In Order to Advance

 

Detainee

I might be free--or not; 

I don't know

for I have obeyed in advance

Distance

the atlas of my family

fold close 

the stretched out assault

Disinvited

for I have obeyed in advance

I apologize for-

giving-you-a-piece-of-my-mind

Address

From upon the belly of the same bridge

I can weigh the difference of a day

I doubt most resurrections--yet

the rhizomatic tenderness of your banks

are prayer: lilting, tidal, endlessly 

old / done / enduring--but

even in the porous ecstasy of freeze, I know

the delirium of loss, know you won't

take me any place to call home

Repair

In your lapse--there's only air, 

while I keep walking 

everywhere.

Silence sings here, shame too--

like a mosquito hymn 

in my ear.

Perhaps I'm a savant of fracture

on an enraptured 

exiled page--

perhaps I've siphoned my love

into stories just a little

or too late.

Let's Goooooooooooo!!!!!

Felt like I was hitting the ground running this term, with syllabuses and diagnostics uploaded ahead of our start and even a mini lecture/poetry reading in honor of Dr. MLK Day the day before the term actually started! 

It would be nice if I could keep this up all term long. Just 13.5 weeks to go!

(P.S. Not pictured: Me all wired up and unable to sleep; up until at least 2 am--when I looked at the clock and despaired. I found this article on SEVEN types of rest on Melissa Ford's Stirrup Queens blog, loved it, and sent it to a bunch of people; I would have been sensible to have planned for some basic sleep at least.)

I Said, I Say

I said, I say

I'll rearrange for  my fingers to speak

to the clouds

unfolding like a migraine confession

I mean, I mean 

You've cried so much, your eyes

drop like pebbles

and wait to show you a way home 

I try, to free 

the mistakes I made as a parent

then I draw you,

my love, as a silent self-portrait

***********************

A detail from a mural in the Children's Garden (early morning walking date with L!).

yes but also no

                    The instructions surprise:               perhaps I will solve gravity              or simply realize how unready 

                    "pour the saliva" they say              chorus my saliva's spectacle           how random, how to unbait sighs

                    I once described a snake                exist/lament/impact/about               the junction of having breath back

                    'pouring' itself down a hole             the scratching exhaustion               having my back, trusting offspring

                    the kids were so freaked out           of dying on tv every day                 to try to sidestep the cracks

Threnody

Waking in a labyrinth

with the outline of a lie

around us the dark blossoms

clinging like skin 

hidden in sight like the dark

set aside like a dementing task

hurrying to meet our dark 

corners of darkness--passion-

perversion--spill into you and me

returning to the dead lamp

you are furious as a rakshasa 

engorged, incoherent as sirens 

I'm as possessed as a pisasu

who possesses only you, and 

can die for it. Or live. Or shriek.

Every day seems an apocalypse

for L.B.

Every day seems an apocalypse

clouds plant their borders in beds,

these immense struggles go by 

*

In the harvest, the friend is a forest,

the friend who walks into the snow

measures beauty yawning in mud

*

Gathers our indecisions into words,  

into seeds, reimagining the drought 

of tongues, scattering in floods of fear

*

Here is apotheosis--we can lie down and 

not die, we can let ourselves be carried 

away by love, becoming transformed by it.

_______________________________________________

"what didn’t you do to bury me/  but you forgot that I was a seed" Dinos Christianopoulos

“They tried to bury us, they didn’t know we were seeds.”  Protest slogan in support of the Ayotzinapa 43 /Families Belong Together. 

Expiry Date

I want so much for us as I wake this morning

wordless--moving only heart, breath 

surprised at how steadfast

for much goes missing all the time: plans or

a present or something that lies, dead

as a future kindness unsaid.

I lose my sense of self, my words; I have

become that one actor who played 

that part in that one movie--

Do you remember? How much bigger could I 

have been, how much bigger my role, 

my words trawl empty

yet full of yearning; and errant words return

sad, humble. I need an army--an armor--

...I'm too numb to concede

our decline of tenderness, as every sign of 

bitterness witnesses us forward,

begrudges us to a deadline.

Through my Head

My children's love passes right through me

(like an arrow, like a bullet)

My parents' love steeps all through me

(like a tantrum, like a blush).

I fear death; there are deaths I fear more:

My deaf father sleeps deep

through knocking, my mother and sister 

talking--unmoving.

My tired children sleep past the blare 

of smoke alarms, heavy

I wonder if I can shake them awake

like a pair of dead batteries.

But the world does its singing, then

my body curls like smoke

plummets, coaxes with folded hands

draws doors in heartache.

So let me tell you how I scan the dates 

of people's lives, guessing--from 

the headlines of their last year--if death 

might have felt like a blessing.

