Sometimes

Sometimes you outgrow things,

understanding an effortless reaching for sun.

Other times, you must take sword to the lashings

of ancient curses binding you,

across chest, around the waist,

pinning you to the prow of a ship–

you, the first to be sacrificed in storm or attack.

Get to know the paralyzing ropes wrapping you raw,

then cut through and burn those fuckers

to the ground.

And dive.

Mother Ocean waits to take you

to shores meant to shelter and delight

in your very being.

Leave the curses to the cursed.

In darkness

Dreaming of ghosts

those around me sought to manipulate

and control, power being their drive,

I wanted only to know where the unsettled were,

their movements, their inner state.

Less concerned with ghosts than the living

and that sickness acting from within,

I walked outside in darkness,

exiting half broken buildings, for clearing,

for simply to see.

Night brought vision.

History

The homeless man was not in his hollyhock bed today,

nor the man who occupies the most touristed sidewalk

with his dirty beanbag and knife–

one a child the other day very nearly picked up

after spying the unlocked and shining blade on a ledge,

fortunately stopped by a parent–

and who–the following day–had shed his own blood

in great crimson splotches a couple yards long across the old concrete

from a wound unknown where

yet occupied, upright, space beneath the overhang

fully animated..

It’s a lively, though often drugged, bunch with angles of unpredictable dangerousness,

their slow stories unfolding in glimpses when I pass, with generous berth,

in dry, bright mornings.

The pain, chaos and lynchings of the plaza play out sideways,

overlay and blink between,

plastic carrying tourists who buy what those on the street

have nowhere to store.

History continues through current actors unconsciously until

resolution finds its brilliant way through the cracks.

Brethren

As one sunflower reaches beyond the rooftop

and another suddenly aims straight northward,

enormous striped grasshoppers,

along with their small neon green brethren,

bounce every which way,

skitter piles of dry elm seedpods and creep,

sticky-like, slow, elegant and silent,

up the window frame.

They’ve been kind enough to punch countless holes

in the hollyhock leaves–

seems the Sun asked for more contact with the ground.

Kind of them to oblige…

Our bodies

Clouds form over the distant olive hills,

soft in morning light.

By afternoon, when heat has cooked the world white

and this desert sky holds back some of its blue,

those same clouds will tower and be belly grey and thick,

heavy with rain they can’t wait to loose.

Our bodies will vibrate with thunder.

Little sister

It starts so early, this putting down of the girls.

Father of young girl with blonde locks tumbling

walks past and our brief exchange

circles around cherries:

This one doesn’t like them, he says,

She’s the picky one.

A. Who cares, this like/dislike

B. How about an understanding heart, pal?

But, no, gotta put ’em down.

Old, old story–nothing to do with blessed cherries.

I shrug–

That’s okay, nobody has to like ’em, I say–

for her,

to him.

I’ve been that girl in the family’s eyes

my whole life long.

Let them have their judgments for company.

Keep walkin’, little sister.