02/22

moselem springs

i'm filing for divorce.
no i don't hate him--
i just don't want to love like
that-- i want to love
like the brunch buffet
at moselem springs-- get
cheesecake stains on a lilac dress--
when i was eight i got communion. 
white-dress bride
like all the other girls--
we knew we were monsters
to be training to eat our god--
nervously we
gnawed on corn tortillas and 
sipped grape juice from 
timid plastic cups
in the vestibule of st. mary's--
what we didn't know was that
we were getting 
married--
our husbands on a cross--
neck crooked in agony--
isn't that what love is supposed
to look like?
cut yourself down to the width
of a wafer--
i was taught that if 
i didn't feel the stigmata then
i wasn't loving hard enough--
they crucified mary
more than once--
afterwards everyone 
congratulated me-- 
hung rosary medals around my
neck like a champion figure-skater--
what an accomplishment to
be big enough to eat
the skin of your father
and your lover-- 
he tasted like sand and ulcers--
afterwards we went to 
moselem springs-- a flat
little brunch buffet 
up the street and i remembered
still tasting blood in my 
mouth and wondering if it 
was my own or 
my new husband's
i wondered if we shared blood 
now and i checked
my palms front back
front back
front back
for the nail holes-- 
i beleived no 
one had something they'd let
themselves be crucified
and i've yet to prove my
eight-year-old self wrong--
took hold of the white buffet
plate and approached 
the aisle of steaming coffins
to suddenly feel very dizzy
and very sorry--
i was sorry i had eaten 
him and sorry that
i had wanted to pile the
plate as tall as i could
to forget him--
slice me spiral of ham--
scrambled pillow of egg--
i bleeding fist of fresh raspberry
to stain my lilac dress
i had changed into--
i had wondered what the
stain would have looked like
against the white of my wedding
gown-- i ate cake with my
fingers and devoured
cookies fast as the phases of
the moon--

were you hungry?
my mother asked as she watched to
me wiping
more crumbles from my
palms to check for bleeding--

looked up at a room full
of wood tables
a drift in the hall of 
the body of my god cut into steam--
the chef was there with a long
serrated knife and the hunk
of ham under the heat lamp
peeling slice
after slice 
after slice that
bled in fat juice on the table cloth
white table cloth--
bleed raspberry 
bleed nervous grape
juice--
how much communion tasted 
like blood--

no-- yes--
i think i didn't know how
hungry i was
i replied.

 

02/21

the 9 stray cat lives of the angels.

and god taught gabriel--
fear not for from the first 
day that you set your 
heart to understand 
and humbled yourself 
before your God, 
your words have been heard

god took a hand full of
marbles from a draw-string bag--
green and sapphire--
captured hints of an ocean
moon-- lips of the hydrangea--
what do you know about
the eyes of the cats?
and he flicked the glass-eyes
with his thumbs
into the gaping-sockets of
the stray cats-- bodies limp 
-- strewn about his workshop

1. 
and so god takes back
the wings of the angels--
spits them out from the clouds
in the bodies of the stray cats
to learn how to love
the humans--

2.
we all had wondered why 
cats land on their feet 
from however high they fall--
they have to make it from
the back stoop of
god's porch-- thrust
off by the nudge of his 
checkerboard slippers--

3.
gabriel had been a calico
with eyes of drooping tree-sap--
raphael the tabby--
lucifer-- white and mismatched
marble eyes glinting 
with the kind of curiosity
that knocks over candles--

4.
they preen feathers 
with their tongue--

5.
they had never suspected
that the humans had
so many things to fear-- 

6.
they learn feast and fat 
bitten through the black skin
of a trash bag--

7.
god's love was nothing
more than the hands
of the neighbor boy
who hands out ring bologna--

8.
god spoke
through the pools of rain-water
collected in the uneven pavement

9.
but the worst part
was the urge to devour
the birds-- they could
handle eating mice
but there was something easy
about coughing--
mouth dry with crumpled 
feathers
and the fear of having
no control over
eating another animals
who had once 
flown so much like
them--

