One day, you
decided I would
speak no more.
So I sat as
you sawed my tongue
and sewed my lips,
"For proper measure," you said.
You smiled at your finished work.
I couldn't.
You see,
My lips were sewed
together, too tight
Like the pen
I held,
hidden in my hand.

I always imagined September
a woman
Carelessly tousled
Auburn hair
crowned
with multi-coloured flowers
Dressed
in silken smoke
Dancing in a grove of fallen leaves.

I never imagined September
to look like grand-mother
Wrinkled, waifish
Wrapped in a blue waist cloth
A *** in hand
Slowly shambling
towards the sun-dried fields.

We are made up of stories.

We are stories in somebody's tongue
In somebody's heart
In somebody's head,

We are stories your grandmothers told you about.
We are your grandmothers telling you stories.
We breathe the stories that breathe us in.

For when the waves run out of shores
And the heavens roll back into emptiness
We will still Be, Stories.

There are wolves in the classroom.
They sit and stare
watching, waiting
sniffing the air for a hint of blood.

Remember Red

There are wolves in the classroom.
You have to tread carefully, cautiously
Lest their teeth
Sink into your soft flesh.

There are wolves in the classroom
Whimpering, growling and howling,
Gently now, be wary now

*Remember Red,
Remember.

Because heaven seems so far away,
I keep my soul
hidden in the spaces between words.