beauty marks and
kisses from angels
dots on white
checked every year

they made my mom sick
they burned them
cut them
froze them
they cover her more than me
like sprinkles
little moments in time
spread over her body
my fingers would trail them
feel the way they changed her skin
I loved her dark spots
until I realized they did not love her

I've grown
my skin has stretched mine
pulled my dark spots apart from where they started

If I could show you just how much I've changed
I would show you with my dark spots
I would show you how they started here
and moved
and changed
and grew
I would tell you how one dark spot has tracked my growth
it never expected to be pulled down with the years
but my growth prevailed and there it lies
miles away from it's home

I would show you the one that I touch when I am nervous
but not a bad nervous
the nervous that excites
that entices
that knows there is more to find
an adventure abroad
your love to steal
I touched this dark spot when I first saw you
I still run my finger over it
every time we meet  

I would show you the scar
where one was cut out
where my kiss from an angel
was suspected to be a kiss from cruel fate
where my Mother's sickness
shined through me
where I felt mortality for the first time
I lost my first tooth that summer day
hours before they took my first dark spot
it was as if my body knew it was time to grow up
now that I had thought of death
there was no point for baby teeth
their assessments were wrong
my dark spot was an angel's kiss
but the risk was too great
a lighter body and an aged mind moved forward
my kiss gone
my blessings gone as well

I would show you the ones that come every year
that lightly dust my nose
I would run your finger over the skin
to show you that they are as fleeting as the season
that they pop up as fast as they leave
just like you did
you left with those dark spots

I would show you the ones that make me who I am
make me who we are
the triangle on my left arm
the triangle that all the women in my family share
the women that are the strongest I know
that have their own dark spots
their own stories
such a vast valley between our lives
joined by our love
by our past
by our dark spots
all in the same shape

I would show you my fourth dark spot
I would show you the thing that I am most proud and humiliated of
the fact that I am not wholly one of them
the fact that I am my own

I would ask you to flip me over
to run your hand across my back
to clutch my ribs
to touch the dark spots I cannot see
to give you the dark spots that are for you
I would show you the dark spots that are for you when I walk away
when I lay next to you
under you
in front of you

if I could show you how much I've changed
I would show you my dark spots
the ones that belong to you
the ones that belong to the angels
the ones that belong to the cruel fate
the ones that are from my mother
I would show you the ones that bind me to the women in my family
but most of all
I would show you the ones that are just mine
that only I know
I want you to know them too

I want you to know my dark spots

My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.

Torn from the wallet of the eye- a tear
Shunned for coming as it come
The cathartic shame of soulful slum
A derelict ship of the fleet of composure
A captive buys casket, but what of enclosure?

We fall to the silence of fear
Pile it high and bury it low
Yet still these mice of woes do flow
Over marble pages of black and white
Confirming the captain slipped away in the night

There was a dirt road that is now paved
There sits a house where the tree line fades
Through its doors I do not know
Who walks the halls beside my ghost?

On a tree right down the road
A cross is nailed and the oak tree bows
On a cross tattered and dim
Reads my name-- never forgotten

Beneath my feet once powdered brown
Green grass grows all around
Except one spot where dead grass lay
Evidence of other days
Through the glass- between the blinds
Bottom the sound of whistling chimes
Into my room I glanced to check
If my room was clean and not left a mess
But where clothes once lay-- a different boy plays
And on his mind it does not weigh
Who walks these halls beside my ghost?

Pattern the ice with
your collarbones.
Showers of lavender
hidden in your hiking boots.
Hang stamps from your doorframe,
the snow will melt someday.
The taste of words
bounced out of your mouth
last Sunday evening.
Shrugging off the sun
from the duck pond
to the sand
caught between your sock
and shoe.
I’ve been memorizing
deep breaths
and the way hair curls.
The keyboard knows your
v-neck and
the cocoa powder park.

Strong perfume can’t
be appreciated
under the milky way.
I fixed blue green eyes
on New Year’s,
one side of the
collared shirt turned in,
steam rolling hair and
too much straw.

Old shoes
filled with cinnamon
sit on 4:17pm
with an unmade bed
of sour green vertebrae.
The city at night,
a crescendo,
explodes in silence,
hot tea and warm mugs
tuning campfires
built from matches.
Thursday sunrises
balancing on wool sweaters
and the smell of fabric softener.
The early morning
hurricane over worn wood and
wet pavement
sounds of winter.
The snow’s just trying
to be human.

this swirling roaring wind that blows homeward from the sea
                                         saltiness with eucalyptus blending in twisting my fear
                                                the knots in my chest and stomach entangling
                                                      ­deadly mocktail of emotions surging
                                                         ­ with every  howling whoosh  
                                                        ­        a new green life falls breaking
                                                        ­                      life prematurely ending
                                                          ­                       storm violently shaking
                                                         ­                           every limb of every tree
                                                            ­            an attempt to blow anxiety
                                                         ­               into each living breath
                                                          ­                       a drenched vision
                                                          ­                           of a couple of crows
                                                           ­                        seemingly meditating
                                                      ­                      in the midst of the tempest
                                                         ­            holding their own  
                                                           ­                     in the eye
                                                             ­                   of the storm
                                                           ­                       they find
                                                            ­                         Peace
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   01.11.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish