POEM: turn the page

I can't stand this

I don't want to be the brave

inspirational

cancer woman

fighting for her life

a one-breasted warrior

battling on

for the sake of her children

I want my old life back

the simple little one

that I should have loved more

Did I dream too big?

Did my reaching for immortality

with words, by pen

invite Irony, that nasty

little mutant creature

to infiltrate, invade

and add this new storyline to my life?

I want to turn the page now please.

POEM: reconstruction

I wish I remembered
the last time I took a shower without knowing
I didn’t think to take notice

or treasure the simplicity

Now, each time

I look at my body, my breasts
I think that soon they, at least one, will change
forever
each time I look at myself
my face
my hair
my eyes
I know they are not the same
already changed
something has been removed
before the scalpel has even touched me

What will it look like after?
What reconstruction is there for innocence?

POEM: blood & milk

blood and milk,
each vital, nourishing
my breasts flow with both now
one feeds my last baby,
drawn out in tenderness
the other, wounded, healing
forcibly drained
pumped as a sign of faith
both elixirs
evidence of hope

POEM: evening unleashed

evening is letting go

there's little left to do

what's still undone will have to wait

the precious bit of time remaining

belongs not to the putting away of things

but to getting comfortable

settling down

unwinding thoughts

unraveling the tightly wound tether

that ties me to the day

loose now I drift

floating

the words come if I am patient

ideas flourish in front of me

on the page

they weave their way gently

until they are complete

unexpectedly

and the last knot releases

soaring

I am done

until tomorrow

POEM: voice

I’ve found my voice
I recognize it
as if it were always mine,
only lost for a while
Yet I know that all it speaks
is different now,
a quality that is new
emerging
from the center
this midpoint that lies
between all there is for me
and all there has been
My new voice recognizes me
and knows we belong together

POEM: my degree

I once felt unqualified
I had no authority
that I could display
no proof of my legitimate place
but sometimes, sometimes
I found myself knowing
what I know
an unadulterated truth
yet I hesitated to speak
now I offer it up
bravely, determinedly
despite my lack
of proper tag or label
who will listen
becomes less a question
I care to ask
knowing only that to exist
to be earnest
to be passionate and open
are my diplomas
better than any hanging on a wall
or shoved in a dusty box
that I think outside of anyway
because I still can

POEM: forsythia

I didn't force any forsythia to bloom

distracted,

spring beat me to it

now long arching branches

are studded with little yellow trumpets

small but noisy

blaring

they remind me that I forgot them

shouting

they herald change is inevitable

Time marches on

POEM: Pygmalion

As your Eliza Doolittle
I had to find the middle ground
when you were done with me
dropped
from the heights you flung me
you let me fall
because I couldn’t fly

but if you’d only held my hand
a little longer
I could have at least hovered
if not so high
then farther than I was able
to make it on my own

A stone once carved can’t go back
to being a rock
to continue life
it must be beheld
eyes upon it
once you turn your back
it is left deformed by the chisel
unable to pick up the pieces
chipped away
now dust

POEM: seasoned

When young
I wrote from a point
of influence
but now I write
half as a child
fresh, clean
my own voice alone
but yet still as a woman
older, wiser
experiences available
expressed without hesitation
or filter
my own voice now echoes
the song of a life
already half lived

POEM: the edge of knowing

There is a moment

right before awareness

an innocence poised

at the brink

at the edge

before tumbling over

into the chasm

of knowing

That fleeting second

before plummeting

becomes so precious

only after the fall

in retrospect

If only

that moment

could be so loved

without facing the depths

terrible

POEM: Fix it

I show him, guide him

let him feel the lump

half hoping in some crazy way

that he'll say,

"oh yeah, one of those,

that's no problem, seen it before

easily fixed,"

as if this were another of his areas

of husbandly expertise

just like he would say

if something were wrong

with our car

or my computer

or the bathroom sink

something simple, harmless

that I just didn't happen to know about

in my girlish ignorance

but instead he looks at me

crushed

trying to appear calm

he says, "I love you."

and I am alone again

with my fears

POEM: Changed

My daughter's favorite tree, near blooming

LUMP

coffee brewing, morning make-up

LUMP

hum of computer waking up

LUMP

last week breast in hand, found it

LUMP

nursing the baby, his waiting mouth

LUMP

today will reveal what it is not

LUMP

but no matter what becomes of this

LUMP

I am changed forever by this

LUMP

POEM: Distasteful

It is a distasteful word,

lump

it thuds in your mouth

like a stone

cumbersome, heavy

it stays stuck

and is hard to move beyond

POEM: waking words

poetry doesn't let me sleep

it tickles my dreams

and pricks my tongue

to speak of morning

POEM: snowflakes from my pen

my words

falling like snowflakes

from my pen

catch them on my tongue

the page

before they hit the ground

and melt away

POEM: Final Resume

Cemetery space
speaks more about life
than what lies beneath speaks of death
Each grave unique
tho fundamentally the same
like the divided cubical
in a corporate office maze
personalized
to make the time there more pleasant
less drudgery
more like home

The larger, grander stones
like the coveted corner office
(only no window, no view)
bigger doesn’t always mean better

I guess
not more talented
just more visible
more outspoken
self-promoting

There are tiny stones
some half obscured by overgrown grass
The entry level position perhaps?

But most graves are middle management
the rank and file
each making quiet statements
about who they were or wished to be thought of

There’s a pecking order
organization, structure
even in death
an impenetrable glass ceiling
but no one works their way up that ladder
the final resume on permanent file
a job description carved in stone
Literally!

POEM: tinnitus

silence i miss you

your beauty unnoticed

until you went away

i will never win you back

it's over for good now

i should have appreciated you

but i didn't know

you would have a reason to leave me

forever

breaking my heart

shattering it loudly

so loudly

endless echoing sorrow

till i hear no more

POEM: Separation

mountain ridge

brutal slash across the horizon

gaping wound

separating earth and sky

how could you?

POEM: Hungry Muse

Feed the Muse

give Her books

poetry and art

movies and shows

even websites and blogs

to devour

to distract

a filling detour

She will be hungry for Them

an immense appetite

unquenchable thirst

elixir

to prime the Pump

and churn out Work

the reward

satiation

brief

it's feeding time again all too soon

an empty plate

equals an empty page