Monday, July 10, 2017

the pleasure of ironing

I'm standing in my living room. I've pulled out the ironing board and iron. Tomorrow I have work appointments so I need to look sharp. I'm wearing a Dinosaur Junior t-shirt, boxers with bottles of scotch printed on them, gray wool sox pulled up to my calves and pigtails. I catch myself in the mirror and realize with a laugh that this is my sexy.

I turn the iron on and arrange my blouse on the board, noticing how well my hands work together. They know what to do without my interference. My fingers deftly guide and smooth the fabric, a soft cotton. I pick up the iron. Warm steam rises and clings to my forearm, sending shivers, as wrinkles slowly give way to a surface without waves.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Baba Yaga

You can hide behind another, like a bairn behind its mother's
skirts, but you're still scared of me. And you should be
for I've shed my earthly status for the realm of fantasy.

In the funhouse mirror of your eyes, I'm difficult to read,
as deformed as Baba Yaga sharpening her teeth. But the
bony one is hard to kill, I won't die easily. Not because

I'm supernatural or impervious to your swing. It's
simply hard to win a fight against your own psychology
(and it began long, long before I was ever on the scene).

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

You were beautiful unmasked.

Naked to the bone, the burdens of your sisters
gone. The strapping youth, a hero sojourner, fighting battles
(but mostly monsters in the closet) = (Father).

If I could but strip away the husk and free the golden seed
of pestilence, of fear. But I can't. Unadorned, you were
my Adonis. Costumed, just an ugly child of his.

Monday, January 30, 2017

In a few days, my understanding no more enriched than now, I place myself in the center of a green crater off the Maui coast.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

one, two

it's ok, really
no judgment
just numbers
like 4 follows 3

you're simply not 
strong enough yet
in yourself,
not for me.