The Earth is molting
And though today is a day
Marked by putting layers on
Rather than taking them off
Hidden does not mean gone.
She will shed her skins again
She will bloom and rise and blush
Rolling over in crunching leaves,
Turning her face,
And baring her arms to the sun
Giving it permission
To shine on her again.
Her seasons are only moltings
She does not lose herself in them
And watching gives me hope.
She'll reemerge
And I, like her
Will too.

Can I be both
the center and
the ray

the middle
and the outskirts

and is this longing why
it hurts so much

and why you asked me
to expand?

I am weak
And wobble as I stand
Like a baby bird
A phoenix, perhaps
Rising from the ashes
With a bit too much smoke
Left in its lungs.

The old husk
That shell built over many days
Of spring and rocks,
Gentle grass and balmy river
When it forgot it’s name was phoenix
Has been torn off
Too soon, like a scab
And the new skin underneath
Is tender in its infant stage
Under thin and ashy feathers.

Yes, it lives
Yes, it is rising

But one cannot go
From flames to flight
In an instant.

Let it instead be overnight
And let you, sweet bird
Rest
In the meanwhile.

“Who are you?” she asks me
With her elbows on the counter
Bridging her kingdom to mine
Her eyes see past me, through me
And I stop and I stammer
Because-- don’t ask me that, I don’t know.
How should I know?
I am a fellow traveler with myself
On this long and lonely road
Growing as I go
A sparrow searching for a nest
Because the places that used to fit me
Can’t hold the ways I’ve grown

And when I find it, I’ll step through that door
Holding hands with my darkest parts
And if I’m lucky I’ll get out before
We burn this whole house down
And as it goes, the bridge of our nose
Will tan, but I’ll get sunburnt still;
From wandering through the deserts of my mind
I know that she, that me, is out there too
And just because we haven’t found us yet
Doesn’t mean we aren’t out there to find.

Our paths just haven’t crossed since they divulged
In a yellow wood I near forget
Ever since the wood was cut
Tree by tree, to make the walls
That make the bedroom in the hall
Above the stairs where I’m still hiding
All my problems, hoping I’ll be gone before they find them.
That wood which held me as I was torn asunder
The paint which soaked up silent tears for years
Can never feel like home, and is it any wonder
That I’ve tied the pink and yellow to my fears?

And have I taken the road less traveled
In hopes of finding something new?
Or am I only pressing on in spite
Inspite of how I slowly come unraveled and unglued?
Alone and lonely—yes, I am
But why change course? For all I know
I’m almost to some place where I can rest
Halfway to some sort of home

And she doesn’t blink or stammer
Her gaze was glazed, and now confused
Because all along she asked me how
I was; she wasn’t asking who.
(And in lieu of that I meant to say
“good thanks, and how are you today?”)

April showers bring May flowers
They say, they've said for ages gone
But what when April's dry as bones
Parched and bleached by desert suns
And May, her lover, weeps and groans
And the flowers blossom anyway?

Don't.

Cling to the stars
Gaze up, crane your neck, feel the weight
Your hair in its lopsided ponytail
(No matter what they tell you
nothing decrees that
you must have it perfectly centered, or straight)
Paint your nails-- some, or half, or one, or all--
Whatever your heart desires
Put art on your fingers and the toes of your
Bare feet, pressed against slanted ceilings
As the smell of wood fires drifts through the screen
In, like the breath the world takes
As it wakes, rising in the morning
With gentle blue-toned shadows
And whispers of tires on pavement
Even before the sun

Get up
Early enough to breathe
And don't make your bed
(Unless it will make you happy when you return)
Get dressed
Wear clothes that make you admire yourself
In mirrors, windows, reflections on the train
(It is not vain to love the way you look
nor in vain if it makes
the weight of your heart a little bit lighter to bear)

Press your hand to the glass when it rains
And your nose to the pane when it snows
Or better yet
Go out through the door
Hold hands with the universe
Dance to the time of the storm, or
Reach high, clasp palms, and twirl with the sun
Spun in the wind
Whichever the day warrants
(There will be days that warrant one
or the other, or both,
or something else entirely.)

You'll know, so don't worry.
Don't worry about up, that unattainable goal.
Don't grow up.
Just grow.

someday
there will be those who come after us
soft boys and tough boys
rough girls and fluff girls
and every shade of other in between
someday
they will sit where we have sat
and talk of what we said
and we will hand our world over to them
and they will take it
this fragile trembling beast
(we called it earth)
and it will be their world
and it will not be the same world
this earth-thing, this legacy
relies on every story
every creature that has ever walked across its skin
and I
for one
will tread lightly
softly
and paint flowers instead of trampling them