Searching

I always thought the iPhone
the most human of devices.
I named mine George.
Like an overeager child
George buzzes when engaged.
Spent, he recharges
to the sixty second cycle
of a resting heart.
Last night in a hotel bar,
an accidental altercation
with a roughhousing stein of Great Lakes Lager,
ruined the inner George.
Now, when shaken, George rattles.
No longer able to connect,
the heart-rending message “searching,”
parades across his shattered screen.
How human that yearning
for connectedness?

a dress
a skirt
pink lipstick
that never felt quite like me
baggy pants
baseball cap
dirt and roughhousing
that wasn't quite me either
I was ugly
or at least everyone told me I was
I was too masculine acting
sometimes feminine features
my chest was too flat to be a real girl
my walk was too swagger infused
my fashion style, too--- not enough cleavage if you know what I mean
apparently a shirt and a pair of pants suddenly made me unattractive to both sexes
both sexes
both
I felt like both
makeup and a baseball cap
flat chest, and a flower skirt
skateboards and hair products galore
looking back,
I was always fluid.
the gender waters in which I was drowing
I was only drowning in because I can swim in both currents
fluid
fluid
fluid
****
Living
Under
Imposed
Doctrines

you are sleeping when it happens
bright lights flashing overhead and
the metallic clang over the din of explosions
its brights and it reminds you of a green lawn and
fireworks bursting overhead and you’re about to slip back into that memory
when you remember the scent of blood thick in the air and
the muddy trenches and
the screams
and now you’re frozen
now you can’t move
you’re terrified and lying still
and then
that’s when you hear it, the
grenade, hurdling towards you and
your eyes are shut tight because you didn’t know what you were signing up for
honor and fame,
they said but
you can feel the presence of the explosive
as though it’s the only thing in the world that matters
and suddenly
everything starts to go fuzzy around the edges,
all bloodstains and yells in the night and in the midst of it all
you are dimly aware of the red leaking from your chest and
dribbling out of your mouth

you begin to lose consciousness soon after this
and all you can think of is that you wished you’d seen france,
outside of the war
because you’ve got a family back home, and you’re desperately trying to think of anything
other than this
anything at all
your old house in iowa
roughhousing with your brothers
and now everything really is blurry
outlined in dark, pulsing red and you start to feel warm all over
and you’ve heard about this, you’re dying and
oh, god
oh, god
you’re dying

the world doesn’t stop for you, you can tell
everything keeps on going, the battle around you
soldiers falling into the trenches, blood spurting in all directions and
now,
now you’re calm
now you’re settling back into the mud, breathing still laboured and erratic but the pain’s gone
and all you can bring yourself to think about
is the fireworks
in july
colorful and bright,
you’re in that world when it takes you

There are 206 bones in my body.
206 ways to break and bruise and punish.
206 words to describe the trees in winter and the pain of memory.
I could tell you all of them.
All about them, too
Names, position, function.
I could teach you how to keep them strong and healthy
And yet
All the research in the world
Couldn't tell me why they vanish
In your presence.
Maybe they’re shy
The butterflies get to them, maybe even worse than they do me
Maybe they want to give us privacy,
The big mama skull ushering her children out of the room,
The nearly identical ribs roughhousing with the hips
And the smallest who make up my pinkies ducking through the door last,
But not without a peek back and a giggle.
There are 206 bones in my body,
And I do not regret a single one.

I look out on another fine day
aspen roughhousing with the breeze, flashes
her good morning
sun goddess smiles
Soon I will pull on my boots and gather up
the reddest and ripest, greenest
and tenderest
I will fill bowls with water
bring oats and pine bedding
give thanks for fresh eggs
Like a thousand other mornings,
and like the first

Here in the stillness, where snails slow dance
to orchestras playing a green symphony, I seek counsel
from those who have always been
who have always known—
How then, knowing this?

The wind whispers its wisdom

You have forgotten we are the same,
you are the seed, and carry all you need
inside of you

Seek the bright elemental light
in all things

Sing because you must

Give more than you take

Grow down and rooted,
reach up and outward
in equal measure

Remember you are made up of earth
and sun and ancestors—
not alone, not above
but part of

Not alone, not above
but part of

Befriend loss, for she is always
at your side

Soft-feathered necks arch
bold eyes fixed, the girls murmur
their assent
They remember the great
transformation