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She doesn't shout
her survival—
with practiced grace
she is born
from undoing—
walked through wreckage
and returned new—
a purple raven.

Her rising
isn't fire—
sometimes
it's the warmth
held
in her handwriting.

A lavender soul—
not loud
but a lasting kindness—
a scent
you didn't notice
until she was gone.
 Apr 18
Evan Stephens
"Love is the worst religion,"
croons the dying television,

with no further explanation;
well, thanks for the news -

I see myself in emptied glass,
a bust carved rude and inchoate,

poet, captain, lost apostle
of the worst religion,

baptized in changeling pools
of day and week, scribbling

my night's peak breath
on the flypapers of insomnia.

Sun over sainted skin,
stars where evening eyes were,

swain's vespers, all of it
splitting like new ripe fruit

in sticky hands of the acolyte,
ardent hands of little silver.
 Apr 13
Shang
we didn’t need music
just the hum of the fridge
and the dog barking two floors down.
the sheets were half off the bed,
her hair in knots,
my hands shaking
like I’d lived a hundred lives
and never touched something so real.

Serena—
she looked at me like she already knew
where the cracks were
and kissed me there first.
no ceremony,
just heat and breath
and two ******-up hearts
trying to beat in time.

she moaned like it mattered,
like the world might stop spinning
if we didn’t keep going.
I bit her lip, she scratched my back,
we left bruises that felt like
truth.

afterward,
she lit a cigarette
with a hand still trembling
and said,
"we’re not broken,
just bruised in the right places."
and I believed her.
Intimacy is such a delicate and necessary thread that weaves true connection, trust, and vulnerability between hearts.

oh, today is my birthday!
 Apr 9
Anais Vionet
(A repost from 2019)

My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..

Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.

She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.

I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.

I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.

This is too big for me, too awful and too close.

I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.

I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.

40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.

Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.

As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (Gospel music):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston
It's a sad anniversary.
 Apr 4
Orchid
And if I met my dad before I was born
I would tell him
"Let her go"

"Let her live, smile, be loved"
"Let her be hurt without your touch"
"Let her laugh with others"
"Cry tears with others"
"Let her life be hers to clutch"

I know I won't exist
And I know you will have lost her
But better for me not to breathe
And better for you just to grieve
Than give her the life that cost her
 Apr 3
Agnes de Lods
There are those who
spark under lights,
ready for fame
and splendid glory.
Untouched by the weight
of what lies behind.

There are those
who don’t seek applause,
work their silent craft
in the back row,
hold up every story.

Quiet presence,
unnoticed encounters
in the long hallways—
heroes of background,
like the steady ticking of the clock.

They are the pillars of pyramids
built by self-proclaimed Pharaohs.
 Apr 3
Maryann I
I’m tired of loving like a dog—
all wide-eyed loyalty, waiting,
tail wagging for a love that lingers
just out of reach.

Tired of chasing footsteps
that never turn back,
of curling at your feet
only to be kicked away.

I fetch your affection,
drop it at your feet,
but you throw it further
each time.

I was born with teeth,
with a growl in my throat,
yet I soften myself
to fit in your hands.

No more.

Let me love like the wind—
wild, unchained,
touching only those
who welcome the storm.
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