ashes

Chestnut curls
drift
in lazy whorls
strangely
slowly
to the floor,
time itself reluctant
to touch her.

But hair will grow
again not knowing
how relentless
is this blade.

clothes torn
hair shorn
nothing left
to cut?

(reluctant fingers
relax their hold – cold
clunk of steel on counter)

I need now
only ashes.

She turns away
from the mirror,
seeing nothing,
hearing nothing,
feeling blessed nothing
near the surface in this moment,
thinking only of the ashes...


must be something here
to burn...


12-08-2006
jws

upon the purchase of a new sketchbook

I wish to learn
the language of lines,

to sing
in effortless arcs
and sweeps.
to whisper soft
in shades and strokes,

to speak spirit
with movement,
to feed it
with friction,
with pressure
and lifting.

Then I might say
what cannot be
spoken.

rival

I held an enemy
once.

She sobbed
in my awkward
embrace

begging absolution
for what she would not
change.

Her tears fell hot
against the cool
of my cheek

and for a moment
I tried.

soon or late

there is a sound
that panic makes
when pressed down hard

a high-pitched keen
not heard, per se
but felt in teeth
and marrow

but my grip will soon
or late give way
the force set free
to run its wild
and manic course
until its fury’s spent

then I will rock
and blink
amid debris
panting in its wake

why?

I was born with a question mark
on my forehead.
Though this attracted
no small attention
initially,
my constant queries soon
became wearisome to all
around me.
So I learned to speak with grace
and quiet.

But you must forgive me.

Some questions
need be shouted
and refuse to remain
unasked.

Hoover Dam

Hands chest-high on concrete
I lean over and out
and the bottom of my soul
swings open...

tumbling untethered
in the eternal grace between
beyond the time of place
in joyous song
a swirling dance
unbound
unfolded
exquisitely undone...

I push back hard with trembling breath.
Afraid of falling, he says with gentle knowing.

I blink at tears of longing
and say nothing.

The King and I

In motel breezeway buzzing light
in the cooling air of descending night
I was stopped just short of the ice machine
by the glistening black of the apparent king
of every earthly cockroach.

He faced me square,
the hint of a dare
in the tilt of his tiny head –
his body raised.
Antennea waved
as if curious I had not fled.

Thus we stood for two beats or three
Till I realized what was required of me.
I bowed my head briefly,
begging his pardon
and asking his leave to pass through.
With a curt nod, he turned
to march away…

I laughed
and lifted my shoe.