stones of small

a slick red ball breathes tight over leaves
peeks past owner’s stone
giggle flaps through willows
silver jacks clink against a rock
a ladybug
on Palmer’s tower
reflects Willard’s blue smoke eyes
in its lacquered shell
he was six
He giveth His beloved sleep
rocketh them on oaken boughs
on the bosom of a buxom wind
white with pollen and moon
He taketh His beloved up
their plump pink arms
and apricot pouts and glossed cheeks
soft bangs bouncing straight across lashes
and stills their throttled lungs
a jumprope smacks an obelisk
bearing the name of Emiline’s grandfather
and his mason crest
her knee twitches against dust in heavy sleep
What games do the ghosts of children play?
What lullabies for babies dead unnamed?
What elegiac etching on kitten graves?
marbles clack against mauselea marble
like tiny fallen teeth

_____________________

may 16, 2007

my body
is a song
a celebration
curving through the grainy light
of sunset

eyes are opals
hands hallelujah
carving out the crimson glow
the sun slipping
dipping into
lake
turning water blood

i blow a promise
a kiss
to ripple across the surface
of thick red glass
a promise
to chisel
at the marble
of my soul

______________________________________

october

it was mid september when i declared that i would create october beautiful because i never had. because i had always let it whip me. because i have never been more buoyant than the changing colors. because chill claws at me and then i claw at me. and mid september i said ‘no mas’. i have the power to create whatever i want. i will have a phenomenal october. i will conquer this thing. each week october tries to get ugly and i pat it on its wild head and say ‘nice try’. i will not succumb. there is too much beauty. i made a declaration, so the weather is holding.

today i realize that i am not weak. i face forward with golden cheeks and slay demons. but then i feel my bones thrusting toward concrete. then i feel my blood thrashing against nails. and i look at her and say ‘what are you doing? it is october 30th. just one more day. you are here.’ and she snarls at me and skulks away. i carry the flambeau high above my head and shove flames at anything that threatens darkness. last week i was so proud of the october i am writing that i pondered a november. call me crazy, i said, but i think i’m going to go for november too. ok, he said, i’ll bite. you’re crazy. ‘i’m loony, i’m daffy, batty as the mad hatter…’ i sung to myself. stop it, i heard him say a week before. every moment exists all at the same time. i wonder if that is a waste of energy. what if just one moment existed at a time? like one light on in the house. who needs six lamps in the living room?

if i can remember to eat breakfast, i will start the day with b vitamins. october will end as beautifully as it began and november will be beads of sweat skating down a brown back. i want so bad to be heard, i want so bad to be sung.

what did you want, he asked firmly

i wanted to love you, i said unwavering, embarrassed of my past tense, emboldened by his

last night i thought, it is never too late. and i have nothing to lose. october is almost over anyway.