The Cord

The
red
pulsating
organ
has been
designed especially for me
for us
the cord
vibrates
bringing you sustenance
bringing you life
one of the many bonds that will
sustain us
that has sustained us
that will continue to sustain us
long after it has dried up and fallen off
it becomes invisible to others
yet you and I know it’s still there
synonymous with the cord
that ties my being to my mother
and her mother to her mother
and to all females
to all goddesses, to Mother Earth
and Father Sky
You and him
have brought forth this power
to he and I
and now us to her
and she will continue to drift
to develop her own
one link to another
a large chain of being
that
lasts
indomitably
for
all
eternity.

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The God Head

you move
and my stomach makes a wave
I yelp in apprehension
in newness
at the miracle that is,
that is always inside me
you’ve shifted from
left to right
we don’t know what’s
up or down
what’s head or feet
this way or that
but creation–
you–
my transformation into motherhood,
into the Goddess–
have both lodged permanently
in my heart
radiating the ancient life force
infinitely
perpetually
sempiternally
within
without
The preeminent God head
Forever–

Cigarettes

Go ahead.
Smoke.
Go kill yourself for all I care.
Fill your lungs with putrid poison
Take the life from your body
One looooooong puff at a time
You tiny little snake
You demon
You small small child
Why would you now
When it’s been such a long while?
I’m not sure what to say
I’m not sure what to do
I just know, I just
know
I want this pain to go away–

Coney Island Slumber

you breathe in and out
like the blue ocean waves
at sunrise
with a warm, cotton
tampon floating nearby

perception wants to choose
a good or bad label
but it just is
as the breath
rocks us all
to
sleep.

9:46 pm Brooklyn, NYC

waiting for you to come home
the sound of wind rushing through the windows
hollow whistles the cats don’t understand
I see them fretting their little ears off
and I tell them it’s okay,
it’s just the wind.

my vision is so blurry
i cannot tell if I’ve typed
a little I or a big I,
i think it’s a little I
I’m too tired to fix it.

What to do?

What is it about your presence
that makes me so angry
so on edge
so full of doubt and fear
gripping me to the bad parts of myself
the ones that loop obsessive thoughts
and spew negativity in my mind
throughout my body
I know that my insides mirror the universe
that I am a reflection of God
experiencing himself
and that if I just let go, I can learn to accept
but I find myself feeling helpless
Useless
Having no control–
What’s so hard about giving things up?
Letting others help?
Learning through the process?
I think it’s because my process has been
that no one has helped
I’ve been on my own,
self-reliant for some time
I never asked my parents for money
or a ride
or what they thought about my life choices–
So you, telling me what to do
When I tell you what I want to do

I actually don’t know what to do–
What do I want to do?

All Mine

I woke up this morning to a
denial letter.
You didn’t say why
You just said, “Sorry to say”
I wanted to know what was wrong with it–
the roaches?
the south bronx projects?
the brutal honesty?
Did it not sound enough like the poems you wanted
the bullshit you clearly think is good?
I thought I sounded like some of the greats
the women who fought against injustice
who rallied against anti-feminism
who spent time
line after line after line
recalling what we all know in our hearts
despite what generation we call our own
But I decided not to ask
in fear of further rejection
in fear of a truth
in fear of a lie
because I know
I’m quite fine
I know
because my writing is
all
mine.

Truth

I usually don’t post photos, but this rang so true, I just had to.

Fine

The day has almost passed
I’m lying on the crimson colored bed
dreaming of your violet sanctuary
in the next room over:
Where the cherry blossom decal will go
Where the “C is for Cat” picture will hang
If I want to add the pink and lilac ribbon garland
above your head
and whether or not your tiny books
need bookshelves–

You and your mother are almost done
building the honey colored breakfast nook
Sage green cushions wait to be sat on
Zoya, our cat, has already tested them out
We think we might have gotten a wrong part
And so, my patience is being tried–
But it’s fine
I think
it will be fine–

It is fine.

Flashback

You prick my arms
one, two, three times
No, four times in total
over three hours.
After the first one
I find myself
squirming in the
green chair in the
small room with
no air.
I can’t get comfortable–
I put my head down on
the arm rest next to me
my feet up on the chair
in front of me
my winter jacket draped
across my chest, my infinity
scarf wrapped around my
neck–
I’m hot! I take it all off
How many more hours?
I keep checking my phone
No service
No magazines
I don’t like my book
The news is on repeat–
What is this madness
Purgatory
I hate everyone and everything
and I realize no, this is not working
So, I begin to pray
“Please God, take this away…”
and I remember to
surrender and almost
immediately the pain is lifted
and I feel a sense of calm
a feeling of serenity
I almost enjoy being there
As the hours pass they become quicker
I like reading my book
and now all blood is drawn
I’m done
and I can go home–