Bully

Broken system,
Fox-newsed
high glossed –
we let you
throw your words
like hand grenades.
I want to cover
the ears of my children.
You make it ok
for others to be bullies, too.
Obstruction of justice,
due process cock blocking,
Supreme Court circus
pummeled by playground vitriol –
what is happening?
Enough.
Already enough
violence and pain,
hunger and suffering
for one thousand lifetimes.
If this were an elementary school,
the classroom psychologist
would have been called in
last semester.
Your hate,
an aberration,
a toxic symptom
of a broken world.
So we will keep on loving,
the only antivenin,
and hope that somehow
it will stop the bite
before the poison
spreads too far.

These Chambers

Though I have had the fortune
of great love, there was a time
I did not know my heart.
My child self never doubted
that the world was made for beauty,
and I am still not certain
that this was not the result
of some accidental cosmic luck.

So much love has passed
through these chambers.
And my heart grew
as hearts will,
or sometimes won’t.

The greatest gratitudes of my life
are for the ones
who used their arms
to hold me.

And there were disturbances
more profound than the loss
of my own blood, and inside
these ravagings and rebirths,
great softenings that dissolved me
into a deep ocean of empathy
and into the knowing of what is true:

every heart I have ever loved
will one day sink to the bottom of the sea,
a small grain of sand

… so each moment has become
an unexpected pearl,
and I am learning
to listen to the drum
that beats a quiet rhythm to my daily doings.

Tether

There is so little time
in the dark, my arm
draped round
your shoulders,
and yet so much,
throughout the passing
of one night, our bodies
turn this way
and that, fold one another
into the soft cradle
of sleep,
and in a love

that breaks our hearts
and mends them,
sends ripples
down the tunnel
of time and into paintings
not yet dreamed.
Oh, the brevity
of breath inside
a night room,
your hand in mine,
and also eternal.
One brush of lips

to lips adds forever
to the story. I cannot say
how it will end, though
it has already begun –
the moment
our hands pull back
that first curtain of sunlight,
we will already
be making our way
toward the open
window. Life is a balloon
inside us,

a spaciousness
filled by daily breath,
until at last our bodies
are lighter than this life
and we float
into the sky.
In the dark, my arm
folds round you
like a tether. We are timeless
and we are time, quietly adding
to the story of things,
even as we sleep.

Pomegranate

I want to dig
a loving finger
into your gorgeous
red encasing
and peel
back the rind.

More gems here
than I imagined,
stacked in crimson
clusters and bursting
to be tasted. Disco ball
of jeweled revelations,

nectar, sweet
and tannic, drip down
my open throat,
each small seed
an understanding,
like I am tasting
secrets.