I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra

II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator

III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination

The day of my release
I walked the streets
Seeing the sky and the grass under my feet
It was weird, I was free
But not free from my memories-
They flee,

The people I once knew,
Can't look me in the eye
They know what I did,
But so do I, because everyday I relive-
All the things that haunt me

Every day's a clock, with no hands
Each minute strikes the soul like a match
How am I supposed to relive-
Relearn to live

The cars and the people
The dog on the corner,
He barks like crazy
But nothing will be as crazy as the thought
Maybe I want to go back to-
What was once my living doom

I was told to get a job
But right now crossing the street-
Feels like my head will pop
All the honks and the shouts
Who knew the world could be so loud

In confinement it was quiet
Because a noise too loud,
Could trigger a guard,
Beating us until,
the lights went out-

Showers and meals were on a schedule,
Now I have to decide for myself
And still I manage
I cross the street-
Not trying to vanish-
In my internal defeat.

Can a certain affection,
Perhaps feel as a victory
My love for you, platonically
Deeply rooted into my soul

My veins made for dancing ours,
My eyes made for meeting yours
Self made at heavens sake
I love you dearly my best friend.

I love you like a wind-
That never breezed
My warmth for you is like a winter
That wouldn't get too cold

A love so kind and caring
Like a bird spreading its wings
And a dog running free
Perhaps a bee that keeps its stings

I love the sun a little more-
When you're around to watch
I love the pouring rain
Or the stars I cannot touch.

~
Two minutes of perseverance
two minutes of curiosity

Seeking out life
returning with ingenuity

It's all about surfaces and thresholds
and winter hemisphere

Each of us wants so badly
to be that next satellite

Or at least be allowed
to dream we're a small dark spot
moving across the Sun's face
~

I sat on the edge of the bed.
You smiled.
I am your daughter,
But words mean to you
Something else.

I took your hand,
Telling you I haven’t slept for a year.
I write reflections,
Tame the voices behind my left ear,
Assemble thoughts about the darkness.

I pour a warm, salty liquid
That burns the skin – it doesn’t moisturize.
It helps me,
This pseudo-therapy.
I hide behind my nickname,
So that no one holds me accountable
For what I’m supposed to be.

You also sat up at night,
You read books.
You carried hidden sadness,
I stick a smile on my lips.

I hug people who carry Egregores.
You and I,
we are not afraid of the night.
Your hand is cold.
You smile,
You put together syllables into strange words.

You know that I matter to you.
I pretend to understand
What you wanted to say.

In a moment, it will get hard.
You’ll start screaming like a little boy,
Or again you’ll wait
Until this state of life passes you.

Life?
It’s a kind of space
Where people, because of fear
Bite and scratch
Like frightened, rabid dogs –
And then soothe it
With controlled tenderness.

I sit with you on the edge of the couch
And I think:
We write with the left hand.
We are beings of the night.
Our path was shared –
In fear, to protect a small piece of “I”.

I fear I’ll lose language.
I desperately defend myself against silence.
I dream of non-human languages.
I write words as if I wanted
To cast spells on reality –
Still, it’s not enough.
The anesthesia stopped working.

One day, this will be the end,
Yet as long as I live,
I’ll be the naive one.
That’s what I want.

I choose sweet, sugar-coated hope,
With pink sprinkles,
Telling myself that he, she
Didn’t mean to trample –
Only life pushed them
Into that dark corridor.

My hope
Is not a soft blanket,
This is a heavy, tight helmet.

Up to the trees I go,
Further north where fresh water flows.
Travel preparations with my heart aching,
Home is where I’m free,
Left alone just to be.
Not in this gloomy place,
Not within this heat wave.
Like a pioneer,
I pack my bags,
Leaving behind the places I know,
In search of the places,
Where I’ll grow.

I watched Dad lift
the stunted tree from a highway table,
ceramic *** hot as a skillet in his palms.
Its roots pressed tight
against their shallow prison,
a life made small,
taught to accept it.

He drove through the Mojave
with the bonsai on his lap,
branches trembling
as if already afraid of him.
I whispered secrets to its needles,
pressed my lips to its tiny crown
the way you kiss a sleeping baby.

In the cabin,
rain thickened the air with cedar and promise.
I circled stones around the tree
like friends around a birthday cake
and waited for it to laugh.

When its *** shattered,
he said nothing.
I held its dangling roots in my hands,
mud soaking through my shoes,
syrup cracking on my cheeks.

We buried him-
a little boy, I said,
at the lake’s edge
beside his mother
whose twisted trunk leaned toward water.
Dad said magic would save him,
hoodoo magic,
forest magic,
the kind that never answers back.

On the drive home
I counted hoodoos in silence
and watched the empty bucket
roll on the back seat
like a heart without a cage.