Still Processing That Dream

FELT IN A DREAM

I never knew this kind of love existed.
Or how badly I need it, more broken than
ever, but in a different way. Not broken
by hurt feelings, and hard times, and great losses.
Broken in the way that makes you forget
you’ve forgotten who you really are or that
this other love exists. Is existence.

Is this love something I’ve had but resisted?
Am I made of it too, not just you? And can
you tell me who I am? So much left unspoken.
I feel it only when a dream crisscrosses
life and death, this love I haven’t found here yet.
I’m looking in the wrong places, aren’t I? At
people and things, all tension and resistance,

when all I really need are waking dreams that
remind me life’s journeys aren’t about distance.

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My Late Brother Showed Up in a Dream

BECOMING LIFE PURE

Just a dream I think, still not believing
It wasn’t something more. The warmth was real.
And you were healthy, whole, and young again,
Larger than life, yet more fully alive
In a way that’s hard to describe. Life pure.

You didn’t speak, didn’t fight my grieving,
Just put your arms around me, let me feel
What you’ve become: The calm, the peace, and then
The love, unlike anything here that I’ve
Ever called love. It was strong and secure,

Supple and whole. Life, love, interweaving
In a way that’s hard to describe, to heal
Things I didn’t know were broken. Now when
I think of life and love, how both survive,
I know that I’ve forgotten so much more

About who I am, who we are. Alive,
Waking and in dreams, becoming life pure.

I’m a Hopeless Romantic at Heart

ANOTHER CHANCE

Another chance to get it right
An unused day. Let’s start anew.
Put down your pain, and I’ll drop mine.

Can’t we agree to end this fight?
Or is this all we know to do?
We’ve patched ourselves with tape and twine;

They’ve left their marks. The binding’s tight,
But even still, we’ve lost a few
Torn pieces. Time to redefine

The we, the us, the fear, the fright,
Which knots we keep, and which undo.
Let this be where we draw a line

That separates the false from true.
Let’s start again. Will you be mine?

Will Life Ever Make Sense?

I AM MY OWN

I am my own worst everything,
Much more than any enemy.
I store my lies in sterile jars,
Each labeled with the truth by hand.

I am my own best anything,
Misunderstood epitome
Of contradiction, marked by scars
That tell a truth few understand.

I search for meaning in the stars.
Is all this chance, or was it planned?

I Overcomplicate Things

NAMELESS

I don’t want to tell you my name.
With it comes stories, my stories.
I don’t know you well enough yet.

Maybe others don’t feel the same,
Don’t need complex categories,
Don’t believe telling is a threat.

Find them then, and leave me the blame,
The nameless passions, the furies.
All mine. I take what I can get.

#MeToo

THE FIRST TIME

I wandered, too young
To feel bold, just bored.
Looking for dolls. I
Hate dolls. Now. But then…
I never saw his
face. Just felt his hand
Squeeze me from behind.
Behind me. My be
Hind. Too young, too scared
To tell. Too dirty.
That’s what happens when
Little girls wander.

Loathing lasts, begun
With dolls and ignored,
Never asking why
It’s okay for men
To touch. Power is
Something grownups and
Gropers have designed.
How could I break free?
The first time I dared
Wander, it hurt me.
Stay close and closed then,
A lesson to ponder.

That’s what happens when
Little girls wander.