In the playground
where 
my daughters chased each other 
up and down the slides shouting future memories 
 a kingdom reigns
of my past make-outs and drunken epiphanies 

the wind picks up 
catching the last of the day pushing into
faded light going blue 
enter edge of moon 
train tracks turning the road northeast 
peripheral woman standing at the edge of transient fires 
hands raised against the darkness 
in evening prayer, 
red scarves flutter
mimicking flames
in trash can conflagrations

Gas lights flicker on overhead 
as I thread through 
the underpass
the fabric of my skin 
losing its tight weave- 
warp relaxing from weft 
leaving space to let the light through 

In the gloaming
You forget 
that you are no longer the child 

Everything comes back black 
silhouettes on closed eyescreens 
color obliterated 
by so much light 
the aperture closed down 
to stop the lense from burning 

You will think it is over
But it begins again 
and again 
surrender 
your only defense 

Sit and look out the window at the crows tipping the treetops 
don’t move
I cannot I am rooted to this spot 
root chakra umbilical cord
blood riches feed down
to subatomic particles
Kill the autobots
Turn off the automatons 
​
a gull crying outside 
grey sky grey sky 
the heater high 
same old desk typewriter transformed
transmission still
being sent and received evermore
don’t stop continue 
walking the cold winter streets
listening.

​before we left SanFrancisco, I asked to visit Chinatown
late afternoon sunshine filtered through the shadows of the Golden Gate bridge
into the back of the Volkswagen van 
we walked the streets until my legs ached
through the smell and shock of slaughtered pigs being heaved over men’s shoulders, cluttered shops displaying incongruous silk slippers and noisemakers
I made the mistake of looking through the holes in the papered window 
at the Wax Museum: torture scenes of men hanging by their braids, rats gnawing their eyes

when instead I had meant to say the Japanese Tea Garden,
with almond cookies and tiny wooden tea sets that fit inside brightly painted red apples,
mixing up China and Japan in my kid brain. 

soon after, we drove north, moved to Cave Junction
to live on a farm.
I sat in the upper branches of the plum tree frosted pink with blossoms
just past the driveway fence
picked through hot blackberry bushes that scratched until beads of blood
appeared in patterns 
on my arms and legs
purple fingers and tongue,
while grandpa quietly gathered quarts of berries
in his long sleeves and sunhat, 
never scolding us for eating too many

I dove into the freezing water of the creek, eyes open under the new green world 
full of petrified wood and magical rocks
in the fairy forest of southern Oregon 
where moss covered tree fall and serpentine rock in soft carpet

every day after school, I ran in the fields- far, far
mouth sealed shut
until I could see the lay of the land in the evening light
the trees somehow romantic in their positions against the fading sky

fury often overtook my silence with
uncontrolled screams
gripping the seat of my pants to lever the force coming out of me

like the coyotes that yipped me awake in the blazing moonlight
while they congregated on Serpentine Hill 
goosebumps prickling the back of my neck as I strained my eyes to see them
through my bedroom window


​

All you beautiful girls 
Lyrically young
Long hair shining in the wind
Short shorts baring those
Thighs 
blowing minds 
in the lateday sun
Helping the children wash the sand from their hands and feet 

I have never been you
Blinded by the setting sun
Hair cut boyishly short 
and thighs sheathed unassailable 
in jeans
But I can admire you 
along with the rest of the world 
As I wash my daughter’s feet from the very same fountain 

July 18, 2018

When she doesn't have a place
to live her inner life
she will carve a cave in her body
to live it in
and
chew off a limb
to escape the trap of the quotidian
the mundane

She absolutely exists 
inside her own head
And on a page
Onstage
Sweating inside her skin to speak the truth she creates
So that someone will hear
a murmur
A lover talking in their sleep telling you what you 
really wanna hear all night
And forgetting as soon as they wake

And the waiting the waiting
Always enduring the lines, the minutes, the days
the longer it takes
desperate details to impart

The importance of embellishments
memories of the night
blurred into brilliance
burn so bright

​May 30, 2018