I have one thousand
experiences in me,
but I am the now.

In the late afternoon
I want to go outside
but don’t
because of the bees
that dance
and
hover
in early spring sunlight.
I—an adult—
Gigantic compared to them—
am terrified.

So, I stay in
where the air
is still
and smells
of last night’s
fish Friday
and I don’t move for
hours
in a place between
sleep and awake
though my body begs
as I dream of outside
but it seems
frighteningly  

far


away

the beating drum in me
hides:
a grotesque pumping coward.

an orange guitar
and a bottle
of cheap Merlot
is a Saturday night

a mistle-toe scented candle
burns:
its flame
moves, jives
to the vibrations
of
Stevie Ray Vaughn.

quiet fall
creeps in
through the
cracked window--
the smell of fields,
of north carolina
air

just off the pulsating sounds
of the city's street
we found a haven
of overgrown daisies
and blackberry trees

with death below
our stumbling feet,
we marched
to our hearts' errant beat:
our veins warm with life

cracked stone supported
our contented skin
and we sank lips to lips
as those below reached
with the bones of bear fingertips

seeing faces
in the wood-paneled walls
of my bedroom
again:
laughing ones
make love
in the passionate brown
of night wood
and
screaming ones
bother me--
sneak into my
dreams
to disrupt
the blue slumber
of my
ignorance

I was indifferent when you died.
My smaller self—
who had decided to be a nun
was too young to understand
death.

I played with Barbie dolls
while you mustered your last breath
downstairs
to warn mom: protect
the children.

I matched skirts with shirts,
placed shoes on feet shaped for heels
while you told mom
the priests are
in on it.