"Protector of clarity"
In the German language
a name which combines
the two people who already
love him best.
An unspoken wish for him
to defend truth, pursue honor,
and live in integrity.
The concern is that in his pursuit
of these things, we will have caused
him to miss out on the lightness.

"Yahweh has given him laughter"*
In the Hebrew tongue,
a name which combines a person
set aside and his father, set aside
specially for me.
An unspoken desire for ease,
joy, and endless laughter to come
without struggle.
The worry is that with this lightness
will come an absence of the
struggles that make laughter
so enjoyable.

Forward steps are measured in inches-
Every foot an insurmountable goal.
You drag yourself along
Every effort bringing new pain.

A backward step is a mile.
And it doesn't even hurt. Actually,
It's like a hit during rehab
And it feels just right.

But then you breathe it back out.
Too late - the buzz in your veins.
You know you shouldn't have...
But it feels. so. good.

Your vision clears
You hate yourself.
Your bruises haven't healed
from last time
And
Here you are.

Starting over.
      Inch
             by
                 *inch.

My eyes have seen the body
of a lifeless tiny son
They have fiercely wept for heartache
when life from my womb was torn
They have held in them the vestige
of a perfectly formed son
My grief keeps lasting on.

My eyes have seen the pink stripe
of a second ray of hope
They have gently wept from joy
while I grabbed the saving rope
They've beheld the wriggling grey shape
of a tiny new sweet babe
My love keeps hanging on.

If Christ learned obedience
through the things which
he suffered

Then I will choose obedience
because
I suffer
far less than He did.

I guess you could say
it's kind of the way
that your beard is uneven
and your body is pleasin'

I guess you could say
it's the games that we play
when we're both lacking sleep and
we laugh 'til we're screamin'

I guess you could say
it's kind of the way
you drum 'til I'm keepin'
the rhythm you're beatin'

I guess you could say
it's the way that you lay
as I watch when you're sleepin'
and snorin' and dreamin'

I guess you could say
it's every single day
we can't help but cravin'
this love that we're made in

they're warmer,
slower somehow,
these
tears of grief

they warm my eyes
like i'm
filling a bath
and sinking down
in too low
to breathe
but not quite
so low to drown

they're warmer
sure
but softer?
not quite.

they ***** down
slowly at first
and then
they chase each
other about
halfway down
because
it seems they're
in a hurry
to leave behind
the ache they
bring
the sting
they
sting

they pool out
they run down
and they leave
me behind
dried out
and empty
with no chance
to escape
into the air
and change
into something
new
the same way
that they
do

Growing up on a farm
I lost count of
The hundreds of times
We rotted compost
And scooped manure
In order to make things grow.

I figure that's the reason
I still believe in my life
Blooming.

I chose to be porcelain.
   (It's pretty.)
People hold you up to look all around.
   (Oh! How pretty!)
You don't get to choose it but
your design will be stunning.
Good enough to pull their eyes
from the inside your craftsman forgot.
Someone else's half-finished thoughts
marking you forever.

I chose him, too.
   (You're pretty.)
Entranced, lost in my designs,
he poured in me a rich, sweet cream.
The richest half and half
pretending to make me whole.

your words were calm last night

so much so that it surprised me

you gently explained that the threat i perceived
was merely an effort to hug and to hold
because you could see the fear in my eyes

you watched my body start to shake and
you saw my mind flash back to before
and leave you standing there alone
while i was grabbed back into another night
a different fight

you rushed to me to hold me
not to hurt me

but the difference blurs in my eyes
and my mind can't seem to sort out
that night from the ones that came before

my eyes couldn't find yours
and my heart wouldn't slow

you did the right thing
but my past
betrayed me in a way that
betrayed you

and
for that
i am sorry

It's a sad day every year
when Mothers' Day arrives
and I know I have to call you
when we both would rather die
than spend five minutes talking
and mhmm-ing and remarking
about the weather and your boys
and the home I don't belong in.

It's like Rupi Kaur says,
"You should have known."
You should have seen me
as a candle,
you should have felt
me as a flame.
You should have never
tried to hold me,
should have never
changed my name.
I was never merely embers,
I was always made
for pain.

He sees me as a candle
soft and light and
smelling sweet.
Or he sees me as
a wild fire and he
marvels at my heat.
He's the wind and so
he tests me
and I
burn out or I rage.
He's the wind and so
I need him,
to clear away the haze.

He can quench the
flicking candle,
he can feed the
blazing flare.
He can touch me
without burning -
I can't breathe without
his air.