_

Tiny Notes

The tiny tree went up this weekend--powered 95% by At and Nu. 

😍

While I was writing that poem about Chelli's moving day yesterday, I was trying to make the verses look like the many roofs we've been under, but it actually looks like a tree too!

Also, as she said after she read that poem, I completed it "so fast!" High praise indeed! 

😛

Moving Day 8000 Miles Away

8000 miles away

my sister is moving  

her furniture is being taken apart now

it will be put back together again, very soon.

She remembers how I arrived at her 

house in Delhi the week before she did,

how I cut my hand open unpacking boxes, how 

I made that a joke about my rakta dan--"blood sacrifice." 

I don't remember this story. But 

she giggles and so then I giggle and then 

we tell each other how much we love each other. 

When will we see each other again? (There aren't even plans.)

And I want to say: Take a break! 

Need to ask: Are you tired? Is that heavy?

But I look at the telephone; I just... miss you. 

There's more air than we can breathe between us.

Exile now feels like breaking--

like an earthquake--inside out, fragile 

as though an eggshell holding hatchlings,

a coming to--on the other side of worldliness.

There are stones in my throat all day

so I stumble. I speak slowly as though in 

a foreign language (all language feels foreign,

cannot say what I feel, clots like moonlight in my brain).

I just parrot from poems I read:

"Art thou weary? Art thou weary?" I dream you 

give the movers the address, but Bangalore traffic sounds

harmonize it into my name, send it--back in a whisper to you.

-

On the Road

Early morning run. Frost. Today. I will 

love. Everyone. Like I'm long lost

family, prodigal,

like you're special. I'll stitch love to 

even your lack of care, neglect,

share a request--like

tossing a small wish, easy as pennies

into some mall fountain--please,

can you wear a mask?

It lingers in our air--your answer is

irritable, the road rifts, rebels

at your insolent stride

I follow that script, know that road

I sift regret from the open

arils of the day 

I still. The road calms, a dove coos

I know now it is "mourning"

not just--"morning"

Leap of Faith

I'm attracted to gravity, the weight of it

the way it settles into a palimpsest 

of belonging 

Children   best friends   puppies   homes 

friends   in-laws   all them totems 

of becoming

Yet: new laughter moves me, old words 

bend my mind--press guesses 

into being

We can enter spaces where time fades 

earth freezes or poles thaw us

into belief

Mud Minotaur

my mask mimics teeth

I hiss from my heart

I've scratched earth from the inside

till it hides at my center, fills my nails

tranquilized by living

traumatized by living

I take the silky dismissal of the day 

beat its filthy drum outside my body

like whiteness, it feels-- 

white, old, dead, cold

or you know--just snowy and lonely 

and knowingly waiting for my touch

_________________________________________________________

Note: I yelled out to L that the fallen tree's rootball looked like a monster. Just silence--no response to that, so I turned around to look and couldn't find her! For a minute or so--she was off taking some pictures too... But it was spooky and I panicked hard for a few seconds. Reminded me of reading Donna Harraway and loving on Jim's Dog.

I take myself down to a beginning

Many things are older than me, I know

many things more mature, mellow

yet someone tells me write

so I say thank you 

with a part of the pencil I use for writing 

myself, highlighting--I always forget 

to use the part for erasing--

my eyes, my loudness

for all those babies even now in cages

the leaving parents the babies 

who take care of babies 

babies given away

grief on grief--I am unready, each one 

already too much.  With long arms

I sweep the water's flow

over and over

Curling into an ending

Kiss the day with mother-tongue

HumHymnOm to morning

parse words from sounds

through the day.

To Sleep

How did I not get here earlier--

Was I just riding skies

instead of seas--

Sadness and gladness are cruel 

sirens, crossing countries

with me, waiting

near the cave that is my mind.

Do you hear me? Hear me!

Bear me forward.

I hymn you in the old ways

drowsily exhaling light

breaking like the day. 

Out and about

Today I want to write a poem that will not be about dying 

maybe something something being in community 

about being connected and continuing

About holding my arms out like a tree even when empty

(stop that!) about sending all my pain to the sea, 

where it's already salty

By day I will read something lofty, edifying, clear

At night, I will watch stars that seem cold 

and know they're really quite fiery

Alert with my intention, my asylum of inattention

I sling myself to beauty, ignore summer's

pillows smattered with snow

Within Without

Please hold my head as gently 

as a bomb labeled 'headache'

knowing the earth is waiting

feeding time under the loam

who is it who knocked on the door (we didn't hear)

who is it who wants to come in (we can't really see)

howling into the cusp, dreams away from disaster

learning the circuitry of sadness, the lineage of loss

For in a different world 

I lost many months ago

my tongue a tombstone

fingers clawing worms