Lonely
I’d rather never see a majestic eagle’s flight,
Or a spider’s web, kissed with morning dew.
Better always blind, than see and lose your sight.
Better to imagine, better if you never knew.
I’d rather never hear a hyena’s lonely call,
Or my friend’s infectious laughter.
Better if you never heard a sound at all,
Than to long for something gone, forever after.
I’d rather never feel a lover’s warm embrace,
Or hear words too drunk with affection.
Better this familiar, empty space,
Than the sting of another’s rejection.
Better the wound of emptiness,
Than the memory of being filled.
Better to imagine, better to dream,
Better to never know you’ve lost.
Better not to know. Better not to risk,
Than to know love and lose it.
Sorrow
Crissscross grooves of sorrow mar the desert landscape of my life.
It’s so deep, it cuts furrows into my soul.
It orbits overhead like a scavenger, waiting for my bowels to slobber out into the dust.
Yawning, sprawling, canyon wide!
A malignant lesion, demanding nourishment from dried up breasts.
Is it possible for hope to abide in such a wasteland?
Hope flows into cracks seared by feverish aching.
It finds depths in soil prepared by sorrow.
Grief hacks a jagged path to my soul,
but hope follows the road and invites itself in.
Therapist
the front entrance stands wide open
but acting the thief
you slip in backdoors
and locked windows uninvited
you take emaciated souls
hungry and unfed and
fan aromas of savory feasts
but never allow them to eat
you provoker
you disruptor
you lead people to doubt
and offer no answers only ambivalence
you lead wanderers into danger
expose their inward groaning
and push them towards despair
you will offer no soothing god
you sneak desire out of the destitute
lead them to dream and to hope
but unsuspectingly cast them off
down the road to desperation
you will expose needs
but you will not provide for them
you make no defense
for your sudden presence or absence
you leave no access to yourself
frustrating
maddening
anonymous woman
November, 1973
A moment of unsanctioned union
a secret recipe of genetic material
wrought between moist sheets
Fertile sphere dormant twenty years
Awaiting the moment of indiscretion
Seed and soil
His red hair
Her blue eyes
His brother’s smile
Her mother’s tenderness
I am a patchwork quilt
fragments of all the people before me
Sewn together with threads from the present