my parents drove, and took me away
from school
my mother bore heavy words on her chest,
weighing her down with every wheezing breath she took.
my step-father had something a little vacant in his eye,
barely there but i noticed.

they sat me down and spoke
small, soft, strong words to me
and then

your

grandfather

has

cancer

i sat still, unmoving,
"if it spreads to his lungs, he will have two more
months
to live."

slipping, slipping like mudslides in a rainy season,
air in my throat was stagnant
bones
weren't holding my body properly, what was happening to my
skeletal system?
dripping like
cold rain.

then, i crashed.
speeding, so fast down a freeway,
sliding down the highway,
slippery ice under
and here was the crash.

wet anger tore into my mothers shoulders
as i clenched them
i
screamed  
why do such horrible things
happen to such
kind people

and my mother said
i dont know
with tears of her
own.

chugging nyquil
with black haired girls
in the bathroom, with my bones shivering in anticipation
and cold,
at the same time
it hit half an hour later,
my hands are covered in charcoal
my thoughts are sinking to the
muddy bottom,
i stare at the space just above the clock for a little,
swaying to the rhythm
"why'd you only call me when you're high?"
well,
i'm not high
but i'm drifting somewhere in between
and i only wish
i could hear your voice.

this song reminds me
of blasting it from small speakers,
smoking cigarettes and flicking the ashes into pristine snow,
making it soft,
dripping,
grey.

dancing in the sunlight filtering through the trees,
prisms of light touching me,
caressing my body,
moving my hips to the beat of it,
a short haired girl, and a brown haired boy rolling they're eyes
at my addiction to it.  

"we've places to go
we've people to see"

it reminds me of running down roads
vacant of any other people
flinging loud voices from high rooms,
floral.

it reminds me of a long haired girl,
dipping our naked bodies into
bathwater,
shower dripping down.

it reminds me
of the sunset,
how the world for a few moments
was in eternal dusk,
weary, tarnished clouds
croaking their tired gears,
coughing violently from tainted lungs.

i miss bare-feet on roads,
i miss sharing spirits on the
small parts of sidewalks;
hidden.

drowning in
lilac perfume,
playing hide and seek with our mothers,

we can hide

but we'll always be found.

not suicidal,
i just want to be filled with sand,
and cut open
letting my insides fall from
a poets hand.
please just give me ***** so this day
will end
with empty beds
and things shoveled
out of my head.
i need to get out of this place
it makes my
skin feel
like
lead.

ma vie a vivre.*
scream it into the empty night
with your roaring voice
clawing at your throat
ma vie a vivre.
yell it loud into the
black abyss
with the silent sounds of white
noise as a backdrop;
crickets,
4 a.m. freeway trucks,
your feet pattering, slashing the pavement.
ma vie a vivre.
yell it when you're drunk
with lips that taste like
spirits
summer
and orange cream popsicles,
whisper it in the roiling
and plotting storms,
bags under eyes hanging heavy with rain.
ma vie a vivre.
say it softly with
moist lips,
into the ears of a
boy with
hands like the husks of coconuts.
ma vie a vivre.
say it in a hushed
strangled
voice
at a mothers twisted face,
in the air that echoes with a
rageful slap.
ma vie a vivre.

this is my life to live.

when i die,
i will not be buried,
i will be burned and my body will become
smoke in the vacant skies.

like  skin  want  lips  night  words  love  soft  just  time  say  sun  hair  summer  know  eyes  morning  crave   burning   tick   way   life   long   old   smoke   moment   body   kiss   people   dark   small   voice   black   cigarette   face   hold   fingers  
ocean   little   breath   mouth   red   need   girl   sky   town   feet   new   stop   cigarettes    make    naked    things    feel   hands  fall  past  bed  tired  cold  filled  *******  softly  vie­  vivre  we'd  walk  dawn  left  air    
look    white   yell    good    thought    head    art    bodies    boy    rain  ­  wine     took    dry    drunk    road    snow    bottles    poetry   untitled  
you'd    light    nice    maybe    tongue    secret    kisses    ­warm    supposed    kissed    remember    touch  future   leaves    leave    music    ice    strong    wild    bones    sin­ging    couch    throat    sleeping    young    scream    
lovely­   mountains    eyed    coffee    golden    purple   inside    cheeks    world    taste    used    came  lungs  day  alive   room   sunlight   different  end  heart  letters  think  kind  open    distant    dancing    hearts    sweet high    knew   tears    blue    mother    water    freedom    wonder    painted    wind  ­  makes    read    told    heat   happy    
afraid    grass   brown  half  late  exactly  raw  large  hanging  whiskey   clothing  flowers  drunken  palms stuffed  there's   tiny    silent    moments    hot    dreams    bit    speak     dance    desire    dust    ready    arms    moon    run   drink    fast    trying    longer    slowly    darkness  
  real

i remember when my mama took me up the mountain,
she told me,
"now, you are ready."
and pine and oak softly fluttered their leaves at my arrival.
there were yellow flowers,
growing wildly,
strangling the delicate blue blossoms,
made of flimsy roots and spindly bosoms.

i was the youngest in a tribe of
golden skinned people;
dreadlocks, tattoos,
moon cycles on the sides of their eyes,
and hair like cattails whispering in the dark.

with my stomach churning,
i entered the tall, dimly lit tepee.
the medicine man sat churning the ashes
in an empty fire-pit,
and women stood around me scattering
flower petals like
soft skin
all over the red-dirt earth.

his eyes twinkled,
and told me things that he would only let the
dusk unfold.
i took my seat on a white sheep-skin,
settling myself.

as the night grew older,
the fire grew larger,
shapes elongated on the fair skin of the stretched
tepee,
the flames dancing wildly,
smoke drifting up into the
starry dark.

the fire keeper stoked the raging
yellow and orange tongues,
and the medicine man sat with a bandanna on,
his waterfall nose moving,
and his leather brown skin creaking,
as he told us stories of the sacred medicine.

and we sat,
somebody started singing.
my mothers warm frame was close to mine,
and my step-father next to her,
shoulders touching in the close proximity,
intimate, smoky air.

they beat the deer-skin drum,
badum badum *** badum badum ***
in native languages like
roaring rivers,
they sang songs to the medicine,
for the opening of the heart;
their swift and strong voices
rising like smoke and flame.

when the drum was passed to me,
i didn't know any songs,
wasn't aware that i had to know any.
i started to hit the drum with the padded
stick, and
closed my eyes,
feeling the sticky sweat of my perspiring forehead
drip down upon my licked lips,
tasting of wood and dirt.
i sang something lilting
sounds coming from the deepest
crevices of my throat,
being gently pulled from the grasp of my ribs.

the medicine man put pine on the fire,
it sizzled and breath was filled with
sweet and sharp.

when the air was right, and
the night was thick with song,
he uncovered baskets of small,
green and ridged fruit-like shapes.
"buttons,"

the medicine was taking her form, and was cradled
as a native man took it around the circle,
along with oranges.
i'd find out soon why.

i took two, small and light in my fingers.
i closed my eyes and took the first bite.

my mouth was struck, eroding teeth
and erupting tongue
my face contorted from the bitter juices the small fruit
held within its delicate skin,
my stomach churned and i swallowed it down
biting into the orange, skin and all
begging for a shock of zest to take
down the intense flesh of the medicine.

i looked around,
some people were on their third, fourth.
the beat of the drums was constant,
along with the quiet,
restful crackle of the sighing fire.

the second bite was less of a surprise,
and i finished my first one.

it was only at the third bite of the second button
that my stomach refused to go any more without
heaving,
the astringent juices of the
small fruit working its magic on my stomach.

i closed my eyes and embraced what was around me;
slowly swaying in the deep voices of my
family,
mi familia,
'ohana,
and the heartbeat of the
mountain drums.

soon, i felt weary.
my mother rested her hand like falling rain on my shoulder,
and i lay in the warm arms of her
shawls,
twisting around me like snakes.

a traditional rollie was passed around,
made of corn husk and hand grown tobacco.
my eyes grew slow and drooping,
and i fell into the waiting arms of sleep
while listening to the music of
tobacco and wood smoke, hushed voices,
wilting night,
dancing fire, and alive laughter.

my sleep was deep and dreamless,
my body carried to other places by the medicine,
leaving my mind behind.

i woke to rough feet on the red dirt,
and my mother and father intertwined like red roses,
sleeping below the tepee's watch,
my mothers white skirt fanning out like
soft sheets in the summer
walls.

there were goodmorning smiles,
light spreading from one set of a skin to another,
as my family embraced me,
told me they were proud and grateful to me
for sitting with them.

a bowl of chocolate was passed around, along with a crate
of juicy, pink, dawn touched strawberries.
i dipped them in the dark, sweet and rich paste
and one after another,
felt myself expand into the universe even more.
only when my mother awoke,
to sprinkling flowers,
and lifted sky,
she told me that the chocolate held the medicine too.

i made my way across swaying, long grass,
and sat in the sun, sipping tea with a sliced lemon,
making art with twists and curls of my pencils and pens,
listening to the experiences of last night,
the enlightenment,
the sense of overwhelming love,
that was not quite drowning.

i basked in everything,
let the heat soak into my flesh,
the lilting laugh.
somebody handed me a guitar,
and i sang with my chocolate tinted lips,
and let my voice float within and around the mountain,
filling the tepee and the empty fire pit
once more,
with the sweet and bitter tastes of
the medicine
*peyote.