resurrection

"In the midst of life we are in death, from whom can we seek help?"

-9th century

the first time

i died

was when cancer

stole you

all i remember

of purgatory

was the

nothingness

emptiness

i don't remember

feeling

and i wondered

if that was what

death felt like

but your death

gave me a boundary

living in the end-times

gave me relief

a limit

a horizon

an end i could see

the second time

i died

my childhood playmate

ceased breathing

no illness

no accident

no tidy explanation

her body

made its own

decision

to cease

then death

was around every corner

lurked in closets

behind every wheel

like a probation officer

waiting for me to make a mistake

life and death

played tug of war

with my soul

and always

there was you

in the shadows

of every friendship

i could hear

your giggle

in every grace note

the third time

i died was

when i walked

that lonesome valley

beside the friend

who snatched my hand

because she didn't want

to walk it by herself

but then she sighed

and let go of my grip

i descended into Hades

kicked butt with some demons

and hoped for the worst

not realizing that the worst

had already happened

so i decided

to leave hell

and live

until i died

for good.

self esteem

i admire
the quiet person
who seems
content
to choose
what footsteps
she will make
without being pushed
in any one direction
by a crowd of bodies
caught up in the mob

there is a world
inside of her
that no one else
can know
unless she chooses
and she alone decides
how much

she is watching
the world
seeing the small
the unnoticed
and making poetry

i love her
because
she makes people nervous
they're afraid
she sees them
or is keeping secrets

i love her
because she smiles
seemingly unruffled
by social pressure
to be loud
to make others
comfortable

she squeezes honey
from a rock
paints beauty and color
out of a
black and white world
takes the blood
of death
and brings life.

facebook

out of the musty attic
of memory
a name
a face
and unbidden memories

people
frozen in Time
appear

aged by decades

what stories
carved those lines?
what events
cast a shadow
in those eyes?

I wonder about
the pages between
Then and Now
the child I knew
and the middle-aged
grown-up
your current picture
reveals

in my mind
you are still
a child
in adult clothing

I'm always surprised
you remember
me
a brief paragraph
in your memoirs

w--e sat together
in Sunday School
we played in the sandobox
and swam in your pool

we played on opposite teams
in volleyball
at summer camp--
I can't remember who won

you've been divorced
once or twice
you manage a band
in the Pacific Northwest
and dig Eastern theology

your girlfriend
thinks you're "hot"

we only post
our best
our favorite things
our current interests

it's beautiful
really

we avoid
the painful details
of those long years
when we wandered
without connection
or meaning

but now
we download our smiles
our current love interest

birthday parties
for grandkids
vacations to Colorado
wedding pictures

we collect
over 300 friends

but sometimes
I wonder
how lonely we
still are.

story

a

southern girl

from mississippi

fell in love

with an uppity british subject

from bombay

at a college

in the sticks of kentucky

mixed breeds

mango trees and watermelons

hindu gods and bible thumpers

afternoon tea and soda in a glass bottle

from Malcom's General Store

priveleged class and hands-in-the-dirt-squeezing-a-cow's-teat farming

mix it all up

and take it to jersey

the suburb of new york city

8 or 9 million people

6 lane highways

children produced

listening to british and southern accents

telling them what to do

pastor's kids

on display

as examples

i've eaten plenty

of southern fried chilcken

black eyed peas

and watermelon

picked right off the vine

i've been to homecomings

claimed as kin by branches

of a dense family tree

i've fished in man-made ponds

dodged water-moccasins

and cow patties in the fields

but the far-off land

with marble tombs

and sacred cows in the streets

reamins a mystery

pages missing

from my father's biography

blank entries

in my psychic photo album

stories untold

paragraphs unwritten

i may never know

the rest

of the story.

safe

the fire pops and spits
making the cat jump
and dig his claws
into the tender flesh
of my thigh

the night sky outside
glows
pregnant with an anticipated storm

I settle into a story
about a country girl
and a city guy
having an affair in the woods

occasionally I look up
watch my husband
concentrate on a crossword puzzle
chewing pensively on the end of his pen

this man
my lover
my best friend
whom I've grown up with

who told me years ago
yes, in fact, I was lovable
so much so
that he simply had no choice
but to be with me

and over the years
he convinced me too

my other cat
is curled up behind
my teenaged daughter's knees
as she reads a Dean Koontz novel

all of this
in
our home
where we live
together

every day

no matter what
battles
I fight each day

here is where
I return

and breathe deeply
because

it is here
that I am

safe.