It could be a Monday,
(but it may be any day,)
I go walking down seventh street
to pick up pieces of me,
scattered, stitches loose,
draped over duct tape
that finally ran out of steam.
This wall took decades to build;
an airtight alibi
until you loosened the bricks,
one by one,
corroded the mortar
that lies between the cracks.
Only love can bridge the gap,
pry open this heart,
break the chains
between light and death
and just walk right in.
Some nights, I still see through those little eyes
and this heart starts to beat that nightmare chorus
thump, thump, thump (skip) inside my aching chest;
flashes of darkness cloud my light,
smiling like evil trying to drain my sacred stars
and hang the moon out my window (like I used to,)
swinging like a ragdoll begging to breathe.
I always loved when morning shone through the curtains
because Mama made it through another night.
Sometimes her eye was black or she wore long sleeves
to cover up last night’s memory, (shhhhhh)
but, I always wore it on my face to school,
never quite like the other kids.
They thought I was strange, I thought I was different,
but, Mama said I was just special.
Climb with me
these red rocks of revival.
Take from my hands
remnants of soul
melded and grown
from seed to clover,
to blossoming foliage,
emerald and breathing
crystalline powder of stars
from enlightened colloquy of hearts;
symphony of lark begging credence
when light draws near
through a landslide of fate’s whispers;
syllables pondered and paired,
written in cursive plea
upon isabelline sand castles
beckoning skies to answer her call,
we, tender vessels to be filled.
I have been peddling vowels
armed with alliteration;
flowers in one hand,
faded syllables in the other
and a head full of stars.
I just can’t cure this addiction
to the written word,
sighing to each stanza,
enamored with assonance
and the innocence of verses, free
sonnets seated softly
at a lover’s feet,
the vibrato of a vignette, humming,
like a lullaby on Sunday.
I just want one chance to get in;
to turn that knob of adversity
and penetrate just one heart,
then, dance away
until the next poem.
Sometimes, between the evening news, moments of haste
and irrelevant conversations, I wish we could turn it all off,
climb under the covers and savor every second we have left.
like when you sleep peacefully without a worry line or squint
of those beautiful eyes, just a sense of calm in the night air
as you squeeze me a little tighter when you turn; the stars
dancing to our rhythmic undertones as the flippant moon
flips horizontally to mimic your subtle, supple smile. Those
goodbye kisses in the morning as the scent of your cologne
wafts past me and lingers long after you leave, like memory
of your lips leave this beating in my chest and the song I play
a dozen times to sing out all this joy, but it just won’t leave.
I long to be just one petal
of the flowers
planted in this sacred soil;
dandelion dust, blown
and scattered into the heavens
to lie at your feet.
Lend me stars to dream upon
and just one curl of the moon
to catch me when I fall, again,
and I will,
like so many times before
when you dusted me off
and sent me back out there
to get bruised and battered,
but stronger each time,
in your name.
You knew my name
when no one else did
filled my spirit with trust
and the passion to get back up
when stones flew
and this heart shattered
I will sing to you,
from every mountain;
hands reaching to trace your smile,
write your name in calligraphy
letters shimmering in wet sand.
Shine a light for me to follow,
lend me synonyms
for the many ways I love you,
when I am ready.
I feel your notes pass through my lips
with only the chords you feed me;
your dreams in my head at night
when syllables won’t let me sleep-
the glory of you
beating in my chest,
when it’s new.
There were days
when fear took my strength
left me hiding this book
behind evening candles
trading poetry for psalms
when no one was looking.
They would never understand,
but, now that I know
it is your voice
speaking these love songs
twisting fate into flowers,
petals of grace falling;
raining perfect metaphors
from me to you,
you to us,
I just can’t be still.