I am me.
Not Peggy Sue
or Mary Lee.
My thoughts are different,

my feelings too. I need a wider
fence to gallop and trot. All who
sat in my saddle have fallen
off. I won’t be roped in or

pulled. I’m sure I’d make
a better mule. Do not compare me
to your others! The bee makes honey –
the cow milk, the silkworm

silk. That's how it is! And will
always be so. If it’s too much for you –
then let me go!

for the successes.
But be there
for the failures too.
Anyone can love a star.
But who he is
goes beyond the trophies
sitting on the mantle,
or the degrees
hanging on the wall
or the money
or the title
that they call him.
It lies in his heart.

Be there
during the happy times.
But be there
for the disappointments
and heartbreaks.
Because they’ll be many.

Be there
to listen
without judgement.
But be there
when he shuts you out.
Let him know
the door is always open –
That’s what being a parent
Is all about.

They outgrow their clothes
and shoes.
But they don’t outgrow
their need for you.

count the seconds
as she the years?
Do you
turn around
fast as a spinning top
so not to see
a drop
fall
as the rain
on the pane
streaking the glass?  
Do you
play the music loud
to drown out
the sound
in your head?
Do you
run
not looking back
at the scene
of the crime?
Do you
fill your time
as your desk
with clutter –
lower the shutters
in your window?
she’ll see you’re not home
but the car engine
is warm -
the only warmth
she can touch
and she naps
as a cat
under the hood
Do you
chop her up
as a piece of wood
The pile's growing bigger
but it's many months
til winter

gold
as a wedding band.
But it doesn’t shine
in my hand.

You can paint it
red
as blood.
But it won’t flow.
It makes a thud.

You can paint it
green
as clover.
But it only sits.
It won’t come over.

You can paint it
wearing a smile.
But it’ll not be happy –

It doesn’t have eyes
to look into mine.
It doesn’t have a mouth
to sing a note.
It doesn’t have arms
to hold me close.
It doesn’t have feet
to climb the mountain.

I lost a man from this planet.
He lives now under
a slab of granite.
Hard and gray as a stone.
All that's left of him are bones.

if I was an eraser
and you were chalk
on the blackboard,
until you were a billowing
mass of dust. And I’d inhale
you as a cigarette and smoke the rust.

I could wipe you clean
if I was a sponge
and you were a spill
on the granite counter.
I’d soak you up through
my pores. You wouldn’t lay
cold and flat, so the ants can dance
around you. The smell of you
inside of me, dearie has me
singing as a canary.

I could wipe you clean
if I was soap
and you were the dirt
that stuck on me
as a mud pie. You’d
stain my bathwater as you came off
and I'd sit in it lost
as a pickle  in a jar of juice.

I could wipe you clean
but not out of my head
if a man splattered my brains –
you’d break out
but I’d be dead!

are all the same to me. You have
both as a mother. And you wouldn’t
trade the stretch marks for his
brother! The saggy ******* and varicose veins

are the badge of honor that you obtain
as part of the parcel of birth. You unearth
a man twice. And the world as you see is
a casserole made from a grain of rice.

in your hands
and twist
until every drop
of my sweat
is released
until my breath
sticks
to your shirt
like grease

after you unbutton
your top
I'll dig a hole
through the layers
of gray hair
into your mole
i'll build a nest
here

i'll dab my salty brine
into the lines
of your skin
so, i'll run like a river
and you'll swim

you can string the beads
of sweat
wrap it around
your neck -
dangling like a tie
lying flat
covering the shirt
the shirt covering the grey hairs
covering the mole
so, this pain doesn't
grow cold