ir a principal |
Ir a lateral
This was a year I saw
the sky as a space
where fingers play and make up worlds,
mine included.
It was the year I navigated
interrupted lines alone,
and towards the end,
together without permission.
It was the year I arranged words
with clarity and intent;
the year of A+ in English;
the year of settling on the next step.
It was the year of strength,
and the small construction sites
I visited most weeks
to build it.
It was the year of pages being turned,
and thought-up inkwells
spilled for the pleasure
of metaphors.
It was a year I returned to roots,
and found them growing
within me, nurtured
by my journeys to and fro.
It was a year that taught me
until the last day
that I am enough.
This was a year I saw
myself as a space
where heart plays and joins together
everything.
What shall I play for you?
I'm grateful that the lessons we most need to know
are taught to us in an artful living of our now.
This is a Christmas
on a bed,
with a pillow bounced off the wall,
unsuspected wrapped gifts,
bowls of food,
chairs backed with Santa hats,
adrenaline and jitters
and the word love a few times.
We learn not to think back,
not to read the transcript of our past
like a royal decree,
but to embrace and thank
as if all that has had to happen to appear this now
from the inchoate realm of its possibility,
was written in illegible ink,
so all we could do is roll up the parchment,
and hold onto it for a while
to remind us of the here, of the now;
God,
and not being able to piece a miracle together
despite its already complete.
wiringin a battering of desks
boxes clutter firecrackers accidents in front of our house
behind a wall poem
ordinary people
in beds heads on pillows
pills in jars house movement
ten thirty seven
shit ready to come out curry stain
yes
to firetrucks
close eyes
close.
on the cusp
a laugh laughed out
with its arms widely soaring
we are about a land
and a sea inside one throat
we are home
and the soot on our feet intrepid,
come from curious brushes
where the nearest scratches of the sleep
are splayed
we have come muttering signs
that,
here we rest our strings
here we bow
and here we hold
hallelujah
when through the window
a square of sun looms,
it ties into the leaning hairs
of my arms;
holds me there on my bed
to watch the zoo of rain
dangle to the earth somewhere below.
when the clouds close over
like eyelids,
i wait for the wink.
it comes
(i don't know what it looks like)
a girl wears her brown hair
on a window sill;
her eyes i barely see
through the weald of my forearm.
her gaze tangled in the earth below is
stuck to ferns of steel or
bodies simulating life on sidewalks.
each blink
she reconfigures
the columns of cells at the back of my head.