9.
return in never the same

9.
some angels keep their
marble eyes in the pockets--
fling bodies off the back step
of a cloud--

9.
what god didn't expect 
was how many angels 
would refuse to come back--

9.
eyes still float in their reflect
painted in a pool
of rain water--

 

02/20

lace.

we expect to be hunted by
wolves.
we tie our sleeping bags high
in the trees so the
black bears don't 
smell the stretched shadows  
we stuffed inside--
slap the mosquitoes from
our wrists as if
they are the hands of a watch.
ladies drink arsenic
to make their skin into milk
and moon lips--
here we find ourselves hunted
by a throat barbed with lace--
the wedding train
of the jelly fish who
pretends not to be circling closer--
the kind of waltz that drowns
all approximation of beauty--
she claws at corset strings
and you beg her to pull
you in tighter
tighter 
tighter--
we all live so delicate and
deadly.
no one remembers being
hunted-- 
swallow whole 
a fist of ribbon-- shards
of a pale stained glass window.
put on your halo
just to fall like
the dinner plates where
we served the moon--
she devours you 
slow the way 
you like it-- 
there is nothing 
more intimate 
than being 
made 
beautiful. 



02/19

i loved you 
like a crown of song birds.

oh you ask what it 
was about you that prompted
the swans to speak-- 
pour their tongues into 
your skin born new into feather--
i loved you like a crown of
song birds--
circle me song-- 
you the girl who shed
a body like a cough of dandy lions--
what could i know about the 
fickle heart of a Christian?
i worship a swan.
--tried bapatism 
by devouring you
in a mouth of mist-- told
you to make your voice as loud
as the circle of bluebird 
throat--tune strangled in 
the neck of a sparrow--
remember me when you melt
free
in march-- pray to empty stone. 
A snake swallows
another apple. you
take off your feathers to make
way for June. 
Chain yourself
to the mouth of a dragon
with me--
write me into poems if
you find your hands again--
i'm saving a basket of your
feathers so you might remember us--
i'll be on the other side of a thinning
mist-- look through the
circle of the crown--
i'll sewn you into the otherworld
with the beaks of only
the morning doves.

 

02/18

bless me body for i have sinned 

i first noticed my waste band when i was
in third grade & the halo
red line my jeans pressed around
my stomach-- me saturn-body
me neptune's faint hula-hoop
& my teacher ask me why
i kept running my hands over
the circumference of my stomach--
an attempt to find the equator--
take a compass to
figure out which way
i could travel to become
unravel the layers of my
hips-- i a mirror 
was meant to be a confessional
for us to enumerate our
sins
oh bless me body for i have
sinned against you from
the first time i painted
targets on my eyes
with olive eyeliner
to my hips i packaged 
in the neon ribbon of
a thong-- oh bless me
body i have made you 
playground-- poured mulch
for the little boys to stomp 
through-- these breasts of
sand he used to build his castle--
i'm sorry for every time i
said 
YES
only because i believed 
my mouth was meant to 
eat apologies
& saying
NO is another kind of death--
measured my height in the
tally marks on my wrist--
my hips turned into the twist
of a bonsai tree--
cut me
cut me
cut me into the shape
you want the sun to make me--
i'll strip from you in front
of the mirror to make it show--
grow taller-- break
the walls of the house--
burst head through the roof--
i've run these legs until
they turn to bologna--
kielbasa kneeling on the floor
of a gymnasium--
i promised myself i'd stop wearing
flowers in my hair
until i actually start
letting myself grow hydrangea
from my torso-- 
i don't want to be that
tulip kind of body--
pursed together like
a smile whose trying not
to eat-- i want to take
the whole side of the house
with the unbridled blush
of the larkspur-- the hyacinth--
the amethyst bulb
shatter mirror of the soul--
take the trow & plant
sunflowers in my freckles again--
eat snow peas from the damp grass
of the farm--
oh forgive me body
for trying to love you 
by selling you to boys 
with thick hands-- who
i teach to eat me like
scabs of monkey bread
saying--
take me
take me 
take me & build me
into something to be fucked--
to be caramelized
to be wrapped in the foil
of your bed sheets--
forgive me body for
making you breathe through
measuring cups
& the worn edges of the table spoon--
kiss like a half teaspoon
of peanut butter
body forgive me for
the bowls of brownie
batter i washed down the
sink out the fear
of the memory 
of licking the spoon--
oh bless me body for i have sinned
it has been twenty 
minutes since i last checked
my reflection in a mirror--
bulls-eyes painted
black--
lips draped in
uneaten red velvet cake. 

