Ice cracks bare
over tattered shoes
and torn feet.
Dust-bin fires and their makers
Creased rags and creased minds
tearing where there should
be no tears
and folding where there should
be no folds.
Exposed hands red
but not from bloodshed
for that is work
of the Godless man.
The same man that
passes us each day
lending not a helping hand
so that we may pull both
our weary feet
of this grave.
NOTE TO PARENT
If I should be a mother
I will sometimes serve lemons for
dessert, because life is bitter-sweet.
There will be no punishment for
drawing on walls; only frames.
I shall tape scriptures to their
foreheads, so that no matter which
way they turn, God will lead them.
If a stray should be found, they
may keep it, for it is certain that
within a few days it shall be a stray
And if they get lost, I will not worry -
whoever took them will send
them back faster than I could find them.
And yes, they may play with their food, because
art can be made from anything, and
artists can be made from anyone.
They will laugh.
Until it is time for bed,
when they will lie down
and look up at real stars,
and love their mommy -
because she'd moved the ceiling.
You are not the kind of
pain I am used to.
You do not slap,
or bite, or pinch.
You do not graze
upon my knees
or bruise the tissue of my skin.
You do not force
the bones of my hips apart
or unravel the pattern of my sleep
with pointless incessant noise.
You are colour
so bright that you burn through
the very eyelids of my shut eyes.
You are fire
warming me so completely
that my vision dances before me.
You are grace
so patient and forgiving
that it makes me ache to think
of your borrowed woes.
You are mine.
of all the beautiful women
that bless this vast, fruitful earth
you chose me;
and I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand
why you sacrifice yourself so.