Turn It Up

For G, on his 11^th birthday

 

my child of extremes,

the volume of your spirit

has never been set to “soft”

 

born of music, dance and song

you carry these in your bones

as they carry you

 

you feel things deeply,

the high notes reverberating

against the lows

 

until there is almost

no difference

in your bodily experience

 

bigger, better, brighter, newer

hold court with

tiny, cute, tender, precious

 

you sneak silently

and cause a deafening din

in equal measure

 

let no one ever (even me)

adjust your dials without consent

never let them turn you down

 

my wish for you:

be exactly who you are,

always

 

but watch out world –

the volume is up

and this one goes to eleven

untitled

I don’t miss

 

the labels I was assigned in highschool

smart – perfect – untouchable

and the result –

separate

 

that guy I definitely shouldn’t have

“not dated” in college

 

those early attempts at birth control

that made abstinence more alluring than sex

 

 

I miss

 

the years before I knew you

what you would take from me

and how long it would take

to recover

 

the garden I tended

more carefully than my own heart

because it was growing

 

 

each spring now I plant more seeds

in soil more fertile

than the year before

 

at least you’ve given me

plenty of compost

 

Boots on the Ground

Oh, are we dropping shoes now?

Well, I’ve got

a seven thousand dollar

knee high

steel toed

platform

combat boot for you.

With spikes.

 

You can have both,

if you like. But

I’ll bet they don’t fit you.

Because I fought for them

and they’re mine.

 

How do you like them

certified organic

just-picked-yesterday

farmers market fresh

crisp juicy

apples?

Winter Winds

The trees spit their leaves at the wind

only to have them hurled back,

swirling like cyclones

before pelting the ground and piling

into brittle, skittering drifts.

The ones that remain are battered and dull,

as if the effort to cling to life

has become an end in itself.

 

Tears are tricked from my eyes,

jumping rather than falling, as if flung from my face –

innocent of emotion, except perhaps wonderment

that the only moisture in the air comes from my body,

that I only feel the fat, wet drops when they fall.

 

At night, naked branches dance wildly in the dark.

It sounds as if the ocean is outside my window,

and I dream of childhood by the sea.

It is impossible to tell the passage of time –

the day breaks, windswept already,

long after I wake.

 

Winter is upon us.

Untitled "fare thee well" chorus

 

I woke this morning singing a fully-formed "fare thee well" song in my dream (or having it sung to me - I'm not actually quite sure). I was only able to capture the chorus by the time I was conscious enough to write it down, but maybe some day I'll write some verses to go with it.

A pair of good shoes to take the next step

A handful of words to put into song

A couple of friends to shoulder your sorrows

A heart full of wisdom to carry along

dreams are free

 

dreams are free, she said,

eyes full of mischief, daring:

how much will you spend?

meaning

one day all of this

will make sense at last – or else

not matter at all