Beauty

Every time she eats
a scar appears
on wrists translucent
or toilet seats

A scar
drawn by blood
or caked by vomit

She calls this
Beauty


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition as "a-Beauty-b"

Sanctuary

Prints paper painted walls
Water hums through pipes
Watercolors ooze from over-squeezed tubes
(Diamonds in blue and red)

High E squeal of the wheel
While I watch children splash
Finger painted canvases
Lean on Van Gogh and Vermeer

Strings with a violin solo
Envelope laughter
I sit cross-legged
(A Navajo blanket)

Just a grain of sand
Among my kind
Pre-glass
Still rough before smooth

Shrieking [banshee]
Now tearing Picasso
From his black haven
Then gone (to reluctant parents' arms)

Wasabi and Soy
Next to eel and cucumber
Bowl of Jambalaya
(Spicy like the South)

"Thank god
I'm alone tonight"



** published in Creative Writing, Volume 2, 2005 Edition

To an Old Lover

Smile as she walks away to oblivion
knowing you could stop her
you stand steadfast in arrogance
you say if she wanted my help she'd ask for it
but temper forbids her from such a feat


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition as "Prideful Lover"

Party

Don't see me
lying on the carpet
hoping no one notices
that my tears are dipping
on the party below


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Lady MacBeth

she has
saved my life
literally
she has been
my mother
daughter
sister, friend
I don't attempt
to tell her I love her
Because she,
like myself,
requires action.
Her insecurities,
which i can never soothe
are all the more endearing
because in this bundle
of caring and nerves
I see whom i want to become
If you say i am
over protective
I can only say
how can you protect too much
the most important thing?


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Self-Centered

cries of HELP ME
get lost in
radio waves
and bass/treble
'til only the ME
gets through


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

A to your Q

I curl into myself
until your voices
become tinny and small

Until I'm watching
a silent film of concern

grayness and distance
as if i watch a movie screen

you try to understand
but you can't

because i don't understand
this easy frustration
with everything i know

I drop my responsibilities
to help you

but you only have time
to ask a question
and rush off
before i know the answers


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Lily Left Behind

In the picture is a lily.

She looks at it, and smiles
as she does for anything pleasant,
as if she were being watched
and must put on a show of emotion.

She'd prefer a bouquet,
But a picture, of a flower
she doesn't even like,
will at least, garner a polite smile.

"Thank you" she says
and tapes it to her wall,
yellow in bright contrast to the dark gray,
"I'll remember you by it."

She'll remember, that when I left,
the only gift I could give
was a picture she didn't want.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Clerk

She sits in coldness
and contemplates the knife.
Lines scar her arms
a brand name
barcode reading
HELP ME
but when scanned,
the cashier calls for a
"Price Check"
that reads only
the knock-off:
SCARS.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Obsidian Sliver

Shattered Obsidian
From the tap of a hammer
Still has its infinitesimal beauty
But can never be what it once was
As blood from cuts unintentional
Stains the glassy surface.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition as "Shattered Obsidian"

Rumor Sea

I heard a rumor
I was dead
Jumped off a cliff
but still i bled
on the rocks
of time and fate
cause finally
I met pure hate
and staring up
from the sea
was a face
that was me


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

My Destiny

drugged out on the floor
panes of cold
press into my back
as warm blood
flows from my hands

it feels better with alcohol

pills in my mouth
stretch the skin
tender from bruises
scarred from frustration

boredom of a suburban housewife

whose husband is cheating
whose kids are grown
whose career was shot
before it began


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Wise Man

i wish i trusted his words
to take away pain

It's still hard to say
"i'm better now"
because i don't always believe it

A man once told me,
(as i look down at stockinged legs
remembering blood
as it dripped from leg to tile)
i'd never be happy
not for lack of trying
or because i wasn't one of those precious "happy" people

but because no one is happy
we all have our good days
and our bad days
we all have days that are a little more good
and days that are a little more bad

i asked him if he was happy
he looked at the pot shards in my hand and said
"I'm absolutely miserable except when I forget to be happy"

i could have married that boy
with his ruddy cheeks
loving mind
british accent
and ability to care
if he hadn't been
one of the most important people in my life
already


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Forgot

I forgot to smile
when he said "hello"
I forgot to do a lot of things
forgot to laugh at a joke
forgot to correct grammar
forgot to do anything
but refill my mug
3 parts bourbon
1 part coke
a cigarette
and a lack of caring


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

8 letters

I'll say
"Smile"
and she will
but the pain is still there

Art in hues of
Blacks and blues

but a hug
makes her smile
and 3 words
make her happy

8 letters of comfort
to make her grin.


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Chicks Dig Scrawny White Guys

He cuts his wrists
in patterns
Geometric shapes
of anger

Addicted to red on white
He moves to his chest
Tear drops of acid

never hurt others
Only hurt yourself


** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

One Lone Runner

I love the morning when I walk to my bus stop the first tendrils of day reach out into the dark sky. I watch as one lone runner runs across my viewfind. He nods at me. We understand each other. We get up that ten early minutes before the day just to see the dark night fade.

** published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition

Bridge

You ask me
where I go,

when I retreat
from the world.

I'm sitting,
on a bridge
in a gray sweater, and faded jeans,
looking at the autumn leaves.

I'm feeling
the bleak emptiness
that comes from crying
for long periods of time.

I'm
watching the road
that winds away,
wishing I were on it.

I'm all alone,
and I
like it that way.

I see the water beneath me
stopped in time
by a fallen tree

I hear the birds sing
and the leaves rustle
and I am at peace.

But eventually
I return to the world

Where I am the water,
Fighting to get past the tree
But still
stopped in time.

**Published in Slam! An Anthology of Spoken Word Poetry Volume 2, March 17, 2003

Morning Comes

Smooth skin under sandy hair,
Heavy lids over green eyes,
"Hello, Sweetheart."
Brown hair between rough fingers,
Piercing eyes through thick lashes,
"Good morning, Love"

** Published in Creative Writing, Volume 1, 2004 Edition