Six (1)
i was forced to navigate alone
through unfamiliarity of first days to school , some blocks away,
i mapped my way through imagery
the texture of sidewalks
color of cement
cracks and lines
the number of curbs
and crossings of streets
navigation was a white fence with wooden pickets
(like Donna Reed's)
that captivated my hand and soul
i rubbed my hand along those pickets
felt it's ribs as they anointed my pain,
smelled lavender, violet, white, and pink –
scents that drenched the fence and me
perfume like nothing I'd ever encountered
the lilacs towered over my small birdlike body
with scented florets in the thousands,
i would stand and stare up into that heaven-
forget the pain, the isolation,
the harsh words,the compassionless voice
pushing me
from my nest.
Six (2)
Walking alone in Omaha snow
sidewalks invisible,
paths invisible,
i had to guess my way along
Navigation was a precarious whiteness,
a beautiful cold, a soft and wet cold
and one could easily
slip through it all. . .
i comprehended this on my own -
the hole swallowed
my booted foot
up to my knee
i was a bird in the hard moth of darkness
i was vanishing into another terror,
a trapped fragile bird in a metal grate,
one leg out of the nest
the other in a black hole
escape was a struggle
i was alone on the street
no one heard my small voice in the stillness
of deep snow
i was disappearing
who would know where I'd gone
or why?
Six (3)
Dressing Up
was a navigation of imminent importance
charged with responsibility
be something proper
be photogenic, smile your way through the lens
beyond the pain
behind you,
keep yourself smiling
wipe off that smirk, that intolerance,
that stubborness and fear
keep smiling until the film hits 10
and you walk away, leaving the posses
for navigation. . .
