Wednesday, March 18, 2015

good enough...

“You have a certain laugh when you are uncomfortable, when you are uneasy, when you are nervous, anxious, feeling vulnerable and trying not to let it show."

A beloved let me cry when my lover left, he tells me this to explain why he knows I am not all right, as I have tried to convince myself that I am…that I will be…

As I offer up the lie to him, like offerings to my Gods, 
like blackberries in a bowl on the breakfast table…

to let him out of this spiral before I panic and pull him under with me, 
like a drowning man grasping at anything to stay above water…

I have a tell…gotta fix that…

My brain begins the litany…


“No good to anyone…”

The realization that no one has ever fallen in love with me…ever…

“Of course they didn’ could they?”

“What is wrong with me?”

“What is right…?”

The shadows smell blood in the water…too late now…

“Have I done anything right?...ever?”

“Yes, twice…”

“Is that enough?”


Can I remember that I am good enough?

Can I convince myself that this feeling is simply my heart expanding, learning, growing,
increasing its capacity…?


Can I breathe? Can I breathe deeper, slower?…

Can I remember that love is a gift I am capable of?

That I am capable?
That I am good enough?
That I can do this?
That I am strong?
That I am whole?
That it will be all right?
That this will pass?
That I will survive this?
That this is necessary?


I still cannot remember anyone ever falling in love with me, and that is all right…
because I can remember falling in love...and that is good enough.

Sunday, December 28, 2014


What is this flower blooming,
opening inside of me?
Each velvet petal unfolding,
each unfolding and opening,
one by one,
exposing the velvet color
of the space inside.
Trying to open enough,
to empty itself,
to make enough space,
so you will stay,
and fill it with your scent,
and the sound of your breathing,
your laughter and your voice,
with the warmth of your body,
and the smiles you give when I have pleased you.
Each layer unfolding outward,
exposing the space made empty,
the space you occupy,
the space you leave behind.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Oh Holy Night revised

Oh Holy Night…revised to reflect my hope for this world…

Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
Is this the night Love’s Light shall return?
Long lay the world in grief and darkness pining,
Til Light appears and the soul knows its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn’
Fall on your knees, Oh hear the voices singing,
Oh night Divine, Oh night of Light’s return,
Oh night Divine, Oh night, Oh night Divine.

May we learn to love one another,
The Light is Love and its child is Peace.
Chains shall break for the slave is our brother,
And in Love’s name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
May all among us learn to live in peace,
Love is the Law; Oh may it reign forever,
Oh night Divine, Oh night of Light’s return,
Oh night Divine, Oh night, Oh night Divine.

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…