throwing bushes of berries over prison walls
and always the audacity to ask another question
to want more and more and more
until the highway comes to a short stop
the narrative of unfurling myself

as rug to be walked on

serves neither of us

 ever the orange laced with garlic

the pungent and the floral 

in tandem 

in opposition, the burnt milk

forgotten on the stove

harkens back to a cup of milk

left in my childhood bedroom for weeks

when it spilled 

i wiped up the curdled clumps with a sweatshirt

and, for fear,

closed it in my unicorn trunk

hoping it could somehow disappear

the key is in the resolution

--did i reveal the sweatshirt, 

dragging it down the stairs in two fingers,

hoping for forgiveness?

was it discovered from the growing smell

and i hunted down for answers?

was there a tender hug

conveying a gentle understanding

on how hard it is to remember 

anything in this world?--

my memory only holds 

the isolating shame

having done wrong, 

and in so, being wrong.

and at this moment

my child spills his milk

while watching tv in the living room

and leaves it to drip off the side table

my voice wells just slightly 

for a moment at his inaction

it being hard to remember

how unsettling 

those shifts in tone can feel

just the very unsturdiness 

of moving through the world

only longing to be swathed

in a sweet and unconditional love

we get a look at everything

it’s fair to say

the looking isn’t really the thing

it quells the buzzing

comforting to know

the dust underneath the rug

is in my corner after all

all those bits spurring me on

in my lower moments

my stomach tenses

as they announce who's won the raffle

for the gift card to the coffee shop

not me

but the debris and the legos root for me

nonetheless

 I am an old mountain 
knuckles interlaced
powers folded
so at home in my self
there is just 
self
home
and the fire
that goads me
then sedates me

 to see the wind today
make its mark
in sweeping slopes
and concrete slabs laid bare
like a friend you finally 
come to understand
after all these years
all that bluster
operating on a different level

I turn away from the thing

I think you wouldn’t want to face
of course the thing stays
and grows even
I hadn’t wanted to be the wall
you had your back pinned to
and yet the world requires us to be here
up against our fears
so now

I change myself to a bed
you might unwillingly rest on

in the moment of facing
we're finding our footing
amidst the forces
we'd best submit to
and the conditions
we'd best rail against

my daily life falling away 

from my home

my inner life falling away 

from me

I’m getting up on my finances

they’re just over the horizon

I don’t want subordinates

I want the swirl from above 

to take it all into account

the movements working my way

don’t remind me of the day the bass didn’t bump

in an irritating way

I need my confirmation bias 

like I need the sun on my face

knowing a thing you know 

relaxing as a nomad’s footfalls

I would curl up into the idea

that my voice unfurls 

even on unwilling ears

bad mom with the sugar veins

bad teeth

bad genes

if it’s rotting in my head

of my own volition

then that’s one thing

but to be the one holding you down

knowing too well the choking feeling

of biting that damn X-ray thing

bringing you at seven in the morning

to breathe some gas in your nose

and have a molar plucked out 

years before it's time

well then it must be a 

shortcoming of a whole different sort

was I supposed to be able to 

protect you

either from the soft teeth 

passed down from the ancestors

or else from the soft brain

ever yielding to  the itchy sensation

of always-needing-more?

the poofed up hair
the balanced wheel
the steely fish
there’s all the catching up
there’s all the looking out
a chair up for grabs
chopsticks and strawberries
and the doo wop bass pulsing
gently at our feet

 it’s a gross empty/full feeling
listening to all the world’s troubles in the radio
the man in India who moves
from town to town looking for work and
making a dollar thirty a day
the woman recalling grabbing on
to the wheels of a plane leaving Afghanistan
the spiral that ensues
in which your irritations shrink down
when held in this light
then they creep back up to size
as irritations will do
but for shame
you must throw a heavy blanket on them
they don’t belong in this morning light which
vibrates with the voice of the interpreter and
underneath that the quivering of
a child now alone in the world

We are tacitly minding the exit
We are circling as the dust settles
We are passing the church steeple again
We aren’t holding anything truly
We’re revisiting our resumes
We’re fixing the loops round our ears
The rhythm is in the rests

it's best to be upfront

and tell him 

'you have two different sized feet'

the man with the goatee tells me

as my kid walks down the aisle

i can trace my feet problems

back to a pair of naot sandals

found at a salvation army

that i found to be quite fetching

though they were 2 sizes to small

i felt big in my britches

at a staff meeting

at the fancy private school 

when a co-worker asked 

what brand are those?

only to look down

and see my hairy arches 

framed by the tan straps

reminding me i wasn't

really a perfect fit

& i still have a little row of calluses

down the middle of my big left foot

you held your mom up 
in the crook of your arm
for a long year there
(which you know
and I more begrudgingly admit)
it’s hard to see things up close
for me
it’s hard not to see care
as something indecent 
from which you should avert your eyes
I learned that from my mom 
I guess
somehow the kind thing 
seemed to be 
to let someone suffer in solitude
and not embarrass them with
adjusting their hat fallen over their eye
to be in need and unable to fend for yourself
was a shameful thing
so now
trace the thing back to the origin 
where somehow this harshness
must have meant protection 
it’s a slow work untangling
the weaving
remembering not to call it wicked
and not to hold it sacred
to see you arm in arm

and hold my discomfort

so tenderly 

that it melts and drips 

through my fingers

in the heart of the moony waters
the dust calcified on eyes
might have a speck of a chance
to let well enough wash away
to be so up close is to become invisible 
to pass by each other 100 times over and over
is to want to stay a table away
but there’s a chance to change angles
every now and again
and actually with every breath 
I remember 

I've absolved myself of quite a lot
these days
nice and drifty

feeling halfway to grifter
someone must be being swindled
or getting shortchanged
for me to feel so relaxed

or maybe the jubilee 

has come and rolled through 

from up on high

the nun down the street
can join in and sing just like anyone 
the Irish lad round the corner 
chases down her car 
to invite her back to the outdoor caroling
my voice, usually so unmoored, 
starts to feel it can soar
held aloft by all the others 
that grace of being moved along
not through sheer force
but from a humming momentum 

you're out in the cold waiting in line
in my old green jacket 

from my sister's old roommate

it's moved through the lifetimes

I first wore it in the hudson valley mall 

in the summertime to stay warm in the 

freezing air conditioned theater

underneath wearing a bathing suit and cut offs

feeling that my shimmering youth-beauty was all the more bright

from the swagger of wearing something truly unattractive

then years later i'd shed the coat instantly 

even dropping it on the floor

after getting on the 6 train

when we'd ride up to the bronx together

the first mother winter

i'd wear over the carrier

huge and lumpy

this tired year you're wearing it

on walks with your mom

now not needing to be held up so much

in the line to the bakery

the pockets of crumbs we've collected 

all these years

could fill a bread box

tiger balm on the towel
the howls from the bathroom hang
on the walls of the eight bedroom house
 sweat on the trampoline
a dozen Stewart's ice cream gallons
next to the roadkill venison in ziplock bags

yeah we're muddling our way through
feels a bit adventurous now maybe
later the trauma bonds loosen

for some of us
now mourning the lonely freedom of autonomy

half jealous 

half sorry for the other half

still wound up

it’s tender out there when the veil is thin
a distracted click on the other end of the line
could be enough to undo you 
when you're asking for us to shine that 
attention-love flashlight straight at you
but we’re all out of practice

the beauty was in the trying

we stretched tentacles long-self wrapped

out to you  

clumsy but reaching to show up for

your beautiful call to be loved