August 2017

All day I want to call you
Now I feel like I’m suffocating
How tender thoughts of our afternoon loving making
Turn to this I don’t understand.

It can be difficult to make lunch some days.
I think of the pan filled with
sweet potatoes, onions, broccoli and black beans.
The kitchen door open
you glassing the hills for wild life
Me taking a break from school work
The turkey from a block over gobbling so loud
and we’d gobble back
How often, while lunch was cooking, we’d close the door
make love
against the counter or the wall.
You’d smoke cigarettes in that blue
anywhere chair, that my mom gave me,on the back porch
or sit in the kitchen telling me about taxidermy or
statistics or I’d go on about what I was learning about internet porn addiction.
Oh, our conversations…

I have projected so many of my insecurities on you that I fear
we won’t recover or I won’t be forgiven
And I miss you

Moments ago I was on my knees
in gratitude for this opportunity to feel
So deeply in my body for another
Seeing the gift in these feelings
knowing all the things I hang on you
were never yours to own

Relief washes over
following the last wave
of extremes.
And there is no need to be forgiven



There are little reminders everywhere
Of my longing for you
Half written letters
and emails
poems confessing
that I could never leave you.
I want with every part of me
for you to be the one
I wake up with
and return to
Explore the unknown spaces
in nature
and life
My life is better for you
and in this I must find
Amongst the photographs
and stories
And in this longing
that began
before I new your name
and may last until
my grave
Enough in this longing
that I am alive
in body and form
and I ache with such
being touched by life
and being so graced
to be touched by you.

I want
with such force
to hold again
the mystery
that is you
In detail
In skin
To penetrate the rules
and this longing
once again
So I can remember
it all
I’m forced to forget.

There is something so liberating
To the body… in admitting
such penetrating longing…
that isn’t about
But about being held
in love
by someone that loves you and
recognizes you.
It’s as if admitting it can
call it forth
in perfect form.
The body’s journey seems to be
independent of the mind and
more a mystery than any intellectual
I am learning to have a much different
experience of life in being
more aware of the body’s journey
and more supportive.
I feel lately that it is my job
to honor
and support
my body’s journey and process
with love
and not judgement
and it calls for a
new understanding of
ways thru life.

I want to tell you about the storm
That took him away
But the storm is over and
I’m left reeling while he sits
on the other side of town.
There is magic in both
your absence and
your presence but not in
my force upon our friendship.
There was a magic
we held together
before your hand so firmly fit around mine.
I knew my name then
and I heard your heart.
I run now to the rivers to cleanse myself of you
or so I think
I go to the Santa Fe river with offerings for Oshun and your name
wrapped around a rock I lodge directly in the stream
I go to the Pecos River to pray, tossing offerings and listening
I go to the arroyo, so dry, and sit beneath the bridge.  Calling the names of deities
I take a piece of paper that belonged to you crumple it in the dry river bed.
How foolish I am… when what I am trying to cleanse me of is me…..
My feelings, my depth, my beauty…
I reach into myself
My brothers and sisters surround me
And I bind myself to Me and my God
I’ve nothing to rid myself of anymore.
Only the River like the Wind to rush in.