teenage drama

careless she swings her hair and
sniffs a joint
clueless she sells her soul to
make a point
powerless she cowers under a
bridge asleep
heartless her family and friends
fail to weep
regardless of the part
they play
in the drama of a girl
whose day
is frayed,
whose scenes have come
undone.

music of love

what would we do without them? she laughs and tilts her head, water on her cheek. sometimes you want to strangle them, but deep down you love them. looks fondly at her husband asleep, stretched and sore, on the living room carpet. years of farming have injured his back and arm, rendering him unable to shave or sit. we shudder at his snores. she whispers, it's the music of love. we roll our eyes but inwardly ache for the gelatin holding them together.

kneeling (after i heard about new orleans' evacuation)

merciful maker, hear the music
songs of sorrow from
all your little made-ones
torn at the seams, happiness
undone
evacuating cities, in lieu of
a storm
evacuating morals, despair --
reborn
fighting the family in search
of a friend
sandwiched in parties, alone
in the end
merciful maker, hear our prayer
passionate plea for
your tender care
for all your little made-ones.

on the fringe

... a festival celebrating the marginal. those living on the edge, in the gutters of culture, on the mountains of merriment making music, happiness, balloon animals for the world. elephant ears, fried bread dough slathered in margerine and icing sugar -- "at the same time" my husband insists. mid-bite he laughs and i'm an icing sugar baby. young boy eating fire, old man doing disco, twentysomething trying to juggle, failing miserably. "is that an oboe?" my lover asks of an asian man and his eastern instrument. i laugh, sigh, stop in wonder at a man frozen in time painted in black dedicated to the globe he lifts when money is dropped in his hat. some trick, i mutter, marveling at the same time. it's all a marvel. this life, this living on the fringe. i start to skip and fall into a gutter.

the story of my life

i'd be sitting here, in my swirly costco chair, typing random letters on the screen trying to make sense of this job when it would come. in cardboard wrapping which would take me 10 minutes to yank off. and there it would be. my book, glossy cover, bright, abstract painting and my story, embedded with poetry. a tear would roll followed by a hundred others splashing unnoticed and i would dance. maybe sit in my underwear in the rain. maybe collapse into bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. and then, i would leave this rolling chair and forlorn office and fly to italy where another book would unravel before me. like a red carpet, leading into a life of delirious joy.

fallen, in love

he loves you more than any
man
ever loved a woman
God whispers
dawn's breaking into pastel stripes
my heart's
aching
from the
stones i've
thrown
feet pound the pavement i run
chasing visions i long to
own
dreams of the wife i could be
if only i had the strength
why me?
(because you need it. )
selfish? (yes. let me take that from you.)
knees scraping the sidewalk
blood tears
you
bandage my wounds
carry me home
(my saviour's clone)
and love me
again.

peeling

walking paradox,
that's what
you are. thick lines
of black smearing
innocent blue
windows to the soul.
baby skin inside
stretched polyester,
tender
heart
rough hands
rippling river-like laughter
painfully crude jokes
tight embraces,
angry silences
where are you
inside?
let's take shelter
peel off
the perimetres
perambulate
peacefully
find you
again

sweet child of his

sandy strands of
hair
whisked by the wind
you swipe away stray tears
tell me of your father
the ugly green gnome in your life
who tried to strangle you
sick man mental madness mean streak like lightening
afraid of being a mother
afraid of being him
let my hug assure you
every child deserves you

sweet child of His

mcdonald's magic (true story for those who don't believe in fairytales)

last night i met a tiny magician.
she led through the passageways of a mcdonald's playhouse
blue orange green slides, tunnels, ladders
her little nose wrinkled as i struggled
her sweet voice pushed me forward
'shhh' she whispered and pointed. 'the pirates live there, and they're
eating breakfast.'
all i saw was plastic tubing, but i smiled. nodded. tried to think like her.
'you can help me' she kept saying
but we both knew
it was her wand
that suspended us
one drop of logic
and the oversized child and tiny magician
would fall.

springtime and fall

tearing at the petals
he loves me
he loves me still
weeping at the yellow centre
so stable
unmoving
my love for you? an autumn leaf
crunchy
shattered if stepped on
learning to
become less brittle
curl myself around you
wean
lean
infant girl
in your arms

bus ride home

you transcend
yet descend.i see you.divine hands on young minds molding mendingmurmuringas they readdark stillness folds us in warmthwe drive past mountainsthey noticenottransformed by the wordsbefore them.what happened after he rose?question marks lingerin the aircurving open.fragile branchesbrittle bends in the road soft hearts --father
cushion their fall
on this journey.

emily's absence

august 8-16 i'm gone to BC to counsel kids at camp. pray for the power of God to move -- both in them, and in me. love you, blog buddies.

profound pause

watching the world
write its story
thrills me.
scribbling memories onto
life's scrolls --
a man in his windowless jeep, dog in shotgun, their hair streaming
flag-like down the road.
little girl skipping the crosswalk, brown eyes wide to whimsical
wonders.
skateboarder, red cheeks, bearing a bouquet for ... someone.
friends peering over tall lattes; misfit man at A&W talking to his parrot; glowing pregnant lady proud and sore.
girls in tiny clothes pretending to be
big and mean.
boys in baggy pants pretending
not to notice.
you, beautiful you, standing there,
loving me.

oh, what a wonderful world.

resistance

balance.
that intimidating, insinuating word upsetting my life.
spontaneity.
something i never plan on trying.
control.
i'm out of it.

you ask of me, i give, you ask again.
can dried flowers wilt?
can ice flow?

answers.
if you first know the question.

can i break free from who i am for you?
why would i?

sacrifice.
a concept that ties me in knots.

so tied i stand
bewildered.

savior's signature

all i have, i give to you
break my bread, drink my juice
let my body heal your times
let these words be more than rhymes
weeping hearts i will restore
for those in pain, my prayers implore
upon this cross i'll gently bleed
descend to hell, seal the deed
take my hand belittled one
walk this way, come undone
my love for you will never fail
upon the waves of faith you'll sail.

the younger years

pippy. my favourite storybook character. long stockings, stick-out braids, loud freckles, enchanting eyes. i used to be her -- laughing with wide open mouth, scaling trees, skipping rocks, brewing mischief. calvin and hobbes often joined us, paddling upstream on rickety rafts. the adventures of tom sawyer and gang. no one would know it. i'm all folded up in a neat package in this stuffed-up, white-walled office. but once upon a time, there lived in me a little girl. a colourful world. a magical existence.