Eratta

Where it says plastic dinosaur

Read the churning snap of nostalgia

Where it says green read

The color of me in sideways-breathed-prayers

Hovering over static water

Where it says water

Read the manic, condescending lectures your father once gave you

That you’re now giving me

When you think of me

You should think of the last drop of light

Think of wind-blown milkweed and nocturnal trains through Ohio cornfields

Where it says soul

You should read dust particles descending in a humid room

The electrified insect-buzz of late summer should be a warning

Put an asterisk there

And where it says blood

Sing Mary Had a Little Lamb

Blot out white as snow

With whatever the hell you want

Forget about the colons:

The large intestines are large enough

To extract meaning

To Novocain-numb

But when you read enough

When you read enough

You should stop.

in the mirror

between shadows and light

I saw the reflection:

how

I ate his words

starving, I ate his words

and

they became my skin

a mighty mitosis

reshaping

a little chin

the freckle above the upper lip

brown irises

I froze

in the suspended hollowness

of a

foreign landscape

once known

I don’t know how long I looked at those

unfamiliar eyes

the smell of you

I held your hand—delicate and cold diseased reality—calling me your cousin

flickering fluorescents; baby blues blinking

clawing at chords stuck in your arm

I want to remember your sugary perfume gripping onto my clothing after our embrace

days later, that scent on the green velvet couch lingering

where you sat telling me about being a farm-girl

with the cornfields and the Mennonites making cheese in their basements

Columbus in the ‘40s—smoking outside of class (because everyone did)

Lima in the ‘60s—with the riots, with the rage, with the risk

I want to remember your forceful independence; marrying someone you met while teaching in Japan

Later divorcing him, to the shock of all

I want to remember summers with you:

Hours of gin rummy and the puckering-shock of Sunkist

The joy of mutual books—

devouring 1984 in at night, warm-light leaking

onto those musty-yellowed pages in your bedroom with your beautiful jewelry and then

the morning sounds of you clanking around and

That smell, the smell of you

Not the reek of shit

Not the shaking to get to the bathroom

Not the time I held your hand to make it

I saw the sagging skin on your thighs for the first time

You wore nothing but a diaper

Shielding you in that hallway

From company’s eyes

I want to cradle your quivering body, covering your panic, hiding your pain

Hiding you

Protecting your dignity

I want to keep you

And how you left

After the subzero temperatures and snowstorms every weekend

You left when the robins came back

An absurd number of them

A thousand of them

All screeching, all chirping next to the care facility’s sloshy pond

In that honey-glow afternoon

While winter left with an unexpected song

During that cyclic hope

You let go 

in my car

i warn my anxiety

to picture you in the best light

i want to see clarity in your face

i expect bright eyes

but i will move on

with or without you

i will accelerate past pain

ice

you're moving
fast
faster than me but
we can meet in the middle
i can rely on the fact that you will
stop to hold me
it is the coldest day of the year
and there is ice and pink skies
and the moon above us

7

twirling in my dress in the back
of the church
the feeling
the pressure in my legs to
dance like no one could see me

the evidence

december
last year and you found me in the
parking lot
you startled me and
i think you misinterpreted me
you thought i missed you
the salt down my cheeks
the evidence you needed

stamps

i don't really understand what

life is about

some say it is about giving

but if you don't take then

you are always panting

always too tired

flinging my head back 

with a leather coat and my skinny jeans

i know you are looking at my butt

and i wanted you to kiss me

and all you wanted was for me to keep you warm

i slipped away late and felt

unwanted and 

alone

everyone has secrets and 

hidden little objects

everyone has little lies

that turn into realities

because focus is a powerful thing

because you become what you

believe

i don't think i'm alone ever

but why do i feel alone?

i don't understand the need for connection

when it is so rare

when bills are scattered around the floor

when i can't find the damn stamps

when such little trivialities take precedence over

holding your hand

i was never good at feeding myself

i was never good at laundry

i need a helper

i was babbling in the car 

we were going to look for rocks

and you scared me 

the sun right in my eyes

you scared me talking about 

npr and 15 year old consensual sex

i felt strange

you were a stranger i couldn't talk to

i want to be content with

little

i want to focus on 

the important

housed in the clarity of 

being wanted

believe

i am no longer afraid
or at least that's my choice
like how i would choose cheerios in the morning
instead of, say, cinnamon toast crunch
(although, let's be real, that's a hard decision)
and i'm not giving up on loving and feeling deeply
oh no, i won't
and maybe i've been a little burdened lately
but i won't die
because light wins
when i open to it
and i don't have the answers
at all
and i am confused
but i am open to
the light
opening
 to the light
i'm not even sure what that means
maybe breathing in cold air in the morning
maybe slowing down to see snowflakes twirling in the window
at work
the person next to me
needing me
or maybe it's color and sound
believing the best
enjoying what i have and
not aching for the next next next
because god is now
and god is present
light
 is everywhere

shame

shame is that hole
you go
to hide from others
you can never really escape
yourself, though

i remember finding you so long ago
red-faced and hands shaking
i hated you
and loved you

the pain of not talking it through
i wish you wouldn't try to be close
leaving notes
saying sorry
but never the truth

you seem like a child to me
you seem like a child who is
lost
and cannot find his way home

i can't guide you
i won't

shame is dark and i
don't want to see you
like this
shame is dark and it takes
others captive

11-8-13

i wish you would
tell me the words
you're thinking
i know you think
a lot


sharing is the hardest when you're scared
you seem different than me
but i like that
i like to be curious

i don't have the words
always
but i can feel them



in the kitchen with my mom
eating cake together
you laugh so sincerely
and your face is red


but i wonder if
i can tell you
about my heart

New

It feels like the first time I've
Seen
Looking up at the sliver of light
Wonder is a gift
I ache to be new

haiku with chet

poverty, ruin
the old man thinks it's all good
we'll see about that

hold my hand

soft focus

a light remains 

but i can't see

where i am

or where to go

all i have are open arms

all i have is the hope

that you will 

hold my hand
keep my heart soft
keep my heart soft
keep my heart ready

empty hands

there’s a certain comfort in burying myself

in dreams 

in

love

there’s a confidence found in things

surrounding

there’s a certain faith required to be grateful

I keep coming up short

your whisper is startling but freeing

a painful sort of thing

that causes me to remember

I have empty hands

and I can’t see 

new perspective

40 panels

of the mundane

but he was given a new perspective

and the old man in the top hat 

was free 

free from world-weariness

nothing changed, not a panel

but each moment was filled
with inexhaustible joy

today

waiting for your painted lips to

talk and tell him the news

you don't seem to want

to deliver 

you are so young

and yet so old

so strong and yet

so weak

the way you looked right at me

gratefulness in your clear blue eyes

that's what made me cry as I left

insects are buzzing loudly

despite the bright sun

it sounds like night

on the path around the bend

your hand is so familiar now

I just want to open my heart

now

the new york times and sharpies

everything seems tidy when 

covered up

lead me

bloodied knees

will come

I'm ashamed again

breaking into dirt

I hope you love me

past my flaws

I hope you accept my

weak unsteady footing

I'm doubting

but my love is

honest

you see

more than me

strong lover

you are a leader that

makes me brave