Between tracks and lead
By the trains of life
Where geese are cackling

This is no invention
Welcome to the trauma of kindness
It became bearable

Between signposts and tracks
By the cackling geese
In the heart of Europe

No blessing
No curse
Just another page

A locomotive rushes past
On the wings of this moment
The wind breathes out love

Between trauma and healing
Yesterday the wound was bleeding
At the celebration of a child

At life’s track
Where geese are cackling
Here the wind breathes out love

When I was in seventh grade,
I learned the basics of sewing.
The basics of how to stitch
things together in a way
that gave them a larger purpose.
I found ways to do that
with the small things
that found meaning with me
in the years that followed—
collecting them,
stitching them together,
to become part of my
larger purpose.

Books that left marks on the mind,
lyrics that realigned crooked feelings,
the magic in every corner of a flea market,
unconventional locations to kiss
a boyfriend.

Then, lightning struck that
sewing machine, while
I was mid stitch.
Smoke rose
from my unsuspecting skin.
With it, came a letter in a bottle.
And then another—
bright words and kind thoughts
that traveled up and out
from a heart as beautifully tired
as mine.
Paragraphs lined with
different kinds of love that
filled in all of the space
between my hundred stitched pieces.
Lightning struck again,
and again and again.
My smoking skin, humming electric—
my hands couldn’t type quickly enough
everything that I wanted to share.

I wrote it all.
I let it strike.
I loved its heat, its deliberate shock—
how it captivated from any distance,
and fascinated with its touch.

Lightning, though,
will always
find an exit.

It will always find
a way out and
into the ground.

eyes on the pavement,
the tiny architectects
of sky bound prayers.

the children draw dreams
with chalk-stained hands
on the cracked concrete,
flowers, and sky bound birds,
and home and stars and rainbows.

a shimmer of light on stone.

will the chalk bleed before the bloom?

Spray,
A poem by
SHERMAN ALEXIE
<>
man sitting on gang chair during daytime
somebody has left orange peels
on the food court table and I wanna
find the ******* who violated
the social contract, who left
this sticky mess, who thought
their little life was more

imporant than the little lives
of the rest of us, but there are so
many ******* in this airport
and I know that I'm one of them,
I know I've disgusted strangers
multiple times in my life so
I just pick up those orange peels

and toss them into the nearby
garbage bin and I wonder how
any of us disgusting humans
fall in love with any other
disgusting human

and our toenail clippings
and rashes and skin tags
and waxy ears and acne
and bad breath and greasy
farts and belly button bacteria
and crotch humidity
and rank body odor

but it happens all the time
people constantly fall in love
and I bet that somebody in
this massive international airport
has, just a moment ago, fallen
in love with somebody
they've just met and isn't it

amazing how many people
in this terminal have climbed
naked into bed and sweated
into the pores of their lovers
and received their sweat

in return and, wow, think
of how many people in this airport
have conceived a baby and how
many of us have seen a baby being
born in all that brutal beauty, look
at all these women, these mothers
and think of how they wrecked
their bodies in the name of love
and think of how we parents

have welcome our children's
**** and **** and ***** and spit
into our lives, who've had all
of those body fluids splash into
our hands, splatter our faces,
and spray into our mouths,

and so here I sit at my gate waiting
for my delayed flight and I see
a homely man and homely woman
curl around each other like one
hundred orange peels and I smile
because I'm mostly okay
with this world awash
with all that is awful
and all that is good

It is not necessarily the way you might want it to be
It is what it is, and others must be considered,
Beloveds too
Narcissists are not welcome, and their insults are ignored
Sometimes a permanent Goodbye is necessary
Sometimes you can't shake it off
Going back may not work.
It is the way it is
It is the way it is
Very necessary to accept the status quo
Despite your opinion
The Way it is
Not for others to understand, but they must accept it