Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us

Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight

Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank

Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations


Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning

Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.

They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun

Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.

His hair, soft between my fingertips.
Our foreheads are pressed together, skin pulled over bone.
I am glowing from the inside out; the sun is only an echo of my own illumination.
His warmth is mine, and mine is his.
A smile doesn't let out enough happiness, so I must share by kiss contact.
My heart is connected to my eyes, which are connected to his.
I am so safe, close as can be.
I am loved, I belong.
No longer floating in the dust.
Taste and smell, touch and sight.
Alluring, angular, soft.
Energy spins and bounces between the spaces.
I am his puzzle piece, a grin beneath his teeth.
A push, a pull, battling forces on the same side.
A lifetime in a single moment.

On my right;
A pair of girls with trendy leather messenger bags
Permanently glued to their shoulders
That holds no namesakes
On my left;
One ex-best friend,
One once-friend-but-now-an-enemy,
And a third who hates by association

Navy drips from the spot directly above my head
And slides, and spreads,
And covers the teal along the edges of evening

My jaw is ground shut with the tension,
The weight of the hatred
Clamping my teeth to each other
Pulling the muscles with their ties
That are beyond invisible

I’m alone, as always –
**No emo intended.

The sky is dip-dyed in gray
Worn at the edges by pulling little hands
Opaque; no light shines through
No pinpricks of the crossweaves of this satin
Only the shadows of stars seen by darting eyes

Below,
A contained rainforest nestled in a suburb
heard but not seen,
separate sounds aligning.

This mingles with the clink of car tools and occasional laughter
soft, a murmur, like rain in the dark
not meant to be witness, only listened
a moment of peace,
undisturbed,
alone but not lonely.

Assuming a Corona
resting on the still-warm curb,
dripping a cold summer sweat.
Assuming a pickup
A red Ford? Too cliche.
Hood open, leaned over or slid under
Grease stains and a wifebeater

Everything is swelled and lazy and happy
like sun-grown watermelons
everything falls away to this sweltering peace
narrated by AC and bicycle chains.

I am motherless.
She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn.
Watching her fall has made me rise
I will be her polar opposite.
Her failure is my success.
I was numb to her death,
Like watching through one-way glass,
My heart feeling no pain, no loss.
Just relief.
I am safe now.

I am a muzzle.
I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself,
Bottled like colored sand and shells.
They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes,
Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean.
But every time I talk myself down,
And push the words back down,
Fingers thrusting cork underwater.
From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness,
To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said.

I am a dream drawer
With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint
A colonial home,
On a tree lined street,
A square front yard,
A big oak tree,
Green grass and a wraparound porch.
Inside,
There are varnished floors,
Built-in bookcases,
An Ikea kitchen,
And a Pottery Barn living room.
The kids wear Abercrombie,
The school bus stops at our front door,
and I am a mother for my children and for myself.

I am a street photographer.
Windows are my viewfinders,
showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click.
I am fascinated by the insides of a home.
I wish I could stop time and walk inside,
To see what’s behind that glass photograph.

I am a poet.
My dreams and desires,
My feelings and frustrations,
Are not spoken, but written.
I cannot just “turn on” my poetry,
I need something to speak to me,
Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight,
Or a restless night.
They whisper at me,
Cast me meaningful glances.

I am a miner,
Searching for diamonds in a harmony,
Where I just have to close my eyes,
Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums.
I am Jonah,
Wrapped in a musical hurricane,
I am surrounded and forced to forget
Everything but what I’m hearing.

This is a night
Where you can’t tell the road from the rain
Where everything is dark and light
Peaceful and weighed down
With the smell of smoke and water
Where you stand in and on and around it
And let it soak your skin
And your hair
And your clothes
Until you’re freezing
But you’re not upset
You stand under the porch
And watch it fall
Fuzzing the grass and the ground and the trees
So that nothing is horrible
Nothing is wonderful
Everything just is as it is
Where your house and the road and the car
sits and absorbs and expands
Into peace
With the birds sleeping
And the squirrels hiding
And the sky is even
And everything is beaten down into the soil
So that you are meditating with open eyes
And an open mind
And an open heart
You feel no fear
You feel no stress
Only a gentle love and awe and amazement
At how throughout the modern years
The heavens still do the same they did
When the world began
The rain is truth,
Never swaying.
Everything is nature in the rain.
If there is a god, the rain is not his tears
They are his calming hands.

My first kiss
hasn't happened yet.
But it's there.
Like a butcher's number,
Tangible but not taken.

So I am left to elaborate
With my own imaginative details
What a kiss is like.
And I feel that
Everything around me
Is adding layers to the
Experience
Until I've arrived with

My heart exploding
In a frantic beat
Like twitching
When you're almost
Asleep.
Aware of his arms
Even more of his lips.
Wanting to go farther
To catch up on lost time,
To dive into the ocean
And look upwards into the light
Of what's above
Where I am safe in silence.

But he's as unexperienced as I am
More scared than excited
Not ready for the dive
That I've had my toes on
For years.

So I'm left
With the perfect memory
Of a kiss
That never happened.

Unfolding flowers, grasping, slipping through the future’s mist
The weights of fear and experience worn on a wrist

A touch, smooth yet microscopically rough, transfers words
Like a ****** postcard with postage stamps worn on a wrist

A god’s sculpture, a child’s toy, and scientist’s creation, a trinket –
The rust of effort and tears worn on a wrist

Wet from lake water, dried on a dock, then wet again by grassy dew,
Friend’s woven strings warmed by the sun worn on a wrist

Like museum displays, filaments suspended through champagne and handshakes
Everlasting elegance worn on a wrist

Twisting and folding, the doorways to gentle kindness and flinching pain
Choices and reactions worn on a wrist

Strings that pull with fist’s enclosure, blue laces act as highways beneath glazed skin
Flip over hands to a weak exposure worn on a wrist

Windows open on a Wednesday, a gaze across the room
27 bodies rising and falling
A look left – a look down – hair cascading:
Secrets and apologies worn on my wrist.

I would stand alone in the swelled, saturated silence,
My feet planted on the ground, my arms chained.
The dark clouds above would crack, corrode, and leak,
And the first few drops would fall and burn my skin.
The rain would come suddenly harder
And the first lightning strike would connect to my hands.
My whole body would hum,
Every fiber of my being, every cell, every nerve, electrified, and jangling.
I would not hear but feel the bass of the thunder,
Vibrating and intensifying the electricity streaming through my veins.
My feet, face, and hands would be numb,
And the rain would soak beyond my skin and bones to my heart and soul.
I would rattle my chains and as the electric viper retracted from its bite,
It would pull my soul and spirit along with it.
While my body is screaming to the gods,
My soul would take my pain and pierce the thick, stony clouds,
Putting all my force into stabbing the storm.
Then the chaos would pull in upon itself and would leave nothing.
The sky would be left as an open, cool gray,
And when my spirit aligns with my body again, my chains would be broken.
But still I wait here, gazing at the uneasy green sky.
A few strange drops fall,
But the clouds only continue to swirl and grumble to themselves.
And here I stand, alone in the layering darkness,
Waiting for the storm
That could be.