tiny meager mighty things

How do we hear what speaks in echoes?

if we hush our breath

can we hear the ancestors dance?

is that my ancestor’s skirt rustling in the wind?

who but the gods can tell

with their journals full of secrets

like Laplace and his demon

chronicling memories of the past

creating infinite space for future dreams

Isis

sits scrawling lazily

tiny meager mighty things

Icarus

spreads their wings and shoots

directly into the sun

on earth we call it lightning

as their wings fall from the clouds

feathers scatter then burn

before ever reaching ground

Thinning fabric

We broke up the other day, I’m trying to pretend not to notice

Truth to tell we were never really together

I try to recall the times you’ve broken my heart

I’ve let them fade into the fabric of our story

Fabric worn thin by my worrying hands retracing patterns again and again

Trying to commit us to memory

I glance at your piece of our cloth, you’ve cut out bits of us, leaving patches in our truth

I wonder if you remember what it looked like before you erased us

Does your mind recall how beautiful we were?

Threads woven together bright and dark, hazy and shining

Like sun breaking through clouds after a raging storm

These days, you see only the storm, can only take in the chaos

Should your fingers try to retrace us, they’d find holes held together by trivial pieces of our memory

I still see us, breaking boldly through clouds

Weaving our story together with threads of tenderness, laughter and pain

How could you cut us apart?

I’ve kept my piece intact; fingers retrace our history at times lovingly, at times mournful

Feeling always where we’ve thinned out

Our fabric is worn, the time has come to put us away

Tracing patterns once more I fold us up and place us in my dresser, next to old faded sweatshirts of love gone by

What you choose to do with your fabric, I have no say

For my part, I’ll keep mine hidden and safe

Neatly folded and forgotten as we carry on the aimless game we play

We broke up the other day and today, the sun is hidden away

Skies are dark, dreary and grey, contented to stay that way

When Dragons don’t Text Back

‘Would you rather be a dragon or a unicorn?’

I repeat the question my sweetfriend asked the night before

‘Oh. That’s a good question!’

‘Well?’

‘Dragon. Definitely dragon.’

I text my friend too much. Sometimes she responds. Sometimes she doesnt. I know she loves me.

She makes me feel safe, absorbs my madness and spits out rational thought in her sleep

We talk about sex, fuckery, and the magic of extra biscuits

I am learning this is what friends do

Practicing the art of leaning into my sexuality isn’t a joke

Especially since I tend to extremes, abstinence or Lilith on fleek

These are my settings

Fate and the Universe have sent me on a side-quest to balance

My friend is my inspiration, guide, and also the dragon who lives in old, dark caves fucking with nearby villagers

Weary traveler, exhausted from my quest, I approach the village

Naturally, recognizing my warrior status, the villagers solicit me for assistance

I oblige

Slowly I trek up the mountain to the caves where the dragon sleeps

My approach wakes her. I find her to be perfectly lovely, if a bit surly

She explains that the villagers often climb through her caves and interrupt her sleep

To ward them off, occasionally, she takes to burning one or twelve of them to a crisp

She says they taste wonderful with salt. I laugh

This is how our friendship begins, the warrior and the dragon

I came to slay, but stayed to play

Anyway, I’m texting my friend

We are talking about sex and trips and food that makes us come

I eat a canna-chocolate and write one last message before sleep pulls me under

Typing it, I am glad for her, her fiery mouth and her ancient wisdom

The text is word vomit in the form of late night poetic mania

I know she will not respond, I send it anyway

When she reads it I know she’ll think I’m ridiculous,

Smiling to myself, I think of where we began

Ridiculous, isn’t that what dragons think of man?

Misdirection

My mind hides things from me, serves me up doses of misdirection, with hits of delusion, leaving me cloudy, confused, lost and distracted, certain in my uncertainty

Im trying to say, I forgot how you make me feel, and when I say forgot, I mean blocked with all the strength my Warrior’s heart could muster

You got in when the gate was down and you don’t know what it looks like when I am hurt and hiding

I don’t want to be hurt and hiding

This me, listens to Be. while I write to you this poem, this confession or protestation of my affinity for the swag in your step and the God in your eyes

Fear comes in, guardian at the gate come looking for you, wondering what the fuck you are doing inside these walls

You just smile

I’m afraid to look at you, afraid I will see you and remember that feeling I get when you put your arm on the back of my chair and all I can do is stare at my hand

or my phone or whatever is in front of me and pray to whatever god is listening that the words to come out my mouth are funny or charming or a healthy balance of the two

I’d like to let you stay, your presence is comforting

See, it’s your smile and the way emotions flash across your face, some stay longer than others and I like to watch them

I like to watch you and I don’t know if that is normal or weird or a healthy balance of the two

but its true

Shadow DancerĀ 

I don’t know why I think you are hearing me

Working out the rhythms in my silences, and downbeats

Are you listening when I pick up the tempo?

I am dancing a salsa over here and am left with the shadow of a partner

All I have are illusions

I whisper sweet nothings into your dark, ephemeral ear

Tell you my secrets while my body moves to the music

The song is our heartbeats pounding out different rhythms

It complicates the beat

I can’t tell if it is beautiful

My feet keep moving, keep stepping

The sun is almost set and the moon is sleeping in

Darkness falls and your shadow fades

I am left with just me, the night, and the sound of my solitary heart beating

The sound of my feet dancing, stepping out a furious rhythm

Lilac

For a long time I equated being good with being silent

I was told to hold contradictions in my mouth

speak up but stay silent

speak up when you have something to say, but don’t say the truth

don’t speak your fear

speak so you can be heard:

I have a rage inside me which has yet to find its limit

it crawls up my back, claws out my eyes and spills from my mouth

I go to war with everyone around me

words ripping//eyes tearing the way through my day

through my pain

I dropped a bottle of perfume. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a child

it smells strong like lilac and it stained the tapestry I had used as my rug 

I can’t help contemplating the strength of the smell 

and fact that the bottle I had kept safe for years is now gone

like the woman who gave it to me

and I wonder if that is a sign or just a bottle or if maybe its a combination of the two

a reminder from the ancestors not to forget them, and a lesson telling me, sometimes bottles break

it’s ok to let them go