Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Cooking is a sacred act.

I have not cooked for anyone in years.

I have been a woman excommunicated,

exiled from my own humanity.

No one breaks bread at this table, 

no one sleeps in this bed,

no one wakes to roses,

and the scent of cinnamon,

and blackberries 

in a bowl on the kitchen table.

No one showers while I drink coffee on Sunday morning.

This body, my body,

is broken like bread,

is made holy by your hands,

is made sacred with your mouth.

Your lips, my sacraments,

like the berries in the bowl,

fill my mouth with the divine.

Your breath warms me,

like the breath of God,

breathing life into this body.

Your hands bless me,

your touch makes me human,

makes me woman,

restores me to communion,

with God.

Monday, October 13, 2014


I stand in the shadows under a dark sky,
watching the trucks and cars drive past from left to right,
a flat, straight highway going south. 
Their lights moving past at a constant speed,
I could be ten states away by morning.

Each moving farther and farther away from this place, 
already there are three hours behind me.
There is nothing to hold me here. 
I would be ten states away by morning.

Nothing but the pain I feel,
my anger and the desire
to cut you open and to see you hurt.
I would be ten states away by morning.

I rage at you,
for undoing my carefully built boxes,
and the locks I have kept in place for so long.
for breaking open this heart.
for making me feel.

I watch the lights go past,
I could be ten states away by morning.

I could catch a ride to anywhere,
away from the people who touch me,
away from the pain I will feel,
and live my life,
with this heart locked safely away.

I will be ten states away by morning.
and lock up the boxes,
and be free of this heart that insists on awakening.

I would be ten states away by morning.
but even now it fights me,
to feel the pain I know is coming,
to let you push me under,
and drown if that is what I must do.

I would be ten states away by morning,
but this heart binds me with its magick,

and my feet carry me back inside.

Friday, October 10, 2014

I place my hands upon your skin...

I place my hands upon your skin,

And I feel the life in you,

Bright shining

Like the Sun on a summer morning.

It warms my skin in turn,

It seeps into my blood,

Pleasure coursing through my veins,

Liquid light,

Flowing through my body,

And into my bones,

Filling my belly and my brain,

Sinking deep into my soul,

 Seeking depths unknown,

Slipping between and

Beneath the shadows,

Burning darkness into ash,

With light so bright it hurts,

Like blood rushing into flesh long numb,

Fire burning into a heart long cold,

I place my hands upon your skin,

And I feel the light in you…

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

breaking bottles: on a day at the faire

breaking bottles: on a day at the faire

a twenty dollar bill handed to me with instructions
keep breaking them until this is spent
you must break them with intent
you must make noise when you break them

waiting in line with my brothers and my beloved teacher
opening the box I keep it in
easier than I thought it would be
taking it out and holding it
too easy…

I choose a white plate,
perfect for holding the food I did not want to eat
“Smiles “written in black on the smooth clean surface
for the smiles my mother wanted, for her unease with my sorrow
for the lessons in hiding anything that makes others uncomfortable

I scream as I throw it against the concrete wall,
my voice is forced, awkward, so too is the action
no power from a body unaccustomed to such an overt act

next is an artifact from childhood
my brother used to collect the round glass insulators
my father would bring home
from working on the telephone lines

that irony informed my sense of humor
the man who taught me silence
belonged to the Communications Workers Local

“Silence” written upon it
it takes three tries to break it

each time I scream, 
it robs me of strength
too much effort towards sound that only draws attention
does not accomplish anything

words have power
written in black on objects to be destroyed

for the silence of his anger
three days of not being seen

for the way he taught me to keep silence
for the lessons in not showing what you feel

for the silence they wanted instead of truth

no one in my family tells stories
no one writes poetry
but we all keep secrets

I gave up screaming
and my body discovered strength and power
and how to put my weight behind the action

the bottles flying in a graceful arch, like the crest of a wave
crashing upon the beach
shattering into pieces against a wall as hard as my heart
with a sound like the bomb inside me exploding
destroying that which was written upon it in black letters

“Compliance” for the years I gave away
for the lies I told to keep their peace
for the fights I never fought
for delivering my power into the hands of others

“Fear” for the chances I never took
for all the times I stayed timid and small
to make everyone feel safe but me

“Doubt” for the way I learned not to trust anyone
especially not my own mind, or heart, or magick

“Secrets” for the things we don’t talk about…

“Shame” for depression
for submission
for desire

“Good Girl” for never being one
for wishing I could be
for never being called one
for wishing someone would…
just once

“Expectations” for never really knowing what they are
for never being able to meet them
for always trying to anyway
for failing every time

“Ice Princess” for every blind and stupid idiot
who ever looked at me
and decided that was what I am
and for every time I believed them

"Unworthy” for the dreams that I still have
that tell me I have been judged
that I can never be good enough
to be loved

the last bottle in pieces

putting it back in the box where I keep it
is not so easy…

Sunday, August 31, 2014

the Coming of Winter...

Winter is coming
and you will be quitting me soon...

I know this fact
every moment of every day...

Each day the beast draws closer
with each breath, with each beat
with the fall of each night
the day becomes shorter
the darkness grows and
the silence creeps closer...

It stalks me
watching and waiting for the moment
that moment when you will touch me for the last time...

The cold silence waits for me
it waits until you are gone
it waits for that moment
to wrap its cold, dark silence around me
to hold me untouched, cold and silent
all through the long dark months...

I can feel it closing in on me
and I want to scream...

No you cannot take me!
I am Warm and Alive!
I hold Fire inside me!

But no matter how I rage against it
no matter how hard I beat my fists against the tomb
no matter...

I cannot escape 
the coming of Winter.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Let me...

Let me laugh, let me dream; let me be a child…

Let me grow, let me learn; let me burn like wild…

Let me work, let me play; let me have some fun…

Let me run, let me roam; let me have freedom…

Let me live, let me love; let me do my thing…

Let me dance, let me give; I have a song to sing!

June 1977  my first poem  age 11

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

the price

the price we sold ourselves for
was never the nine pieces of tarnished silver in the kitchen drawer
four knives, two forks and three spoons…

it wasn't the pair of used sneakers two sizes too big for our feet
or two pairs of cast-off jeans
and three worn-out t-shirts that we wore all week
clean or not, ‘cause maybe they didn’t get washed
but they were all we had to wear in January…

or the greasy popcorn we ate for a week
‘cause there was nothing else in the place

it wasn’t the broken bone
that never healed right
‘cause she couldn’t be bothered
to take us back to the doctor…

or the looks from our teachers and our classmates
that said they could see our darkness
and it made them nervous …

it wasn’t the hand that never touched our hair
or the eyes that looked right through us
like we were never even there
or the words of pride that our ears never heard...

or the touch we craved like addicts

it wasn’t the anger that filled our bellies
or the guilt we felt for always wanting more...

or all the things we did
to buy oblivion instead…

it wasn’t the time we spent on our knees begging
or the years spent quiet, timid and small
trying to kill our own strength...

locking our anger
fear, rage, pain and need
inside our bellies...

keeping our heart encased in ice
‘til it turned stone cold and hollow 
unshed tears freezing and falling
building a glacier against hope...

hoping it would die silently
so not to make anyone uneasy…

it was never the choices that we made
to deliver our power into the hands of the careless…

the price we sold ourselves for
was the belief that we could never be
good enough to deserve better…