They say the old dear is crazy...

i've hidden it in the umbrella stand

with its silver hook of a handle

carefully dented and dinged

and a careless raintarp half dropped over it

no one will notice

organization is not my gift

and this fault conceals many others

how easy it is to conceal a deadly sin

behind a minor character flaw

that you may gently mock at dinner parties

and having had your audience applaud

with quiet smiles and the faintest hint of laughter

muffled in the pressed cloth napkins

and the hairspray designed to be invisible, but strong

one day i'll learn its trick 

and hold my shape against the wind and rain and questing fingers

looking for all the world as though this

the graceful curl of my being

was how i was born to be

and no one will question my perfection

because after all, we all know, she's a little untidy

and we'll all be safe again because the balance was restored

all this perfect grace against the books left on the counter

and we allow her these little flaws,

or do i allow them

to find some safety in my vulnerability

what a weakness, to leave possessions scattered

as though they have no tie upon me

the wise ones see a sort of strength in it

a slightly twisted secret.

like the one i keep in my umbrella stand

with its shine a little spotted here and there

I smile and comment,

but the stains! they are so difficult to remove.

And really, who wants to bother

scrubbing away all that blood.

Ender.

they say the world is divided

into two parties if you please

the leaders 

and the led

the action

and the reaction

and then me

i have chosen to stand

not for something

nor against something

not in protest

nor acclamation

just to stand and be still

to watch

and not be seen

this was my choice

my voluntary exile from the divided world

my single pride in not leading astray

my single fear in having none to follow

but in standing I too am single

a single shadow amidst the flux of waves

a single voice

whose silence is a gift 

only to herself

and when speaking

steals no thought from any

this is my prison and my freedom

to need nothing and have nothing need me

what triumph!

in this divided world.

to be whole. and alone.

Imagine my horror

when behind me i find

a thousand others

standing

to see what i see

a pointless leader.

a lost follower

another piece of the crowd

that shoves like a menagerie

to practice silence

and loneliness.

i have ruined the world.

a dream, a vision, a future.

today you fell asleep against me

I didn't see it happen

but felt my heartbeat slow

my breathing change its rhythm to yours

and with a sudden swell of feeling i turned

 carefully, so as not to dislodge your head

against my shoulder

and watched your face soften

with your small breaths so steady and quiet

and in the midst of your sleep

you smiled

at that point i realized

i could do this

i could trade my aching independence 

my fear of manipulation

my single cereal bowl and disorderly books

all of what i understand myself to be

for this

to watch you sleep

with your hand swallowing mine.

Freedom and Fetters

if you, questing eye that you are,

were to take your gentle hands

and carefully scoop out

 like a fruit with a quick twist of the wrist

my insides

do it swiftly 

in one motion if you please

and then let them slide

into that large crystal bowl

your mother uses on special occasions

careful not to spill

but here, look here

these strings of shadow 

they hold everything together

but right here

inbetween the heart and the throat

there is a giant knot

a tangle of epic proportions

that even Alexander would pause for a moment at

you could emulate his method

and with a word or merely a swinging door

could slice the tangle in two

and i wait

but then with your gentle hands you begin

with small tugs and quiet words

to untie my burden

at the end with a gulping gasp 

i could finally say

I love you

and with those words

i tie myself to you

and will not touch the knot

Lost in a Lotus.

You have found children in the supermarket

lost of course

it is a common thing

to see them watching the end of the aisle

for a familiar waist

what a way to see the world

from belt buckle down

and how still they stand

tensing at each shadow that bends

around the shelved corner

because they know most likely

they are to blame for this tightening fear

but they'd take the punishment

the stern look the quick reproach

if only to find the one who knows their name

to use it in an exasperated sigh

you've seen the lost children 

in the supermarket

everyone has

I walk the streets quietly

waiting for you to turn a corner

and with your stiff voice tell me

"There you are.

Don't you ever do that again."

i will promise. never again.

A stranger saviour.

An old man stopped me on the street

to ask about my hat

but that is not what he wanted to speak of

he wanted to tell me a story

a grand tale of who he was

and what that meant

to find in the explanation to a stranger

a new vindication of identity

He was eager to speak

and slow to stop, sure that this

was my desire as well

to hear of him and his life

with its great arc and flair

I nodded and smiled

agreeing

that a life like that

was worth telling, worth celebrating

and that I ,strange girl on the sidewalk,

understood

we parted to cross the streets

at 90 degree angles

with mutual gifts

He had given me a story

and i gave him a smile

How strangers may save each other.

science explains the soul

"Do you know,"

she asked me once

with that crisp tone which means

she plans to impart some practical piece of science

in order to pin my flighty mind to earth,

"how we see things?

What we percieve in the way of colour

is actually a result of reflection,

rejection you might say.

It means that the object has absorbed

all the other colours but

for some reason, refuses entrance to this

and so it invites its way

into our eyes and we see the door

for example, as red.

"Even colours hate to be homeless." I comment.

This is not what she wanted 

and so she tries again

to inform and instruct

and with such information indicate my own distance

from the world of real, as she calls it.

"We see shapes in this way too.

Processing through lack as much as presence.

Occasionally a line exists not because it is there

but because there is nothing thrust between two somethings

I nodded.

She wanted to see if I understood.

"So, if you looked at him

you would see me."

I thought. 

"And love is a line because it appears 

to exist when there is really nothing between two someones."

She threw her hands in the air

and abandoned me 

to chocolates and black and white movies.

She did not hear me say-

"I thought love was a circle but it seems

the shortest distance between two disappointments-

the first is being alone

and the second is like it. only lonelier.

So i suppose a line is fitting."