost constant state of regret over those who have left me. And yet, I don’t have it.

We always talked about how this was our time. This was when we were what we were and it might not be forever. Surely this is why your mark on my wrist is not making me sad now, on day two without your words.

There will never be another Big Daddy. And I am not sad about that. I don’t want another one. Still, I thought you’d email. I thought you’d email and let loose that truth I thought was lurking, that there was a love there, a different kind of love there that was real. That the man in you did realize his inclination to dominate a girl, although you would never call it that. I know you think of it as protecting, guiding, encouraging, supporting. And that’s what it is. And that’s what a dom is. Or my dom anyway.

There are many things I would never have asked you and many I would. And did. And would again. I trusted there would be a new path to follow. How attractive this path would be, that’s another story.

I often wondered what would become of us. Surely our electronic world would cease to be enough. I knew for myself, it would. And knowing I HAD to please, that it was a vital part of “this”, I was sure I was no longer doing that. But I always thought there would be a way to continue. Imagined meetings, years later, shared milestones.

I can’t imagine not hearing your plans, knowing your quirks, luxuriating in your set ways. I itch to contact you, your carefree smile, your lightweight personality. How will I live without you?

A girl like me could have barely asked for a kinder and more dependable Daddy.

I want you to know that. You were the best. Better than he was as a father and better than he is as a husband. I got what I needed with you.

And for that, I am so grateful. I am proud to wear your mark still.

I will always be yours, your Baby Girl .

Smell & See: A History

June 5, 2012 § 2 Comments

pulls blue sea
nasal serenade
to this little port town of old
black soil break thru
upper space to see history

Eggs III

May 27, 2012 § 5 Comments

how to build a proper nest for time…

link, loop like straw, tuck, paper like twine.

foxes and box kites knocking the clime,

Momma’s little yoke,

chichi calcium, nature’s design…

Momma’s baby folk.


Another form, the Burns Stanza found here.

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