The bright cold expanse of the world greets me,
It is thunderous, stark,
I feel infantile and foreign,
so I say 'hello' with a scream.
Then your arms cradle 'round the whole of me.
Safety envelopes me with warmth.
My ears find the rhythmic drum of your heartbeat.
I surrender to it's lullaby,
and dream.

The aggregate sidewalk won the battle
with my tender unsteady knees,
which wobbled too eagerly forward
chasing butterfly fairies and June beetle wisps.
cherry red tears drip from the wounds,
echoing the cries from my eyes.
Then you arms carry me home,
your lips humming tunes as you wipe away
the hurt with soap-scented love.
I smile and break free,
ready to run again.

I shrink myself into hoodies,
a game of hide and seek
where I am permanently hiding,
bedroom doors closed, hinges oiled with sullenness.
The mirror distorts what I see,
reflection bending to their teasing
until the beauty that you gave to me fractures.
Your hands squeeze my shoulders,
centering me back atop of reality,
handing me the tools to mend my own heart,
and showing me the mountains I have flicked off of my shoulders
as if they were mere mosquitos that loitered too long.
I let gratitude scream through my arms,
and embrace the truest love
that anyone could ever know.

Barefoot
Sand hot, searing white,
like my skin,
which had been kissed by a fierce
fiery sun
that mistook me for his lover.
It was my choice,
not to join the herd,
to chase a quarter mile
at crescendo speeds.
I already knew what it was like
to race the wind,
to pretend I was lightning,
no more than a fleeting flash,
bliss - and then, silence.
I chose the shamanic path,
removing the leather,
letting go of the binding ties,
and the reins,
setting them beside conch shells
that sheltered my keys
and my tether.
Fists full of mane,
thighs wrapped around
the wild grace of Tarpan Luck,
in velvet waters,
sparkling turquoise,
*******, unbridled
soul claiming Amphitrite,
harnessing currents, breaking tides,
even the sun bowed low,
as I gilded the foam.
I echoed the gulls
far outstretched wings,
singing to the envious saline atmosphere,
I. am. free.

pinwheels twirling
spinning from breath
blown through purple popsicle
stained lips
sparkling in golden streams of light
dust fairies floating
in a summer morning window
as butterflies catch
in the net of my throat,
words and wants fluttering together.
I spin silk around them,
wrapping them tightly while you aren't looking,
the wings too soft, too new,
to allow them to break.
The roses give me away,
reflecting their pink
on the ashen shyness of
my cheeks,
dabbled with freckles of copper
that fell from seraphim wings.
The stars witness me tossing stones,
desires dropped where sea glass cuts
and moonlight drowns;
They knot themselves to shipwrecks
no one has found.
I toss heart-wrought wishes,
the ghosts of dandelion seeds,
into the storm-ridden sky,
praying they will take root
somewhere.
someday.

He inherited the tightly folded linens,
starched corners, brittle creases,
bleached until they could no longer recall
every harsh argument around the table
that held them.
Every hem had been stitched shut with silence.
Every stain scrubbed until the blood
resembled rust
and flaked away.
I run my fingers along the monogram,
stitched by hands that had swallowed their own fire,
and marvel at the paradox;
how simmering anger can still
make something so delicate.
She embroidered flowers
no one ever named,
roots turned sharp by willful ignorance.
white thread
on white cotton
"elegant" defiance.
You had to tilt it toward the sun
just to see the blooms.
He told me how on Sundays
she laid it on the table,
a weekly treaty,
a wound she dared anyone to set a plate on.
They never noticed, too busy carving the meat.
The white flag was already folded.
The surrender came with matching napkins.
Now he keeps it in a box
lined with cedar
and the scream he keeps folded beneath it.
I tell him:
use them
or burn them,
but never pretend they were clean.