Wrestling My Father

The scent of gasoline and lanoline lingers
mingled with sweat and Old Spice, menthol
Winston’s from back before you gave them up

for good persist in half-life beneath Vitalis
sheen and Listerine, waves of Bengay radiating
off red hot coals of trapezius muscles seized

inside a white V neck tee from Monkey Wards,
thin cotton canvas worked with small fevered hands,
greedy, slathering claim, leaving myself open to

reversal and the pin, sting of ancient rug burn
still gracing my cheek, palms pressed to face inhaling
what little I can of you by lung full.

The silence of solitude
sings to me at night;
soul-satisfying
words whispered
for my ears only
while the house sleeps.
I draw from the well
of my self, and savor
each drop thirstily.
The starving beast within
gnaws at every fresh
crust of aloneness,
melted butter soothing
scalded hands,
until my rumbling gut
is sated, and is at peace
with itself and the world.

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.

This world wasn't meant for me.
To be all that you can be
means you must give in
to giving up one of your desires.

When you can feel your heart
by touching your wrist
you're able to close your eyes
and feel the Earth spin.

That is transcendence.

That is comprehension.

It's what cathartic energy
once was, before sacrifice was
essential for happiness.

This world hasn't accepted me.
I've only learned to
tolerate injustice and
repetitive wrongdoings
that history has tried
to educate the masses with.

They're written in
differing languages and
many books; books that implore
morals and ethics,
but place brothers and sisters
into groups of people
destined to fail.

Simply because
minor differences are easier
to swallow than
major similarities.

That's why this world isn't
meant for me, or you.

We sacrifice
our lungs for shelter,
and our hearts for love.

I. Midas

i like to look at your picture because it reminds me that you are just a man

your hands have handed me horseradish and hard liquor and you’re about as chatty as the women on the view but it's great because i'm totally into this view

and ohio was gray until out of the blue, you touched me and i turned to gold

---

II. Indianapolis

i want to rage so hard in this life

i want to be so exhausted from living that i don’t even have the urge to fight back on my death bed

and i’ll be too worn out to walk into heaven that the angels will have to carry me in

only to have peter push me through the drop door and i’ll plummet straight into purgatory

which i’m convinced is the state of indiana

where there’s inexplicable construction funded by taxes from the four people who live there

inconveniencing all the rest of us who are just passing through

peeing in your roadside wallpapered bathrooms and marveling at your cows of many colors

the loudest noise in indiana is probably me screaming

it’s like each telephone pole took two days off my life

but i lived it.  if driving through indiana meant giving life a chance, fine.  i found a vegan restaurant in indianapolis and i got lost in indianapolis and i hated the fact that i got overwhelmed in indianapolis

but god put it there.  so while the angels escort me towards the drop door, my legs will be too sore from LIVING my LIFE and i can turn around and look at peter and say have fun standing in the same place on your stupid pink cloud and before i know it i’ll land with a thud in a truck stop on I-70W surrounded by billboards advertising breakfasts and best westerns

i used to be real tough.

i killed the spiders.  i’d scream ****** ****** while doing it but i’d **** them with my bare hands wrapped around a can of raid.

my pillows took the punches of my powerless days.  i showed my mirror the pride of my powerful ones.  

and my days were measured in buying the dress because it was ten dollars.  and not buying the dress because it was ten dollars.

and then you showed up.  

and you told me that my smile was a million dollars.  

and then i melted all over the ******* floor.

****.  what is happening to me?  i’m breaking out in a cold sweat.

somebody give me a bill to pay.  give me a meal to cook with only three usable ingredients.  give me a life insurance policy to read and a car title to transfer.  

me?  a million dollars?  wow....you really thi—SHUT UP

you need to shut up. with your biceps and your goofy cowlick.  

because i have a meeting to go to.  i have deadlines to meet.

and even though you called me a princess and no one has ever called me that before because i’m too big and tall and clumsy and loud and weird looking

hearing you say that made me want to be held, made me want to make you a nice dinner, made me want to wear a pretty dress and tell you about my most powerful and powerless days as you wrap your arms around me

me!!!

who used to be real tough

Do you know what time it is?

Is it springtime?  It tastes like springtime in every word I wish I could say to you, but I choke on petals and potting soil in the meantime.

Is it Sunday morning?  It tastes like Sunday morning every time I speak your ancient name that led me out of Egypt.

Is it naptime?  It feels like naptime in every toss and turn I take, even though when we lay down, we don’t usually rest.

Do you know what time it is?

You don’t wear a watch.  But if you did, it would probably be a Casio watch.  Because you’re subdued and kind of smokey and there’s nothing shiny about you

Until you laugh from the pit of your stomach and I feel like I’m home.

You don’t wear a watch.  And I’m glad because it shows off your arms more.  You don’t need to cover them up and you actually don’t need to cover anything up, ever.

Wait.  Is it naked time?  

Do you know what time it is?  

Is it dinner time?  Like the time when you smeared barbecue sauce on my face and got away with it?

Is it wintertime?  You make me feel kind of warm inside.

Is it bedtime?  Because even though your eyes are the color of ice and your spine is made of steel and your biceps feel like bricks, you are the softest and gentlest person there is.  

I’m afraid that the clock will strike twelve and you’ll see that I’m just a maid in rags who has mice for friends.  And that I am actually not a princess.  

I’m just a girl with a funny name who has completely lost track of the time.

He went from stone to telling me he loves me in his sleep
And I couldn't look into his eyes until recently because it meant that I had to accept my own mortality
Not because he's going to **** me
But because I'll never truly know what's on the other side
They're blue and that's all I know and it keeps me starving and satisfied and scared and safe
He's my safe space. The kind that ****** off our baby boomer parents
He'll call you by your preferred pronouns. He'll celebrate your womanhood. He is the painting session that's offered instead of the midterm exam
My only worry with him is that my hair is frizzy and my lipstick is faded
I don't even worry about his roommate hating me when I visit because of our sighing and the bed squeaking
I'm at a place in my life where I wonder how high I can go at this point but if he is my anchor, the view is just fine
If he is my anchor, I'm not drowning at all
If he is my anchor, he'll lift me higher because he likes that I'm tall

They called it weakness
You called it ashes
Regardless from
Where you came
You were born into
This strength

faux leather cracking, mauve in between
soft swoosh and wheels creaking
14 minutes and 38 seconds
your back stiffening, careful not to lean
too far back, in case the couch swallows you

why would you put such a small picture
in such a large frame? a sigh
you can’t run away from your anxiety attacks
you know

I know.

this is nothing like the movies
the bathroom is out of order
and there are barely any notes
on her clipboard
45 minutes and 22 seconds
let me know if the sadness gets worse, alright?

alright.

a child is gagging in the waiting room
you rush out without the copay
but you’ll be back again, soon.