Tuesday, February 23, 2010

NAviGAting - Alone

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. . .

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

___ BOrDerLiNE :: DaY ____

light of copper on the sea
tainted now in memory
boulevards of live oaks dead
from salty surge
and dancing nights
which in the end
cut the sky with sharp words,
cries of loss,
and flowing blood. . .

latched doors, from inside,
won't let you in
and though you try
. . . just knock no more
and end
this pitiful war.

Monday, February 01, 2010


Above all else

Black Hole

i, the unsuspecting bird,
have fallen again
into the widening mouth,
that deafening silence,
that gravity,

and found, again,
the wrong truth. . .

that persistent Black Hole
pulling me in

[posted via iPhone]