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Memory as fiction

No, I, I can’t put mothering
Into words, it’s stronger than love
It’s the torch bearing of all knowing

All feeling, all being, a desperate
Bond of instinct at 6 AM
We’re all amateur translators
Don’t you think? The letters appear
With meanings private to us

And we read the long distances
Between the death of our parents
And the birth of our children
What if, we never have children?

Do you ever lay in bed awake at night
Wondering the same thing?
No, I, I won’t put it into words
I never had much angsty personal space
Just words, letters, poems like lost journals

Nothing else to capture anyone else’s pages
It wasn’t poignant now I realize

I mostly strove to bond with intangible things
Maybe my Mother loved me too much
As if to compensate for things she didn’t do
We are all amateur historians though
Don’t you find? Creating with the utmost caution
From scraps from our younger self
The more definite way we want to remember things.

SPRING FABLE


13

Berries are sure to redden on
The body of whiteness, entry of Spring
White shadows will collide
Drunk with the juice of Moonlight

Life will explode from the bony Mother
Earth will weep rivers, fountains, lakes
Birds will build fortresses
Time will drag a harmony of balanced ruling

Promising a silence as deep as the source
Buds will drift up the Great goddess stems
Flowers will steer countries to sunsets
Blue water-mists will flash by naked

Startling fishermen, colors will
Taint the margins of everything old
Owls give way to Peacocks
Midnights to quivering fields

Berries are sure to redden
On the fertile mounts of Spring.

No Home like Femininity


Lying in bed I almost mistake Good health for youth Moonlight on the floor For memories of your skin Looking up I see the cold light For what it is, birthplace Source, cool strength Like your body that carried me … Continue reading

The Death of Motherhood


9

Life contracts and death is expected
As in a season of coming Autumn
Life blossomed and love was had
As last Spring when everything changed –

When the wind stops, when the flowers
Wave their imposing colors
So temporary, like all things
Calling for pomp, begging for luxury

All to be included in the clouds
Nevertheless, life’s abundance trumps
Life expands and beginnings are necessary
As in a season, to break all seasons

The future was an ideal of beautiful proportions
Where everyone goes in their native direction.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/44-398449586

Divorce, Death & Taxes


49

I’ve come to realize, the day will come
My mother will die, maybe
Before my daughter is even born
It’s a cruel world, where this is possible…
Sometimes I wait for something

Special to occur, especially to me
And then I stop myself –
Feeling guilty for those with serious
Disabilities, in war-stricken countries
I’ve come to realize, my ability

To practice social justice, is limited
Like altruism turned on its head
I’ve grown weak with failure, rejection, poverty
Whereas I once wanted to change the world
I’ve come to realize, I’m not so different

After all, my mother will die
And then all this abandonment will know
That this truly is a cold cruel world
Where we are bodies in transit
I’ve dreamed enough about bodies
Maybe it’s time to be spiritual again.