But you're not a damsel in distress
You're not trapped in a tower
You're not a princess
You're not the protagonist
You're not a character
You're not in a movie
You're not falling in love
You never were
You're not a special case
You don't need help
YOU ARE NOT HELPLESS
If anything, help yourself
You're not the only person on this earth
You are not an actress
You are not a songstress
And sorry, but you're not a poet either
You're not good enough for one man
And the other is not good enough for you
You can't have everything you want
You can set yourself free
And I hate to break it to you
But the first thing you cannot have anymore
Is me

In a tornado of flags and smudged faces
You carry a white rifle
It twists and slithers around your neck
Your torso
Your legs
Swift as a snake
You're a blur of grey and black
Barefoot and pale as dawn
As papery and long as a willow tree
Spinning and twirling
Graceful and strong
You dance amongst the women
But you're stronger than most men
Then in unision
You all fall in a heap on the floor
Legs twisted in your flags
Completley still
They eye of the storm has never been more beautiful

The In-Between
Miles of dust and sun
40 needful years of turning on a bitter lathe
Yet only my children will know why
and will their children's children remember?
will any legacy be left written upon hills of sand?
will there be no wind, no moon, no fear?

No

Well…

Maybe

In a way I am begotten of those stiff-necked nomads
In a way, my feet still burn and suffer the lessons learned

But I have my own desert stretching my toes
But I have seen a promised land filled with giants
and I have sided with the ten
and I have labeled the two - nutbrained

But slow your fear shea… slow your darting eyes and consider…

I live
I don't have to but I live
I live now
At least for now… but
For what?
Must I live for something?
I might live for nothing important
but that is not the same as nothing
and important is a thing to consider
while this wind carries pain into your face

But I do not lie down
to let dunes shift over me
For this fact if none other
I perceive a reason
A something
More even - a Presence
Concepts in the human mind are like these flowing hills - changing
I have not pushed
this far
for the sake of a concept
I know I have not because - becuase - it is not even in my power to do so
you are looking at a turtle on a fencepost - do the math

So return behind the How
Let the weight of the What
and the wonder of the Where
Conclude
with the obvious Why
There is only one
and it is a Who

So tell me while my ears are open
Play Solomon for my blistered and bewildered heart
must I chase wind
or worse… turn heel and flee the wind
all the way back to Egypt
Can these ashes in my mouth be
swallowed or spit
while I yet live - yet journey

How many chairs have we parked ourselves on,
side by side
in these 6,205 days of marriage?
Side by side at our wedding reception
principals’ offices
school graduations
courtrooms
funerals
new baby nurseries
counselors’ offices
new cars and
bars.

In lawn chairs
pews
rockers
couches
backseats and
airline seats.

The size and shapes of the imprints
we leave behind
changing over time.
The faces of others seated with us coming and going.

Always, we have tried to leave a trail of love,
like the slime of slugs and snails.
And for each other, an extra measure.

How to mark time now?
Does waking happen with deliberation, or visit whimsically, awaiting last dust of dream to drift past?
Am I to eat at the appointed time? Does sun dictate anything anymore?
I have noted days’ passing with laborer’s clock ticking for so many days, weeks, years.
What if I am less without this calendar?
Free-floating, do I have the same substance? Maybe I have been carried by throngs of clock followers. Without their slip stream, perhaps I will go invisible.
That sounds wonderful. For a time.

I was so desperate to believe you I fed my gnawing gut a decorated lie.
I sat fidgeting in the hard place,
pretending to watch tv, glancing instead back toward you
tinted blue-electric, shadows dancing on your socks where they held down the floor.
I wanted to be sure, to let it go, to be anywhere else but here. To be someone different.
But I had no voice.
It was the dream I couldn’t wash out. It scratched me from then inside when I tried to smile and entertain you with my tricks.
It did not help when you told me to look next to the bed, where it lay. How could a Bible live here? I wondered.

Leaves dim against the sky
Focus makes a shift into blue
That moment arrives
and I treasure it
plunge my fingers into it
And even as I wrap my body around it
it is leaving me…
don’t go…
goodbye

Another comes playful on its heels
but I have a fork in my mouth
so it wanders into a corner
to console the dust left there

One of its friends stops by
(it has many friends)
I consider more will be about later
so I remain unmoved
– unmomented

All used cups – 99 cents
and there is one well-used
A bit delicate
A sharp lip
The floral design fading into china white
She drank her coffee black
I conclude with a tipping look
or perhaps a single sugar cube but certainly
this cup lived its life favorited

It has rested beside many morning papers
and accompanied many fresh tea-biscuits
here it is - sad - lonely
its friends saucer and spoon lost
at the bottom of a box in back

All these other stranger cups surrounding
most haven’t a clue how to be a favorite cup
You must meet her lips just so
for what you contain is both
a delight and dangerous

You must shape into her hands lovingly on cold mornings
and balance perfectly from her aging fingers
when her mind is engaged elsewhere
Your morning greetings should be bright and hopeful
reminding her daily of all she is likely to forget
- There is beauty in the world to savor today
- There is goodness in every drop of life
- There is truth to be stirred by even now

It is not an easy thing to be a favorite cup
you must endure many more scrubbings
than the visitors cups
and the thoughtful-gift cups
the ones which say “Worlds Greatest Grandma”
the ones loved but unused
You are far more likely to be dropped and chipped
so you must be stronger than the rest
and more than any other dish in the cupboard
you become part of who she is
until the day she dies
and when
she does
the plates and bowls and holiday mugs
will always find a new home
you never will

I found it today
as I sifted through my malice
mix this liquid called intent
rub it deep into the callous

Came across the finish square
so long ago, I felt the flame
rolled the dice once more but backwards
I couldn’t quit the game

I found it today
as descriptions beg for air
I nailed it to the stilling floor
convinced one day I’d care

Came across the final need
’twas years ago I saw the fear
rolled the dice once more but backwards
love couldn’t interfere

I found it today
as the moment shrieked delight
in the mists of intermediance
shroud the horror of my plight

Came across the mirrored quest
centuries of bleeding feet
rolled the dice once more forever
I couldn’t find a seat

~Shea

I was appearing
On a back porch in front of the world
I didn't have a song to sing
I didn't have a title a degree
An office an oracle

I did have a handbag
Full of failures
Of misunderstandings
Of hopes from love

I stood unsure of myself in the yellow spotlight
And I asked my first question

I am not the first to have asked it
-standing in front of the world-
And it wasn't even my first time
I asked it

Indeed the words laid
Out in front of me
Like a worn dirt trail across the campus green
Like an obvious horizon

The horizon is somewhat different when
You expect the world is flat
Destinations are no longer a fuzzy objective
But a vast emptiness
Which the bravest turn from

Its no wonder under this plastic light
That clarity and compassionate
collusion against the fall
Appear in fact to be waiting patiently
For no one to arrive

Some no longer ask the question
And that alone neatly divides us
Much more than our varied answers

With that line drawn I stand
Stand over here
On my knees unsure of the answer
But unwilling to stop asking…
A blind man swinging against darkness