02/17

my aunt's house is haunted
by unsent birthday cards, rainbow chocolate cookies
and the ghost of their sister

my aunts believe in sending
birthday cards to all the dead relatives--
set their pictures on the end tables 
to populate their house with 
black and white
memory-- pull their hair 
in cotton balls from
the medicine cabinet each morning--
and aunt Flo still writes to 
Frank even though his car
horn
stuck
blaring-- broke his neck
year ago through the windshield
of a red Thunder bird--
my aunts sleep in the living
room now--
the attic is too populated--
and  the hearth of an air conditioner
churns loud enough
so they don't hear--
their sister Joan trying to play
duck, duck, goose with
them as they sleep--
some nights she's twelve again--
mary janes and white tights
stained from kneeling in the front lawn--
the youngest girl skips
beauty and moves on to radiance--
other nights she comes home 
with the plaid jacket
of a boy--
hangs it over the bar
and mixes her sisters Manhattans 
as they sleep--
plays with their 
perms and kisses their
foreheads as if they were her mothers--
Joan died there in 
the living room sewn into a white bed
with all her memories already bled
into the walls the house--
and as she died she heard
her nephews calling to the ghost
of their mother from a Ouija board
on the attic floor--
she sang 
Ave, ave, ave maria MARIA
her sister Mary who counts everything
in decades of the rosary--
wards off unwanted demons 
with charms of ring bologna
and prayers cut in cubes of 
cheese-- each holy mystery
is accounted for--
and aunt flo still worries
the lightning storm
will bring
the roof crashing down
and all the ghosts crowd
the living room--
Joan puffing on a cigarette 
and Priscilla writing
poetry
in the squares of 
a crossword puzzle--
talking in the language of
the Ouija board--
their nephews
painting their names
on the basement
wall like hexes or prayers--
aunt mary sips coffee
now and reads her
fortune in the grinds at
the bottom of her
dead sister's mug--
they tell her to 
count the branches of
the tree in the front lawn--
harvest the pears sunk into 
the grass
to make a pie for the ghosts--
they're hungry--
they play the organ
when the three tv channels don't
serve them well enough--
Joan, Joan
who should wear the fish necklace?
mary asks Joan out of tradition not
reverence
and Joan is only six so she
breaks a plate on
the dining room plate
and laughs in the pipes--
mary marks the morning
with a stack of birthday cards
for the ghosts to descend from the attic
to collect--
leaves out a plate of rainbow
chocolate chip cookies so the
ghosts won't 
eat all the ice cream when 
they sleep--
i'm never going to die--
says aunt flo
splits a cookie with her sister--
seals another letter
to Frank
written in the voice
of a car horn--
Priscilla leaves poems
in mary's coffee grounds--
kisses aunt flo goodnight
and eats the last cookie off
the glass serving plate--  