A l~u~l~l~a~b~y
   or a tired sigh

            a chuckle

                      a laugh

                 a      dam        burst        open

      A SHOUT
             a cry
(a secret unopened)


                     Soft prayers and sleepy groans
             or stand-up hairs from guttural moans

But my favorite is the whisper
(through the dark
and in the night)
it's the one that
shouts through tears
"it will be alright"

But my favorite is the whisper
(in the soft gold
morning sun)
it's the one that
wakes my heart and
pulls my strings undone.

But my favorite is the whisper
(in the race
of passing time)

it's the one that
shouts from mountains

            you,
         my dear,
         *are mine.

as foreign to me as
the ocean is deep
(i stay at the shore)

as strange to me as
black coffee
(too bitter for an
already bitter soul)

as enticing to me as
a sunrise
(new
  bright
    bold
      exposing)

as terrifying as
a fluttering moth
(and just as
irrational?)

a concept so strange
to a twisty sad heart
that you may as well
skip me
and enjoy
my part.

On the days that I can't
even roll over in bed without
an internal sigh so deep
it would rival the heave of
the shuddering earth
and you ask me why
dinner is still cooking and
the drier is fluffing and
the dishes are crusting
and the dust is still lying
and my lashes are bare
and my hair is unkempt
as the sheets on the bed...
On these days when
I go to work anyway
before you wake up and
I get home after you
(you're sleeping on the couch)
and pick up after you
and serve myself after you
and you still think to ask
about the undone things that
your eyes see so well...
On these days with
these questions and that
look in your eyes
it's all I can do
to set my jaw,
smile,
and say:
"I just haven't..."

The things left unsaid
are usually more hurtful
than things left
unthought
(Ask me how I know).

It's the things left unsaid
that eat into the light
of your usually
big heart
(Ask me how that feels).

It's the things (I) left unsaid
that leave you (who says them)
in a quiet little space
(unaware)
that I'm not as good
as you're trying to convince
everyone that I'm not.

I suppose there is
a thunderstorm
brewing up outside.
I suppose it rivals
the lightening storm
you're holding deep inside.

I suppose there is
someway that I
am surely to be blamed.
I suppose you could link
either storm
right back to my name.

I suppose that some might
jump or fret when they hear
the thunder roll...
I suppose that might
cause me to fear if not
for the CRACK
of your soul.

I thought I knew forgiveness
   but then I saw it through your eyes
      the gentleness there when you see me mess up
      the patience in your smile when I'm confused...
You watch me explore, get lost, see it all.
I love that you don't catch me when I fall.

When your voice drops down low
   like the heat before a storm
      your words still lift me, embrace, encourage-
      I see your secret smile when I pull myself up.
It's in your voice as it crescendos back up
   like the crinkles in the corners of your eyes.

You let me walk, run, fly, see, grow tall...
*I love that you don't catch me when I fall

It's Saturday. We're running late for a wedding.

Scene:

**** body, loosely wrapped in a lime green towel
which, I'm sure, makes the paleness of my skin
downright floresce in the warm, bright sunlight
pouring too generously through the picture window.

A mound of life rises like the moon,
casting a glow all the way to my face.

On a Saturday. One in which we are currently running
quite late now for a wedding.

Contrast:

Against the softness of the sun, a backlight glows with
harshly lit updates from hundreds of people who,
to be honest, I keep up with to be kept up with
and I suppose that makes the glare harsher.

My hands curl softly around the glare, thumbing
gently through this distraction in an effort to abate
the sweltering heat of late April in the WV mountains.

It rests softly on my rising moon, the source
of this precious glow far outshining the scene around
me, although the burst of glorious sunlight coming
would prove me wrong again.

Then it happened.

On a random Saturday morning. We happen to be closing in
on being too late for the wedding.

And my hand jumps.

He kicked me.

And you ran to me.

And we watched in wonder
this life we made,
this man in the moon,
being everything but still,
until we ran out,
still dressing as we
frantically raced
our way to the wedding

(which we were not late for)

on Saturday.

Flushed and warm.
The kind of breathless you get when a
   butterfly from your belly flutters
      onto your heart.

And then it starts -
A little squeeze on your heart,
   a bigger tug on your smile.
The sprinkles in your laughter harmonize
   with the beat of his heart.

He breathes through your whispers
   which creak the bed though you try
      not to wake him.
But he smiles anyway -
   you can hear it through the dark.