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

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 doesn’t.

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 cave 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 that 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 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 Dancer 

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

Bast

bast.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The box where I put us spilled open

the cat knocked it off the shelf

mischievous beast, meddlesome Bast

I think she’s tired of her protective ways

longing for ancient days of war-torn destruction

she seeks to make a battleground of my heart, for revenge

Yesterday, Bast asked me to pray to her

for protection, she said.

Politely, I declined

Now I glance up to find her watching me

she sits on the shelf where I’d hidden us away

casually licking her paws, feigning nonchalance

but I see her eyes gleam

they laugh as she watches my fingers

scramble to collect piece after piece of us

shattered and whole, they slip through cracks

in floorboards before I can retrieve them

forever lost to dust & fate

& the Will of the Gods

I cut my finger on your face,

it starts to bleed & I look up

Bast stops licking her paw

she’s still staring, and I can hear her eyes whisper

‘Now will you pray?’

Get off my back

I want to be drunk now

maybe then words would come

flow out of me like lava from a volcano

destroying everything in their path

if I get them on the page they’ll be safe

I wont feel the need for them to flow

from my mouth into your ears

that’s where they’ll do the most damage

if I put them down here

how will you know

they’re for you?

I sit here grounded, you – analyzed

me – sinking under the enormity of circumstance

I’m strong, I know this because I feel my legs work as

I strain against a crippling weight pressing down on my spine

Get Off. My Back.

I whisper these words like a prayer

beg them to lighten my load

I feel pieces shift, break & fall away

I exhale, slice open another dust covered box

cutting my hand on the box cutter

I dig in, my hand stains everything it touches

Dark Horse

*

I sent a boy a poem last night

not about him, he just asked

he said it was pain full: two words

I thought it was a mistake but it wasn’t

the world is full of pain

brimming and it keeps coming

we spawn our own disaster

moment after moment

each atom, each babe

we teach what we know &

what we know is pain

despite all the disparate voices,

rushing rivers, sprawling trees

shouting for peace

Or,

I still have the bottle of wine

I bought to help me write

its just sitting there

waiting for me to make a decision

to commit

I look at it and perceive it as beautiful

& I don’t know if this is because of the wine

or the glass

or the fact that I picked it

for its name: Dark Horse

zodiac of my birth

fate full day

so I’m reading this bottle as a promise

&& I’m reading this bottle as a threat