This Girl.

Oh, I understand why a blonde mother
of two would stick their pretty little heads in the oven
and how one could fill her pockets with the
heaviest stones she could find, marching
stoically into a raging sea.

I wish I had the nerve to sail
to Brazil and live amongst the natives
draped in color and the golden sun
simply on a whim.

But this girl, oh she can't move.
She's paralyzed, her spinal cord
stolen, leaving her to dream
of the living and dying,
an immobilizing paradox.

She sees and hears it all,
watching with green eyes that are invisible
to ones threadbare and unclothed.

Geraldine, Revisited.

There you are, planted on a bed
of rocks,
wheezing and hissing slowly,
choking every so often.
I turned you over successfully,
but you won't be moved.
I swore at you, I coddled you,
I prayed aloud,
but you sat, stony, silent, still.

_____________________

There you are, lying in a dirt
bed,
a stone marking your place on
earth.
I circle around, examine this new
filthy place and
decide that you don't belong here
amongst the damaged and forgotten.
I began to cry for you, to sob for you,
to pray for you,
but you sat, stony, silent,
still.

On God.

I fear that I am losing God
deliberately
forcing a life preserver to
fall from the clouds
like manna
to be chewed up and swallowed down
and eventually mocked
by desert voices
that cry out for more because it's never
enough
and I fear that my needs won't be
met by
Your perfect hands that
supposedly hold me close and tight
because I can't feel the warmth
of the people that claim your
name and
force confessions and throw guilt
around like insults
when all I want is to be
me.

On Flying (A Working Title).

Daring to leave the nest is the first
step.
You have to move one leg forward, first
envisioning mobility, convincing yourself
that the seemingly impossible is
possible;
that despite all odds, you will make it
out alive.

Now, move your leg forward, the right,
then the left
until you run out of plank
and there's nothing but sky and
earth.

Begin flapping. Flap harder, flap faster
than you believe possible.
If you relent, even for a second, it's over; you're done for.

After mastering your wings,
you must now trust that they won't
fail, which is the most difficult part of the whole process.
Step off the plank.
You'll begin to float.

You'll begin to fly.