Monday, February 13, 2017

Grandmother Thanks Little

Long before the Grimm’s brothers shut down their law firm,
and owned up to their art,
I shuddered swiftly from shadow to shadow,
the big bad pursuing.
To where? For what?
All I knew was to hide or keep going.

Yours was a story slipped from God through me,
through my mother,
through her mother
through the mother before,
erupting first through Eve.

Just like Eve, I hid behind the moon white gardenias,
longing with bruised desire,
waiting for its scent to keep its promise
and return us to the garden.

Distracted by my longing, I forgot everyone else, especially you,
the sweet and innocent Woodcutter’s Daughter.
selectively listening, strung out by half-baked understanding
throwing the Woodcutter’s wealth to the false fires
of what kept me cold and hungry.

But then the Grimm’s caught wind of our story, arrived
just after big bad hid his fangs in a rumor,
stuffed his claws in a lie and delivered his most persuasive speech.
Seeing me worry-weak, settling for lesser than less,
they sent you from The Woodcutter’s hearth
and into my world with your luscious basket
and the red hooded cape I forced you to wear.

But for your timely pleas, your child-like cries for help,
your unfaltering dependence on The Woodcutter, I
would have been dead consumed, our story lost in
legal practicalities.

Thank you.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

The Flower Girl

​The Flower Girl

She got tired for awhile; no, that's not quite it. She started out tired.
It took her decades to get rested up. Her weariness came over her the
minute she woke up, everyday like fog off the ocean. One day she
named her fatigue and gave it back to the night. Without fatigue fear
flooded the yawning space. Once she put a name to it, she sent it to
school as it lacked manners and clarity, worse civility. It was all arms
swinging, legs kicking and mouth smacking. She taught it
to keep its mouth shut and its delusional appendages to itself.

With so much freedom from this ill-mannered bully, she got side-tracked
with grandiosity. Now I can conquer the world, she thought. But even
before she could translate the thought to words, Wisdom arched its
brow. "The world has already been conquered," it said. "You might want
to pick a bouquet of flowers and deliver them to a friend." Which is
exactly what she did. But first she took a long, cleansing look at them
herself. It is no small thing to be schooled by flowers.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

The Yellow Suitcase excerpt (pg. 3)

The suitcase is as close to yellow as any other color.
For a surprise,
the sisters wrap it with ribbons.

The brothers scratch blessings
in its yellow side.

The lovers latch arms.
This is why they think
they are strong, why they believe they have power.
There is strength
in their arms.
They embrace everything. Lift much.
Carry more.
The way is surprisingly rough.

She doesn’t mention the presence of hills
Ignores the ruts, sees only small declivities,
no ditches, no peaks, certainly no cliffs.

The road narrows, erupts with trees.
An unexpected wind sweeps down.

Avoiding the wind, she runs.
Years of running begin.
To slow her down, wild animals appear.
Wild animals distract her.
She dare not stay, dare not linger.
Wild animals can never be tamed.

Birds. Far off, now closer.
Finally, alarmingly near, in her face,
her hair, frisking her shoulders.
Infantry of feathers.
Battalion of beaks.