02/16

the process of dying on the backs of our mothers

we alone attempt to think
our way out of morality--
there has to be an escape-- 
another ending that other
creatures haven't thought yet--
they don't think enough--
you know? they waste their
bodies
on motion--
drink sun light with
fat pink tongues-- what
a waste it is to have a jaw
calcium carbonate in your bones--
our escape from death
will only take planning--
the calculation of the cycles
of the moon who splashes her
face clean in the bays 
of her bathroom sink-- 
we have made these bodies
without
all the fixtures that remind us
of dying-- 
we gave up our finger nails in
the hopes of never coming to wrinkle--
traded blood
for the undulation of the waves--
salt water and breathing
in sand and bone-- 
these bodies made a body--
groom our hair with the cartilage
carcass of another shark--
we think sharks are
the funniest of all the animals
who neglect to listen to us--
thrash their way through more
and more blood 
only to die as suddenly 
as their jaws delve into
another body-- it is easy to consume
and die that same--
there is no one but the parrot
fish who dares to consume
the coral-- push water
vein-- ripe tide us
all into eternity-- 
feel the ocean encompassing--
at night we hear the whispers
of all the dead--
only the coral learned how
to speak to ghosts--
we try to tell them it's time
to rest but their bodies turn
white and they swim
deep 
deep
and we can't sleep still possessed 
with memory of the teeth
of an angler fish--
we hope to die in the day light--
the dark of an ocean is too 
wide to hold another death--
mistake us for a flower 
so death might forget what
he was supposed to do with
all these bodies--
our
many many bodies-- 
each branching-- these 
thick and gnarled vein--
re-grow these skeletons
on the bones of fathers--
oh to eat is to remember is to
only forget again--
the coral-- she write down the
memories of the ocean 
and talk their ghosts into 
submission--
it is only the coral who
would ever know how to
talk through the silence
of a whale corpse as she's 
devoured by the mouths
of the hag-fish--
oh! and there's still so much
time to think--
so many ways to think--
my mother thought sometimes
briefly about air--
i think of it too
and then i remember the face
of my father as i grew
from his rib cage--
and i listen again
to the flux of my blood.  


 

02/15

the bees stay up with me;
build faces in the nightlights
and dissolve our blood into honey--

the first time i was stung by 
a bee 
we made a covenant--

i was seven & the stinger dug
into the arch of my foot--
i told my mother i was going
to die there--
felt the sweet caramelization
of my veins--
the bees laughed
my mother hummed
& the colony came home with us--

the workers trained their 
mouths to pull honey
from plastic daisies & larkspurs
piled on my head as a crown--
mistook me for their queen--
built a hive into the ceiling
of my bedroom--

no one else seemed to notice
the bees or
the statues they made of
me out of honey grids--
when my mother turned out
the light they started 
their game of faces--
distortion of the shadows
off my nightlight--
the bees haunted my room
with the scuffled
beard of my dead grandfather--
articulated their bodies
into the grotesque
& skeletal--
i grew afraid of bees--

on the 3rd night
of possession i asked
them what they were doing
& they told me they 
were being human-- making
a body so that they could
walk with me in day light--
how long they had wanted
a body to hail-- to
love-- to sting & die
as martyrs for--
don't we all want a god

i only wanted to walk barefoot

as time has passed my blood
gets thicker by a moon--
& no one still sees the bees
whose hive murmurs in a calliope
of throat & fan blades 
through the night-- i count
the beats of their
parchment wing & my legs
grow lanky-- branch-black--
my eyes a kaleidoscope--
they dress me as their 
insectual goddess--
burn my wrists open
like crème brûlée--
drink nectar from
each open palm-- this body
was always a hydrangea bush
just like my mother--

i stay up with them through
the night-- feed--
dissolve my blood--
this honey in boiled mugs of
water-- hang the tea bags
from my ear rings--
your chamomile-- christened
queen of hibiscus--

stab my through the arch
of my foot again--
i'll be your queen
i'll be your queen--
your face blurred in a nightlight--
your honey & your blood

we don't sleep--
we sing.



 

02/14

what wasn't meant to be written on a valentine and
how i want to remember loving you.

