fibers

I gave up my power when I cut my hair,

a sorrowful but freeing moment when

realization hit that I live at the whim of an 

unidentifiable other; not a deity not a god 

not a predetermined pattern but

fibers of endless possibilities that

draft down to limited probabilities and

twist and draw fibers into the yarn of a

life unfolding; 

                        there are no roads not

taken or stitches to unpick

that was then this is now

where did the passion go but

to hours long passed replaced by 

motions that mimic living

so young so long

I  cannot brag

I cannot humble brag

I cannot publicly whisper accomplishments 

under my breath and yet

I have done things others can only dream

these things are kept in a 

drawer of facts and figures, papers 

brittled to be filed in a box with momentos

fondled on rare occasions of

remembrance to be wondered over in

melancholic thoughts of 

what when where I would be if…

I hadn’t learned to skirt walls, if

I hadn’t retreated from harsh words

and the pushing away, if

I hadn’t learned to deny my worth

so young so long

“…mother did it need to be so high…” ~ The Wall, Pink Floyd 

Birdie

she presses hard against hip;

the instinct to move, to

give way give space? I

deny I press closer and

she sighs into a deeper sleep. 

metaphorically speaking

the larger front burner doesn’t work

to be accurate, it doesn’t stay lit

the switch, the knob, the controller of 

gas doesn’t stay connected…

they installed the vent after two months of

cajoling now none of the burners light;

setting and resetting the requisite parts,

and I still can’t boil water 

unraveling

One - You can’t rewind

I like to do things 

I’m good at

some while others

not so much but enjoy 

and if you do them better I

wish you well but let 

me have my joy

let me learn and do

in my way

Two - Mother was a dancer

I took classes in ballet 

but my ankles were weak

so that stopped; I learned 

guitar, cello, flute, piano 

I wasn’t a prodigy

practice was too loud 

so that stopped; each in turn

looking inward I learned 

to read no book was denied 

no music no film, so I 

consumed, lived my youth in 

my room in stories

in words humming

I read outside windows 

watching others, watching 

mother dance: wondered halls

between rooms of learners 

while she preened

in learning I excelled

something she couldn’t…

but that stopped 

Three -Little 15

It was a long time coming 

the exodus of the familial unit

since my birth I think 

one got love then two then 

by the time I came, 

I think they were all just

done: with freedom I 

floundered in the forging

too young too fast: now

unraveling

slowly

there is no heart

pounding through my chest

I feel too old for that

too worn too burned by

too many false starts and ghosts;

yet in the half-light, an ember

glows softly, slowly, unnamed 

morning

She sleeps deep, her little body heaving with dreams as she breathes huge gulps of air, belly rising, belly falling.