Conjoined

The separation of the twins
made no use of anesthesia nor
the standard tools of the medical profession.
The surgery,
if you could call it that,
was more along the lines
of tearing a bandage off a wound
when the wound has wept so thoroughly
into the dressing that the bandage has, in fact,
become incorporated in the torn flesh,
leaving little or no demarcation between
before and after
and
the white weave of that
which was intended to heal
becomes a scar unto itself
which, when removed by force,
reveals patterns of over-under-over-under
like
a grotesque frame around the
evidence of violence
leaving all observers in the theater
wondering at the chances
that this flesh
will ever have the capacity to reconcile itself
to the absence of its other.

mother music 3

music has been
God’s quiet breath on the back of my neck
turning hillsides into temples
and every tree into a member of the choir

my angels are the mockingbirds
singing blessings into sleepy midnights
caressing broken hearts
with memories of melodies I heard somewhere before

every note ever sung or echoed
collects in a pail of river stones
rippling across my life
like the laughter of my children’s child

Featured Poet

On Thursday night, October 4, I will be the featured poet at the Fall 2007 Open Reading Poetry Series at the Loveland Museum. There is a poetry open mic at 7, followed by me reading at around 8. I would love to see friendly faces, and even better, to hear you read your poetry in the open reading! Click here for more information.

mother music 2

music woke me in the womb
winding and wound around
the heartbeat of my mother
breathing first breaths of ancient prairies
and forest fires
and I am still awake

music braided my hair each night
twisting rhythms of the day
into memories replaced by morning
scent of new oranges
across the moonlit flume
chorus of a thousand crickets

music walked me down the aisle
wedding me to mine
coming home to harmonies
with forty year refrains
breath beside me
cadence of fidelity

music brought them home from school
called and responded
when the three-o-clock door slammed
stories told and dishes danced away
refrains of laughter
set the supper table

music held my head in grief
when my own hands were far too small
and rivers carved the shadows of my face
across the broken earth
requiem for innocence
echoed on canyon walls

music woke me in the dark
whispered promises of coastline pines
singing midnight melodies
with mockingbirds and moths
rain on the roof of happiness
curved against the steadiness of love

and I am still awake

mother music 1

my perfect moment of this moment
the many endings of the beginning
the memory of God’s gentle breath
sung on the back of my neck
that is this music’s music

my hillsides become temples
embracing choirs of trees
around a ring of summer times
and under owl moons
that is this music’s music

my life divined in mockingbird songs
watery echoes from long before
and after and after and after and after
my quiet thanks on the side of God’s cheek
that is this music’s music