when i used to make valentines
in grade school i made yours different--
i took time writing your
name & i savored the vowels--
loved you like red jolly ranchers
& chlorine skin--
kissed boxed dinosaur card before i
slipped it into your box
in the front of the classroom--
i've made it a tradition to 
leave words off valentines-- 
let's just leave it your name
& mine on the torso 
of a dying birch tree in
the park-- carve me with a butter knife
into the back of a grilled ham & cheese
sandwich-- i remember how
you tasted-- strawberry & ice cream--
i remember the worms that watched
us get married
on the playground in first grade--
the back stoop of the soda shop
that caught our bottles caps--
tell me again how we fell in 
love too fast--
tell me again how your lap
is where i watch the fireworks
in august when
we all have given up on summer--
i love you like gold fish in tomato 
soup-- like the bananas you
hid at the bottom of my Cherrios--
like a seat in a waiting room
or the psychologist i never told you
about--
i love you like the change of a bike gear
like my legs buried
in the sand-- would
you love me if i came out again
as a mermaid?
i've never wrote about this
on a valentine because
i don't remember who it
was anymore but i know 
someone had to have taught me
how to play cat's cradle--
how to stack cards to make a castle
in third grade
when the ceiling was still
tall--
this is stone slab we used
to mark the grave of a dead chicken--
the rotted out tree trunk 
where we rested to eat granola bars--
this is feeling naked 
in front of you 
& for once being unafraid--
i'm not scared to write a valentine
to anyone who doesn't
want to love me anymore--
it would take will for me not
to love you-- there's something
i remember about you
that makes me want to
savor the time it takes me 
to write your name--
take a chocolate from the box
& break again like a cordial cherry--
don't you give me a teddy-bear--
chocolate heart
helium balloon
valentine-- 
give me a picture
of what you like to remember about me
let's split another doughnut here--
rub the icing off my chin with your thumb
-- kiss me in the 
dark body of the witch tree
on top of the hill in the cemetery--
we'll elope under the leaves again--
hang upside down from the caterpillar tree
buy candy with quarter--
you caught me a crayfish
or was it a dragonfly?
today i will remember you 
for what i think about when i write
your name-- 
no one loves each other like
the scrolling font 
of valentine's day card--
suffocated in cellophane-- 
we bite people in half 
like pieces of assorted chocolates--
remember how we tasted--
knees on a back porch--
straw stuck in a blue raspberry slushie. 

02/13

boiling my angel hair and 
every girl's fear of the deep end 
of the swimming pool--

the voice of a steel 
pot taught me how to hold my
breath when i was 3 years 
old-- face down in a bathtub 
i assimilated--
inhaling soap bubbles--
and bubbling--
he said he liked me 
Al dente-- 
my mother called me 
angel hair and dropped
me to the bottom of
the ocean-- 
i snapped my pig tails 
in half to fit the steel 
pot-- beat the sides
with a wooden spoon--
the talking drum of 
the kitchen tile--
a message from the abyss--
break wine glasses
on the white coral on the way
down-- knee scab marinara--
my bloodied-nose was a bread stick--
my hair again the insides
of a spaghetti squash--
tangled and bleached by
the darkness--
oh but how 
the water shook me loose--
shook my loose--
turn my bones into hair
into pasta--
i was born so scared of angel
hair and slipping down
the drain of the swimming pool--
awaken in the candle lights
of angler fish-- 
angler fish eat angels with
their tuning fork teeth--
i was
swallowing myself
in the deep salt water--
face peeled away by
a hydrothermal vent--
there was nothing but my
angel hair and 
bone becoming 
linguine-- 
what do boys find so
attractive about
angel hair? 
about long-hair girls?
was it easy to pick me up
in a fork--
twirled into submission--
submersion in 
the deep end of the pool
where the chlorine 
turns into salt
into breath from
the earth's core-- 
i feared the deep end of
the pool because
i could see 
what was swimming beneath
me--
another boy
another fork--
another slab of butter
to tossed me in--
pull the pot-lid
over me so i can 
get comfy-- get loose
with myself--
contort my own hair into
a fist of pasta--
crawled out onto the kitchen floor--
a trail of primavera
on tile--
my hair was caught in the coral
so i had to eat it myself--
no my hair was always
mine to eat--
weak body of an angel 
to resist the crank
of a fork--
i bled like tomatoes
under bare feet or basil--
i don't swim
where i can't see the bottom--
snap my short angel hair
in the morning
to fit in a coffee mug--
ocean boil these girls
into couscous-- escape
down the drain-- each grain
of my bone
ground fine into
sand--
the angler fish 
can't eat you when
you're this small--